When Blood Calls For Blood
by The Freelancer Collaboration
Summary: In this sequel to the Marvel-based "In the End You Always Kneel," twenty-four *DC* tributes compete in the Quarter Quell Avenger Games to come out on top in this battle to the death. Meanwhile, the fallen tributes from the last book, along with heroes from DC and Marvel alike, start to plot a revolution...with enemies not just outside of their alliances.
1. Prologue: Following the Call

**(A/N): Welcome to _When Blood Calls for Blood_ , the sequel to our recent collaborative work, _In the End, You Always Kneel_. ITEYAK was the result of Nickenny's vision for a Marvel/Hunger Games mashup in the style of a 24 authors/24 tributes work, and it was an honor to work with so many talented writers to make that story come to life. **

**Flash forward a few months after the end of the epilogue of that story, which revealed the inclusion of DC characters into the universe, and we're ready to post the sequel. We're sorry it's taken this long; getting a new batch of writers, putting together the new story, etc. was all the work of Nickenny, who then passed off the story to robbiepoo2341 and Canucklehead Cowgirl, two of the writers from the previous story, at the end of May to focus on his personal life. He's done wonderfully to get us started and organized, and we're excited to run with the story that he built.**

 **This is a direct sequel to ITEYAK and picks up where the epilogue left off. However, with the inclusion of DC characters, we are aware that there is a different fandom involved that may not have read our original work. We encourage you to check it out (it's _very_ good, and we're so amazed by the work that the writers put forward) b** **ut since we know that not everyone is up to reading over 100 chapters just to read this story, we've included a short summary of ITEYAK at the end of this chapter.**

 **You can, of course, skip the summary if you want to read ITEYAK unspoiled ;) We'd HIGHLY recommend reading it, because we get to work with some VERY talented writers, and of course, since we'll be publishing every Tuesday and Friday, that means you have something to read on the Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, and Sundays that you're waiting for us!**

 **So, without further ado, we'd like to introduce you to...**

* * *

 **Following the Call**

 **Secret Facility Within SHIELD**

 **Nick Fury**

 **Written by the combined forces of Nickenny, robbiepoo2341, and Canucklehead Cowgirl**

* * *

" _The world is a dangerous place to live, not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it."_

― Albert Einstein

* * *

 **District Eleven**

 **Phil Coulson**

* * *

The flight to Eleven was a long one, comparatively. Coulson was used to these kinds of flights, but ever since the end of the last Games, things had felt … well. Different.

Moments like this ― alone on a plane with nothing to do but kill time ― were often just opportunities for his mind to wander. He knew that he was missing something desperately important. And he was bound and determined to find out whatever it was that had gotten him killed ― and sent through TAHITI.

"Five minutes until we touch down," Agent May called out from the cockpit as she started the approach. "Thought you should know.

Coulson tipped his chin her way and shook the loose thoughts from his head. She'd been keeping close watch on him ― giving him a heads up like that where she never had before. And in truth, he was grateful for it. Most of the time. But right now, as they headed in to investigate yet another mysterious murder, he found himself more focused on the task at hand than on his own personal concerns.

When the hatch on the plane finally opened, Coulson and his team exited quickly, their gear in hand. All of them were ready to go over the fine work that Eleven's Sentinels had surely already finished. It was just too bad that they were going to have to carry the heat while Coulson's team whisked off all that good work to be analyzed in a more advanced laboratory setting.

The ride from the air strip to the mayor's office was fairly short, but even in that short trip, it was clear that Eleven was in a state of upheaval.

People lined the streets, angry and outraged expressions on their faces as the black SUV's navigated the tangled city. The crowd outside of the mayor's house was thick ― though the Sentinels there had done a fine job keeping back both mourners and protesters alike even with the SHIELD team making their way past the yellow and black tape that marked the line between 'them' and 'us'.

He was reasonably sure he hadn't seen this many District Eleven Sentinels in one place in a very long time. The helmeted figures parted like the Red Sea as Coulson and his crew approached, and when the last of them finally stepped out of the way to reveal the still and white-sheet covered body of the mayor, Coulson finally came to a stop and let out all his breath in a single word.

"Damn."

"Coulson," Sentinel Tork said as he turned, walking over to the shorter man and shaking his hand warmly. "As I live and breathe. It's been too long."

"What was it last time?" the SHIELD agent asked, relieved despite himself at the familiar face. "Mining sabotage?"

"No, it was the Brell arrest, right? The Sentinel?"

"The gunrunner," Coulson agreed with a tight, professional smile, nodding. "Yeah, wow, that must have been nearly five years ago. Been back once or twice since, never had time to check in."

"The job comes first," Tork replied, understandingly.

Coulson nodded again, and turned to the tall younger man standing guard with Tork. "You must be Sentinel Cole," he said politely. "I've heard a lot about you from the reports sent in. You've been doing good work."

"That's me," Kasper Cole replied weakly, caught off-guard.

"I'm Special Agent Phil Coulson, with SHIELD, and this is my colleague, Agent Alphonse Mackenzie," Coulson continued, with a nod towards his partner before he nodded to the other two behind them. "Part of our team.".

"Just call me Mack," the taller man interrupted, looking pained.

"Damn, 'Alphonse', really?" Tork asked with a laugh, picking up on the agent's discomfort. "Makes 'Kasper' sound less dumb."

"Hey!" Kasper exclaimed in disbelief. "Not funny."

"Oh, I'm sure it means something special to your parents," Tork allowed. "No one would be that cruel without a good reason."

"You know damn well it's a nickname, Tork," Kasper replied, shaking his head at his elder's sudden juvenile outburst.

"I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse, _Kasper_ ," Tork replied, before snapping his fingers in a sudden flash of recollection, and turned back to Coulson. "Speaking of cruel, didn't I hear that you got shot recently?"

"Which time?" Coulson asked, smiling sheepishly.

"Well, I actually heard you were dead," Tork added, "but that seems a little bit unlikely with you standing in front of me, doesn't it?"

"Wow. Word travels fast. It's not entirely false, though. Technically, I _was_ dead," Coulson admitted. "For about three minutes ― before the medics were able to resuscitate me."

Kasper whistled in appreciation. "You get the guy who did it?"

"Apparently, I shot him after he got me. He was dead by the time backup arrived."

"'Apparently'?" Tork asked, catching Coulson's inflection.

Coulson shrugged. "Doc says that's not unusual in cases like this."

"He's _had_ cases like that before?"

Coulson shrugged. "What can I say? He's a strange guy, in more ways than one."

"Damn, Coulson…" Tork said, after a moment's consideration. "I guess that's as good an endorsement for the Capitol's technology as any. 'They brought me back from the dead'."

"Well, it's a wonderful place," Coulson replied, with a wry grin, and Tork snorted.

"Send me a postcard sometime," he said dryly. "My next leave isn't for another sixteen months, and that's if they don't postpone it again."

"Tell you what, how about I send something else in its place?" Coulson offered insidiously, a spark of trouble in the words. "A bottle of Forty Creek out of District Seven maybe?"

"You know it's an offense to bribe a Sentinel, Coulson. However, if you _are_ gonna do it, going for a high-quality whiskey seems like a smart move."

"Who said anything about a bribe?" Coulson asked, playing innocent.

"Oh, I'm just waiting for the inevitable. You SHIELD guys live on favors."

"I resent the implication, but we should probably get to work," Coulson said, nodding towards the corpse, and Tork stepped aside, waving the SHIELD agent through.

"So you guys got sucked into this shit-show too, eh?" Tork asked. "You don't see SHIELD making the trek down to Eleven all that often."

"He was a popular guy," Coulson murmured, as a slight brunette woman knelt to start examining the mayor's body.

"Not everyone felt that way," Tork replied darkly.

"I think that's pretty apparent," Coulson replied dryly.

Tork let out a sigh. "Been a lot of trouble lately," he explained. "Rabble-rousing by M'Baku and his cronies. Trying to stir up unrest, spouting his hate speech to anyone who'll listen. It's the white community that he's latched onto, though. They've been much more… receptive."

"Why? M'Baku's never gone that way before," Coulson replied with a frown. "He's got his own supporters."

"He's gaining popularity. He tells them what they want to hear. T'Chaka always went with what they needed to hear, and people don't always appreciate that. Personally, though, I think anyone who thinks M'Baku gives a rat's ass about them needs a reality check. He just wants power ― T'Chaka, for all his faults, actually cared about this district."

"So we have motive, then," Coulson said. "M'Baku and those who support him had plenty of reason to want T'Chaka dead."

"And the Capitol didn't?" Kasper asked, and Tork frowned disapprovingly at him as the SHIELD agents in attendance all paused.

Coulson glanced over at Kasper, frowning. "Excuse me?"

"His son died in the last Games," Kasper said. "His other son had a pretty public falling out with him soon after. A man who's suffered losses like that… well, it'd call his loyalty into question, wouldn't it?"

"And you're under the impression that SHIELD had something to do with this? Or are you heading toward the treason charge just for laughs?"

"I'm just keeping all avenues of investigation open, sir," Kasper replied, spreading his palms out. "But I'd really like to believe that. There's been enough instability out here lately, and this sure as hell isn't going to help."

"No, it's not," Coulson agreed. "I can tell you for sure: the last thing the Capitol wants is unrest in the districts. The last Civil War tapped our resources to the bone; they can't afford another one."

"Someone's gotta stand to gain if they're knocking off mayors, Coulson," Tork said, jumping in.

Coulson frowned and glared down at the body while his team collected evidence, unwilling to give them a reaction. "They think they do, anyhow."

"You know something…" Tork murmured, understanding dawning. The two SHIELD agents glanced at one another, and Tork clenched his fists, seething with anger. "Goddammit, Coulson, spit it out. What do you know that we don't?

"This is a SHIELD matter that's not to leave this room, do you understand?" Coulson said, fire in his gaze as he glared between them. Tork and Kasper both nodded, albeit a tad begrudgingly. "I'm telling you this as a _personal courtesy._ Not a professional one," he added, still with that same steel and knowing that if it had been _any Sentinel but Tork_... "We're here because there have been a few high-profile cases in other districts over the last few months. Shooter always has the same MO, and the descriptions we've been able to gather match your shooter. Caucasian male, late teens, metal arm. It's a fairly small demographic."

"High-profile cases?" Tork asked, perturbed. "Who exactly has this guy taken out?"

Coulson's mouth tightened to a line, then he glanced over to his partner, who simply held his gaze for a moment. "Howard Stark, for one. He was one of the wealthiest men in District Three."

"Wait, Stark as in Tony Stark? The guy who got reaped from Three last year?"

"His father," Coulson confirmed, and Tork whistled in appreciation.

"So this guy's been travelling through districts. He's gotta have help within SHIELD, then – I thought you said they didn't have anything to do with this?"

"SHIELD didn't do this," Coulson insisted. "Whoever's helping this kid's been doing it off their own initiative."

"So, it's political, then," Tork summarised before sighing. "Great, I love it when things get political."

"You think you'd be used to it out here," Coulson said, his eyes narrowed. "Eleven is always about the politics."

"What connects the victims?" Kasper asked, trying to keep them on track. "This wasn't a spur-of-the-moment killing; it was an expertly staged assassination. They had to know exactly where and when the mayor was going to be where he was ― and secure the site while avoiding Sentinel patrols. This isn't District Twelve; we take things seriously out here."

"Are they going after the parents of last year's tributes?" Tork asked in disbelief.

"At this time, we believe that connection to be coincidental, but it's not impossible."

"So you're _not_ telling us everything," Kasper noted sourly.

Coulson smiled. "Of course not. We're SHIELD; we don't answer to Sentinels. You can just assume that we'll tell you what you need to know and take it from there." He turned to his old friend with a disbelieving look. "How green _is_ this guy, Tork?"

Tork grunted, unamused. "I'm easing him in."

"So. Kid gloves. Must be nice," Coulson said dryly.

"And I'm still waiting for some answers," Kasper growled, irritated by Coulson's patronising tone.

"I've already told you more than you're cleared for," Coulson replied evenly. "That's all you're going get. If you're smart, you'll learn to be happy to get what you get."

"Yeah, well, but see, I think you _do_ have more to tell _,_ " Kasper replied, feeling the familiar anger bubbling away in his chest. "We're the guys on out on the streets, here. We don't just swan in after things have gotten rough and then leave before things get sorted out. You may have your fancy suits and shields, but if you think you can just take over our cases and leave us out of the loop, you've got another thing coming." He stared defiantly at the pair of SHIELD agents, his chest heaving as he regained his breath.

Coulson gave him a once over with an almost amused smirk on his face. "You didn't pass the section on hierarchy, did you?"

"Take a walk, kid," Tork murmured, and it took Kasper a moment to register his words. When he finally did, he turned to his friend and mentor, confused.

"This is the way things work. SHIELD calls all the shots, and if you can't keep your head around them, you need to get out of their way," he explained, grimly. "Take. A. Walk."

Kasper glanced from his fellow Sentinel to the inscrutable features of the SHIELD agents, took a deep breath, released it, and grudgingly nodded. Without saying a word, he left the room, slamming the door behind him on the way out.

"Seems like a nice kid," Coulson commented, when Kasper was safely out of earshot.

"He is, actually," Tork replied, still staring at the door Kasper had left through. "Just a little idealistic. Got a wife with a kid on the way. At that point, a man takes a look at the world and decides he needs to change it. He'll learn."

"Maybe he won't have to."

"Ha, maybe he won't," Tork replied, laughing, clearly not believing a word of it. "Still, I'm sorry about all that. Don't want you to think we're anything less than professional down here in Eleven."

"Wait, you've been going for 'professional' this whole time?" Coulson asked with his trademark smirk. "Huh."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Tork replied, rolling his eyes. "You're a funny guy, Coulson."

Coulson smiled to himself, as the team concluded the examination of the corpse. The brunette stood up and met his gaze, shaking her head lightly.

"Alright. Thank you for your cooperation," Coulson said suddenly, glancing over at Tork. "My team will prep him for transportation to the Capitol. The guys upstairs will want his autopsy carried out in the Triskelion, all things considered."

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea," Tork replied uneasily. "That crowd outside won't like that one bit. Can't you leave it to us?"

"He's not wrong ― about the crowd," Mack agreed, speaking up. "All that's needed to turn that group outside into a mob is the match that sparks the flame. Gotta be something we can do."

"That's simplifying things a bit. But the last thing we'd want is to escalate the situation any further," Coulson agreed.

"You've been pretty quiet this whole thing, big guy," Tork noted, looking at Mack, who shrugged.

"I try to keep my opinions to myself," he replied.

Coulson started, awkwardly patting his pockets for a moment before coughing into a closed fist, catching the Sentinel's attention. "So… about that favour…"

Tork sighed. "Here we go."

"Give us the room?" Coulson said as he gestured around them. "That's 'SHIELD' us, not 'you and I' us."

Tork shifted uncomfortably. "There's always supposed to be at least one Sentinel present, Coulson. You know that."

"Listen, Tork, how long have we known each other? What do you think I'm going to do ― run off with the corpse?"

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's done it," Tork replied grimly.

Coulson paused, running that through his head. "Not the argument I expected to hear."

"Yeah, that was pretty much our reaction too. But Mister Morbius the Living Vampire didn't think it was a problem."

"'The Living Vampire'?" Mack asked weakly.

"We don't talk about it," Tork replied, frowning. "It was a whole… thing."

"Come on, Tork," Coulson said, turning away from the body. "I'll have that whiskey down to you by tonight. Keep in mind I don't have to offer you anything if I don't want to."

Tork paused, weighing up his options, and sighed. "Fine. Just don't take too long, and this better not get back to Cassidy. The last thing I need is him getting on my ass."

"As a rule, I try to avoid the Head Sentinels. That's not going to change any time soon."

"Just don't make me regret this," Tork warned, as he went for the door and left the room, leaving the small SHIELD team alone.

"I thought he'd never leave," Coulson stage-whispered, and Mack smiled, shaking his head slowly.

"So, why _did_ you need him to leave?" he asked, nodding towards the door.

"I just didn't want the extra body looking over my shoulder, and I didn't want to have to worry about censoring what I said," Coulson explained. "Too bad we couldn't get here any earlier, but at least their forensic team's report seems to check out with ours. And they locked the scene down promptly. You never know what'll happen out here in the districts."

"So you didn't find anything interesting?" Mack asked, looking over to Jemma Simmons as she brushed her hands off.

"Nothing the Sentinels haven't already deduced. It's definitely our suspect's handiwork. Single shot to the heart, through an open window" she replied. "They've already found the location the shots originated from. And the whole scene has been wiped down ― no fingerprints, no bullet casings, nothing." She was smiling as she gestured around the room on her way out. "It's quite tidy, actually."

"Just like the other cases. So our boy's smart," Mack said, frowning before he turned back to Coulson. "Come on, what aren't you saying? What didn't you want the Sentinels around for?"

Coulson paused before he shook his head. "Edison Po."

"Who's that?"

"A guy we were looking into last year. Before you joined the team. Ex-Sentinel. We were never able to figure out how he was moving from district to district. It's not like it's all that easy to do."

"You catch him?"

"Well, I caught up with him. Had him dead to rights, before one of the people he was working with killed him. Then I just had him dead."

Mack whistled. "What about the guy who killed him?"

"Caught up with him too. He's the one who shot me ― did Hartley not catch you up on this?"

"Hey, _you're_ only making the connection now," Mack protested. "We mainly prepped on the cases at hand ― when we were told we'd be tagging up with your team, all she said was that you had been shot and were coming back from leave." He paused and shook his head at the whole situation. "So the guy who shot you is dead too, huh? Doesn't leave us with a lot to work with."

"Tell me about it," Couslon agreed, frowning deeper. "But the guy who shot me ― Leland Owlsley Jr. ― he wasn't working alone. He had at least one other person backing him up. Maybe that's our assassin."

"You have any leads?"

Coulson shook his head lightly. "No," he admitted. "We went through all of Owlsley's acquaintances,. We couldn't find anything that stood out. It was a pretty short list, too ― guy had mental issues, kept to himself mostly. Seems like someone took advantage of him, used him to clean up their messes."

"Any family?"

"Just his father. Leland Senior. Trust me, we gave the guy a long, hard look."

"The Owl of the Capitol?" Mack said, nodding thoughtfully. "Heard about him. Made his fortune in stocks, right?"

"He was once a premier financier and financial investor," Coulson replied. "Owns a good chunk of the Southwestern Quarter, and what he doesn't own, his friends do. We checked him off pretty quickly ― he had airtight alibis for every crime we were investigating, no priors, no evidence of wrongdoing at all. He even helped us find his son, when we came looking for him. I'm sure not all of his money came through strictly legal methods, but he doesn't seem like the kind of guy who'd run this kind of conspiracy."

"'Conspiracy', huh?"

Coulson gestured down to T'Chaka. "What else would you call it? Somehow, people are getting around the travelling restrictions between districts and knocking people off left and right, while we chase our own tails in the background. The kind of organization, wealth and tactical planning that'd be required to do that… Leland Owlsley's an old man who's spent his life buying and selling stocks. The pieces just don't fit."

"You investigate _his_ acquaintances?" Mack asked, and Coulson laughed before realizing the other agent was serious.

"That's pretty much everyone of influence in the Capitol, Mack," he explained. "I mean, the President and Director Fury would both be on that list. The guy moves in powerful circles. There's no _way_ I'd get the authorization to look too far into any of them. You know how things work. There's the kind of people who struggle between the right thing and the lawful thing, and there's those that use the law to do right by themselves and themselves only."

"You ever think the law might be the problem?"

Coulson took a deep breath and shook his head slowly. "You're lucky I sent Tork away. That guy is one of the few exceptions to my 'two types of people' theory, dancing along the line between the two." He paused, and glanced over at T'Chaka's body, and his gaze hardened.

"But yeah. Sometimes I do, Mack," he said quietly. "Sometimes."

A moment of silence passed between the two agents, before Coulson stirred again. "That stays between us, got it?"

"Understood, Cheese," Mack replied, smiling.

Coulson grimaced. "You gotta stop calling me that. Between you and Skye … ugh."

"No promises."

"I'm your superior officer, you know?"

"No, _Hartley_ is my superior officer," Mack reminded him. "According to the books, we're not even in District Eleven at the moment, much less helping your team investigate the assassination of Eleven's mayor."

"Direct chain of command or not, you still answer to Level Eight," Coulson replied, though he didn't press. A few moments passed before Coulson spoke again. "About Edison Po… I'd like you to keep that between the two us as well."

Mack frowned. "You mean keep it from my team? That's pertinent information to the case, Coulson. What's the problem?" he asked, and then his expression cleared as Coulson held his gaze. "You don't trust Hartley," he said quietly.

"No, it's not that ― I'd trust Hartley with my life," he protested. "It's just that she and Hand are… well, close."

"So you're saying that you don't trust Hartley to keep her work a secret from her girlfriend, and you don't trust Hand full stop?"

"Victoria Hand and I don't see eye to eye, and there has been more than one occasion that she's let slip information back to me that I know for a fact she never had access to if not for Hartley," Coulson said by way of explanation. "Besides. I'm more the kind to play it close to my vest until there's something solid to go by."

"I don't know… This isn't the way we do things in Task Force IV."

"It's not the way my team likes to do things either. We prefer a more open and honest dialogue. But in this matter, my hand is forced," Coulson replied. "But I don't want you to talk with _my_ team about this any more than I want Hartley to hear about it."

Mack's brow wrinkled in confusion. "What? Why?"

Coulson froze, the only indication that the normally stoic and relaxed agent was bothered. "I've been running things through my head, about Po, about Owlsley. The whole time, it seemed like we were missing something. Like they were always one step ahead. We even caught one of the guys working with them ― Ian Quinn ― only for him to be killed in his holding cell later that day."

"So someone in SHIELD was working with them?"

"It's gotta be the only option at this point. I'm starting to wonder if they might have a mole on my team," he confessed, looking troubled.

Mack snorted. "Coulson, I hate to say it, but you're starting to sound a little paranoid. Didn't you handpick this team yourself? How could there _possibly_ be a mole?"

"That's what I've been asking myself," Coulson admitted. "But it's the only thing that makes sense. There were just too many things that went wrong, too many times that they got the jump on us. And my shootout with Owlsley… I just _wish_ I could remember it, because it doesn't feel right."

He trailed off, caught sight of Mack's incredulous look, and sighed. "For now, just keep this to yourself."

Mack crossed his arms and nodded slowly. "Okay, fine. But what makes you think you can trust me?"

"You weren't with us when we were chasing Po and Owlsley, so you can't be the mole," Coulson reasoned. "And I need someone to share my obsessive paranoia with," he added, this time with a little smirk. "Hartley was already ruled out, and Hunter was never an option. Why do you think I asked you to come with me on this?"

"Oh…" Mack replied, nodding in understanding. "You know, I figured it was because I'm black and you thought that'd help with the locals."

"I didn't say that," Coulson said, eyebrows raised as he turned Mack's way before he had to admit, "But it doesn't hurt either."

They headed for the door, and Mack glanced over at the lead agent. "So, I've gotta ask… What's with the suits and sunglasses? This didn't seem like the kind of meeting to require a dress-code. I didn't even have a suit with me, and getting one out here in my size… well, it took some doing."

Coulson smirked. "You need to keep up appearances out here, Mack. These guys… if you don't look the part, they won't treat you right. We're SHIELD agents. This is about respect."

"So it's not just because you like wearing suits and thought it'd look weird if I was wearing jeans?"

"Well, maybe a little bit of that too."

"You're an odd guy, Cheese."

* * *

 **Deep Within the Capitol**

 **Ra's al Ghul**

* * *

Of the many names that he had gone by in his lifetime, his favorite by far was the Demon's Head.

It was a name that inspired fear. It inspired loyalty.

Specifically, it inspired the kind of loyalty and power that had allowed him to win … well... what he had with the most powerful figures in Marvel could not be called 'loyalty' by any stretch of the imagination. But it could be called a partnership.

An undertaking.

At one time, each man or woman there had their own names and organizations. They were still whispered about in the districts. The Red Room. The Hand. Names that could be used strategically to strike fear, or in other instances, to cause misdirection.

Their true name was one adopted from the history of Marvel itself. Hydra. It had once been the scourge of the country. Now, it was a name used only in the historical reminders of the Civil War like the video before the Readings every year.

And, of course, it was spoken here, in a rare instance in which the whole cabal could come together.

It was difficult enough to get the two victors, Johann Schmidt and Ophelia Sarkissian, to their meetings because of the infernal spotlight of their positions, both as Games victors and as heads of the original Hydra, the organization that had survived in the shadows despite losing the war.

Not that either of them minded. There was something to be said for the power of a name. Ra's would be a fool to say otherwise. And a hypocrite.

The rest of their cabal could be considered the richest, most influential names in Marvel.

Lex Luthor, whose business acumen was second only to his ambition for power. Another man whose name called down fear for their enemies and strength for their allies.

Victor Von Doom, whose empire extended so far throughout Marvel that his manor was jokingly referred to by the surrounding residents of the Capitol as its own country. The Doom name at times seemed to Ra's to be overly dramatic, but it was powerful all the same.

Sebastian Shaw, whose strength was as much physical as it was political. His lieutenants shook at his fury, and his enemies were crushed, left with nothing but his name like a curse. With him, Selene Gallio, who was feared by even victors for her enterprises. Her enemies were often drained financially to the bone by the time she was through with them, not to mention the _rumors_ of other, less savory methods of dealing with those that stood in her way _._

Vandal Savage, whose family name predated the history of Marvel, or the United States it was before that. His petty need for recognition was an annoyance and clashed with Schmidt often enough that it had derailed entire meetings before, though he was influential enough and had such a brilliant mind they would be a fool not to include him. He and Schmidt seemed to be getting along well enough now, but if it continued, Ra's would remove one or both of them himself.

Lorelai, who went by only the single name and needed no other. She, like her cousin, Zazzala, the Queen Bee, could get almost any man to do anything. Her focus, however, was to build her own power, while her cousin simply enjoyed the thrill of working right under Amanda Waller's nose without being caught.

And then there were those who operated in the shadows. Shishido, whose Hand organization was an excellent distraction for that annoyingly intrepid Coulson and his team. The scientists, headed by Nathaniel Essex. The man was deeply involved in the so-called Tahiti process, along with Hugo Strange, Arnim Zola, and Abraham Cornelius. Between them, it was already decided: Hydra would have the ability to conquer death itself, bring its soldiers back like Lazarus of the Bible. The only obstacle to conquering this last and greatest of enemies was access to the technology itself.

That was where their last member came into play.

Alexander Pierce, who had such power even Nicholas J. Fury answered to him. Who had the answers to SHIELD's most pressing secrets.

It was Pierce who arrived last of all, his lips curled into a smile that meant only good news.

"Shooting Coulson was the best decision we could have made," he said, and Ra's frowned at the implication that he had anything to do with it.

"That _I_ made," he corrected, his voice soft but insistent.

Pierce tipped his head toward Ra's but did not acknowledge the correction. "The point is," he said, "Fury jumped. He couldn't let his friend hang. We now know everything we need to know to overtake the Tahiti Project the moment we are ready to reveal ourselves."

Essex leaned forward, his eyes a perpetual red from overwork as well as cosmetic enhancements. He was a vain man but a brilliant geneticist whose insights were invaluable into conquering death. He would be rewarded with test subjects aplenty under Hydra's rule, and in return, he and the others involved would work tirelessly through the upcoming, inevitable war to make Hydra, quite simply, unkillable. Invincible. Powerful.

"I trust this overthrow will not be entrusted to your usual lackeys. The equipment is _delicate,_ you understand," Essex said, slowly, as if he were speaking to a child.

Pierce glared his way. "Of course."

Essex smirked as he leaned back. In SHIELD, he might have answered to Strange and the rest of the research division, but in the cabal, every voice was equal.

"If you require a more delicate touch…" Zazzala trailed off, laughing quietly to herself at Pierce's expression.

"And what of the revived tributes?" Shaw asked.

"They are spread throughout SHIELD. The largest team is only five members strong. Many are individually assigned," Pierce said.

"It sounds like a lot of hollow excuses to me," Luthor drawled lazily. "Some of us _do_ follow through on our promises without grovelling for help. The victors are the more difficult and delicate-to-handle game, and yet for those of us playing, we already have powerful friends ― and those who aren't friends owe us favors."

"We also manage to do so fully immersed in the public's eye," Selene said with a wave of her hand. "It's never been an issue for you before. Are you concerned you've lost your touch?"

Lorelai laughed and then sneered Pierce's way. "All you have to do is kidnap already enslaved _children,_ and there you stand making excuses."

"I am just stating the facts," Pierce argued. "I need the manpower to go after scattered assets."

"Always asking for more," Savage murmured with a smirk.

"And always doing more than you can manage," Pierce pointed out with a dry look.

"You will have your men," Ra's said before the clash of egos could continue. It was like working with children at times, really.

Pierce nodded once, sharply, and then leaned back in his seat. "Fury intends to make his move after these Games," he said.

"Then we will use that time to do the same," Ra's said with a little triumphant smile.

The meeting proceeded with little else of note, at least to Ra's. Savage and Schmidt again squabbled over who would sit on the throne, and the others were content to let them. The power was not in the throne, after all. That was symbolic. History would remember the name of the king but it was his advisors and his noblemen who shaped the reality of his kingdom.

At last, the members of the cabal left, evenly spaced so as not to draw attention. Because this time it had been staged at Ra's' own building, he was last to leave, with his bodyguard, Shiva, all but melting out of the shadows to meet him and follow him out.

"Mr Duquesne," the doorman murmured, respectfully tipping the brim of his hat as Ra's walked past him but didn't spare the man a second look. He, like so many others, would no doubt burn with the city – a necessary evil for a greater good. And Ra's was not in the habit of spending time on dead men.

Waiting for him, however, was a man who looked like he had already died and come back, and it took Ra's a moment to recognise Leland Owlsley. The man had aged terribly since his son's death, falling in on himself as grief gnawed away at him from the inside like a cancer.

"You!" the man exclaimed as he caught sight of Ra's, the anger evident in his voice even as his shrunken frame trembled in the attempt to suppress it.

Shiva was already moving forward when Ra's signalled for her to stand down with a twitch of his hand.

"Leland," Ra's said, sounding surprised. "I didn't realise we had a meeting scheduled."

"I'm not going to _schedule a meeting_ with you, Jacques," Leland, glaring, his voice clearly expressing his distaste for the notion. "After the amount of money I've invested in your organization, I think sparing the odd moment to speak with me wouldn't be too much to ask."

"And I'd schedule a meeting with you if I had an issue I wanted to raise privately with you," Ra's explained patiently. "This isn't a matter of respect."

" _Everything_ is a matter of respect," Leland hissed. "For months now, I've come to you with the same request, and each time, you make vague assurances and do nothing. In all the time you've known me, Jacques, I've only ever asked this one thing of you."

"Is this really the time or place, Leland?" Ra's asked, seeing where the older man was heading.

"Apparently so, because otherwise, you just ignore me or brush me aside. He killed my son, Ra's," Leland said, his voice cracking. "Gunned him down like a dog. I want him _dead."_

Ra's reached out a hand and clasped the other man's shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. "Now is not the time to take the law into our own hands, Leland. Your son knew the risks."

"My son's mind was addled. Always has been, ever since his mother passed. He did what he was asked to do, but don't lie to my face and pretend he was some sort of martyr for your cause. The least you owe him is to make sure his death is avenged."

"We'll make sure that Agent Coulson is dealt with, when the time comes."

"'Dealt with?' I don't want him 'dealt with', Duquesne. I don't want him brushed away quietly in the night. He killed Lee. I want vengeance. I want _blood_."

Ra's stepped forward and took Owlsley's hands in his own. "Trust me, my old friend, you'll get it. I just need you to be patient ― we're not ready to make our move yet. But when we are, Coulson and the rest of SHIELD will never see us coming."

"More banalities," Owlsley complained. "Words are wind, Duquesne, and I'm tired of them. I want action. If you won't do what needs to be done, then maybe I should look to invest elsewhere. And if that doesn't make you take me seriously, maybe you should think about how interested the president would be in the work you've been doing here," Owlsley spat, the threat clear.

Ra's reached out a hand and caught Shiva's wrist as it moved towards the hilt of her sword.

"That won't be necessary," he said calmly, though it wasn't clear to whom he was addressing. "Agent Coulson will get what's coming to him, Leland. As will the rest of the SHIELD."

* * *

 **District One**

 **Victor Sage**

* * *

The big talk around town was that the training facilities were under SHIELD investigation. The bigger talk around town was that it was because of what had happened with last Games' tributes, with how a criminal had upstaged the rightful tribute and how the other had been horribly disfigured.

Vic had heard all the rumors and didn't believe any of them. He knew the truth; it was what made him one of the more effective Sentinels in One, though his colleagues rarely believed him until he waltzed into the precinct with a criminal in handcuffs and the evidence in his back pocket.

The truth was that the facilities _were_ under SHIELD investigation, but not for the reasons everyone thought. Not because they were abusive to the children in their care, such as Mr. Wilson. No, no, if that were the case, why would SHIELD care? This was the same organization with a branch dedicated entirely to creating an arena in which children would slaughter each other.

But Vic was a Sentinel, and he had grown up in District Two before he was assigned to One. Even back then, he'd had his ear to the ground, sniffing out what was going on behind the scenes. Fight clubs like SAFE, illicit training like the Red Room….

And it was the Red Room that, Vic was sure, had brought SHIELD to District One. It was no secret that not a single one of the girls they had put forward had won the Games, but it had long been rumored that they thought they might have better luck in District One.

Vic knew they didn't have that hold, but he didn't blame SHIELD for being suspicious.

The truth was far more insidious ― that there was an underground network of influence that spanned several districts and that could trace its roots back to the Capitol itself. But, again, no one believed Vic when he mentioned it.

So instead, he kept his notes to himself, stacks upon stacks of yellow-lined notebooks of evidence, two walls covered in photographs, sticky notes, red string connecting the lines as he worked it out for himself.

But that was all at home. He had a photographic memory and could call upon his wall at any moment, but the blonde SHIELD agent in front of him didn't have a place on his wall.

 _Yet._

The agent, who identified himself as Clay Quartermain, had hardly spoken two words since that basic exchange of names to Vic, though that was usual. Vic had simply been asked to show the SHIELD agent to the training facility, and that was what he did. Government types didn't like to be told there was anything _else_.

They arrived at the training center, and Vic paused as he opened the door for Quartermain. "You know, of course, that the listening devices in the Sentinel armor can be shorted out with the fluoride in toothpaste," he said, unprompted, just to see what the SHIELD agent's reaction would be. An unfiltered reaction was the best litmus test for his theories, after all.

Quartermain turned to look at Vic more squarely, and it wasn't the usual nervous laugh ― which meant it was true ― or goggling eyes ― which meant it was not ― but something like a smirk. "I'll take that under consideration," Quartermain said, and Vic couldn't help but chuckle.

At least someone knew how to play the game.

The two of them walked down the halls in what could now be called companionable silence before they reached what was apparently Quartermain's stop at the office of the newest trainer at the academy, Matt Murdock.

Vic raised one eyebrow, not bothering to hide his reaction as again, he tried out one of his theories ― or, in this case, one of the more popular theories that _others_ in the district were putting forward, just to prove that it was wrong. "Murdock doesn't have any ties to the Red Room," he said, adding his own theory when that one didn't get a reaction: "He's too busy with his ties to the Hand."

That was the first thing he had said to get a real response out of Quartermain as the tall agent spun toward Vic. "The what now?" he asked, and the honest surprise in his voice was enough to tell Vic that he was either onto something or completely off-base. And since the Hand was one of the few theories he had actually _seen_ with his own two eyes, he knew it was the former.

"The Hand," he said calmly. "I'm sure you've heard of them, unless SHIELD doesn't consider interdistrict criminal enterprises to be their concern."

Quartermain frowned Vic's way, though he had recovered more of his poise by then. "We're aware of their existence."

"Then you'd know Murdock has had his hands full with their interference in the school ― not enough time to be bought out by the Red Room, I'd think," Vic said, clearly smug now. "Of course, other trainers…"

Quartermain seized hold of Vic's arm, and for just a moment, Vic tensed for a fight. Instead, he found himself pulled into the room with Quartermain.

Matt Murdock had become a trainer at the academy straight out of his own graduation, so he had the smallest office and no tenure. He picked his head up when the two men entered and tipped his head to the side.

"You are not students," he said, a smirk playing with the corners of his mouth.

"No," Quartermain agreed. "I'm Special Agent Clay Quartermain, of SHIELD. And this is Victor Sage, a Sentinel."

Murdock's lips twitched again. "Right. And what are a Sentinel and a SHIELD doing in my office?"

"As of right now, this is no longer your office," Quartermain said, and Vic leaned forward, his eyebrows high on his head. He licked his lips in excitement. This was SHIELD interference up close and personal, nothing like seeing it from snapshots and printed readouts.

"Whose office is it?" Murdock asked. His expression had hardly changed, and Vic thought he looked almost amused.

"Whoever they choose to replace you," Quartermain said. "You're being reassigned. SHIELD has seen the good work you do. Your talents are wasted training these children. We have a more exciting group of students for you."

Murdock raised an eyebrow, but Vic could see that he was tense as he asked, "And who, exactly, did you have in mind?"

"That's classified," Quartermain said, and Vic almost laughed in delight. It was almost too much. Too by the books. Too dramatic.

He loved it when he was right.

Murdock considered the two of them, listening hard. "And Mr. Sage?"

"I'm just here because I know too much, isn't that right, Agent Quartermain?" Vic leaned back easily with his hands in his pockets.

"Sentinel Sage has also been reassigned to the Capitol," Quartermain said, and all at once, Vic turned his way with a newfound understanding.

He had clout, this SHIELD agent.

"And suppose I like my assignment," Vic said, testing the waters, hands in his pockets, his heart hammering in his chest. He had never seen interference on a personal level. He was _part_ of the conspiracy now.

"That depends on how things go," Quartermain said. "Play nice and you can come back."

Vic laughed. "Did you bother to think through that answer, or is it rote at this point?"

"If it works, I try not to mess with the classics," Quartermain replied with a little smile.

Vic studied the man for a moment, the way he could tell Murdock was paying attention to him and the agent with him. On the one hand, there was every chance he could end up like so many of the faces on his wall at home, missing and forgotten.

On the other… he could see the belly of the beast, the heart of SHIELD.

He grinned at Quartermain as he leaned forward. "When do we leave?"

* * *

 **Presidential Palace**

 **Nick Fury**

* * *

It was never a good idea to arrive to meet the president as distracted as he was, but Nick Fury had far more important things to distract him than placating the insane president.

His army of former tributes, for example. His victors for another. And his team…

He trusted that Amanda would get the job done with her own team, but full control was only effective to an extent. His secret team was one that allowed for the kind of imaginative and innovative approach that her team could never reach.

Not to mention it was one he thought he could trust.

Well. Half of them. North and Wraith had worked with him long enough… and spoke highly of their third member's rapid progress. The fourth he _knew_ he couldn't trust but, well, Amanda hadn't learned Machiavellian strategy out of nowhere.

His thoughts turned from his teams to the task at hand when the Other emerged from the room adjacent to the president's office and nodded his direction. "He will see you now."

Fury swept past the man, who seemed to exist in a state approaching a bow at all times ― likely why Thanos kept him around ― and into the office draped in purples to come to a stop just feet from the ornately decorated throne.

He waited until the president addressed him, though Thanos seemed to be in a contemplative mood and took some time before he even looked Fury's way.

"This time between the Games lends itself only to melancholy," Thanos said, and Fury nodded, not about to contradict him. "These dismal winter months… death now is only slow and cold." He frowned and turned at last to face Fury. "And it is even worse when the last Games were not as bloodthirsty as I was promised."

"Every indication we had was that our tributes would be fighters. No one expected how deeply some of their ties to each other would run."

"I despise having to find new Head Gamemakers, Fury," Thanos said with a glint to his gaze that Fury had seen before the man ordered his most tortuous executions.

"That's exactly why we intend to try something different this year," Fury said calmly. "We're coming up on the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Games. A quarter century. My men are already calling it a Quarter Quell."

The only indication that Fury had Thanos' attention was the fact that the president leaned forward, hands clasped.

"We would change the rules of these Games, make the statement stronger, remind the districts just _who_ is in charge," Fury continued.

Thanos nodded. "Show them the price…" he said, trailing off into something unintelligible.

"Of course, with the change, it would be best if you announced yourself―"

"Yes, yes," Thanos said almost irritably as he waved his hand at Fury. "As you said, we must remind them who they answer to…" He muttered something again and then sat back with what passed for a smile on his face. "It will be arranged."

When Thanos said nothing further but instead rested his chin on his folded hands, Fury made a slight bow. "It will be taken care of," he agreed, and when once more he was met with silence, he took his leave.

Thanos was growing more unstable by the day. But this Quarter Quell, this new, shining, ultimate distraction was exactly what he needed to keep the president's gaze anywhere but on his preparations. He had even gained a few new Gamemakers like Edward Nygma, extra hands to manage the load of both the distraction and the work of the revolution itself.

There _would_ be a revolution, make no mistake. And if the Games were good this year, if they kept the president's attention… Thanos would never see it coming.

* * *

 **Summary of "In the End You Always Kneel"**

 **We'll freely admit that the summary is a little biased, as we mostly wrote it in order to give the information you would need to know in order to follow Logan (Wolverine) and his story, since Logan was the victor of the 24th Avenger Games and therefore will have POV chapters to show what the mentors/victors are up to after they win their Games.**

 _This story was written in a 24 authors, 24 tributes style, with ultimately Logan (Wolverine) coming out as the winner. Logan was the tribute from District 7, with stylist Jubilation Lee and mentor as Victor Creed (yeah, you can imagine how well that went) and escort Moira McTaggert. Groot is the other mentor from District 7._

 _In the course of Logan's Games, he started out at the bloodbath being attacked by Natasha Romanoff (District 2, mentor Bobbi Morse), who had identified him as a threat and wanted to take him out early. He beat her after taking just a glancing knife wound to the ribs, though after she was unconscious, he left her behind, especially after her district partner, Clint Barton (District 2, mentor Tony Masters) spotted him and raised his bow at him, so... skedaddle, Logan._

 _Then, Logan killed Raven Darkholme (District 10, mentor Charles Xavier) with claws he had fashioned from rebar in the ruins of NYC, which made up the arena. She had imitated Kurt Wagner's (District 9, mentor Erik Lensherr, stylist Warren Worthington) voice in an attempt to get closer to him, but he stabbed her instead._

 _In the meantime, Kurt had managed to find a sword during the bloodbath and wondered around until he met up with Kate Bishop (District 12, mentor Black Bolt, stylist Noh-Varr). During the bloodbath, Kate had tried to get to the bow that Clint currently wields but was attacked by Sinthea Schmidtt (District 6, mentor Johann Schmidtt, stylist Allison Blaire) and saved by Clint, who shot an arrow through Sinthea's shoulder after killing Anna Marie Adler (District 8, mentor Jessica Drew). Kurt gave Kate a knife he had salvaged from the bloodbath so she could defend herself._

 _Kate and Kurt then found Logan and allied with him, patching up his wounds as Kate dubbed the alliance "Team Awesome." The three of them fought giant spiders together and saved Peter Parker (District 8, mentor Norman Osborn, stylist and crew Honey Lemon and Big Hero 6 crew) from being eaten by said spider-mutts, thus completing Team Awesome. Throughout the early Games, Kate and Kurt grew steadily closer, and it was clear that under any other circumstances, this would be a blossoming romance._

 _The alliance didn't last for long, though, as the group spotted Cletus Kasady (District 10, mentor Hank McCoy) in a storm, and Logan went after him, with Kate close behind. They were separated in the storm, with Kurt and Peter; Kate; and Logan all going separate ways in the confusion. Logan met up with a large group consisting of Tony Stark (District 3, mentor Obadiah Stane), Steve Rogers (District 5, mentor Peter Quill), Bruce Banner (District 6, mentor Johann Schmidtt, stylist Jarella Kai), and Brunhilde (District 4, mentor Otto Octavius, niece to Odin, the first victor of the Games). The little group took down Ultron, a mutt created by the Gamemakers (with Fury as head Gamemaker and the cast of Agents of SHIELD involved in the behind-the-scenes such as mutt creation and tribute selection; it's definitely not random), before Brunhilde left the group._

 _Bruce had been traveling on his own until then, while Steve had been looking for Ororo Munroe, who he had allied with. Steve, along with his district partner, Carol Danvers, had been allied with her before meeting up with the Career Pack. Carol was killed buying the others time to get away. Later, Ororo had run away from him, determined to get revenge for his district partner, T'Challa's, death at the hands of Thor. She met up with Thor in a thunderstorm and electrocuted him._

 _The next morning, Kate reunited with Clint. Clint and Brunhilde had been on their own (separately) after the dissolution of the Career Pack, which is described below. Natasha had betrayed the Career Pack and burned their supplies after falling apart following her loss to Logan, since the Red Room, where she had trained to become a Games volunteer, had not prepared her for failure. While the rest of the Career pack was being betrayed by Loki and split up, Clint went after Natasha to try and talk sense into her before a rockslide hit that fatally injured Natasha. He declared his love for her before killing her and was still shaken up about it when Kate found him. The two Hawkeyes allied and tried to cheer each other up with bird puns while they looked for Kate's 'boys" (her alliance). However, they met up with a group of ape-like mutts who killed Clint, though Clint was able to get Kate to safety first, and Kate heard his death from the other side of a door, which left her badly shaken._

 _Careers:_

 _District One: Wade Wilson (stylist Shiklah and mentor Reed Richards) and Elektra Natchios (mentor Johnny Storm)_

 _District Two: Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff_

 _District Four: Thor Odinson (mentor Odin) and Brunhilde, with Loki (Thor's adopted brother, Reaped from his birthplace in District 12)_

 _Meanwhile, Logan's new group, after fighting Ultron, worked together to rescue Tony, who had taken shrapnel to the chest in the attack. Bruce is able to cobble together a crude version of the arc reactor. Shortly after this, Steve finds a gruesome sight: Cletus has killed Ororo Munroe (District 11, mentor Sam Wilson), with whom Steve had once allied in a pact with District Eleven to protect the smallest tribute, and left one of her eyes for Steve to find. Steve takes Logan to hunt down Cletus, leaving Tony and Bruce behind while Tony is still recovering. On the way, they reunite with Kurt and Peter and then kill Cletus, with Peter striking the final blow. Shortly afterward, the four boys are attacked by tracker jackers, and while hallucinating vividly, Logan stabs and kills Kurt._

 _Now, each of the remaining tributes received video messages from the Capitol designed to break them down or make them fight. Some of them were outright lies, but three in particular had lasting consequences for the Games._

 _Bruce Banner received video of Tony's earlier time in the Games, in which he had briefly allied with Sin. Sin had allied herself with Pepper Potts (District 3, mentor James Rhodes) in the Capitol and had agreed to work with her. Since Tony was also Pepper's ally, the two worked together, though Tony didn't realize Pepper had conspired to send him to the Games in order to get revenge on him for causing the accident that killed his parents. While he and Sin were there, he helped Sin with the arrow to her shoulder and killed Wanda Maximoff (District 9, mentor Drax the Desroyer) when she surprised them in their hideout in the sewers. (Sin was later killed by Ultron prior to Steve's group meeting the robot mutt.) The video Bruce was sent was edited to make it look like Tony was torturing Sin, and as her shirt was off for the arrow wound, it was also edited to imply much worse. Bruce attacked Tony and left in a rage, stumbling into a radiated area and getting radiation poisoning in the process. He later met and attacked Loki in a fit of rage but leaves the boy alive, just for Elektra to kill him._

 _Logan's video contained a message from Victor Creed in which he admitted to having tortured and raped Silver Fox, who was both Logan's girlfriend and the tribute for Seven from the previous year. He then threatened to do the same to Kate, knowing that Logan wouldn't have it in him to kill her otherwise. From this point on, Logan started to kill more readily, determined to be the one to win so the victor wouldn't have to deal with Creed, especially if it was Kate._

 _Kate, meanwhile, had received video footage of Kurt's death, but the tracker jackers were edited out so that it looked like Logan had turned on his friend and ally. Kate swore revenge and went on the warpath, killing Elektra when the girl stumbled into a trap she'd set for Logan._

 _Peter Parker met up with Tony and Steve, where they ran into a mutt version of Cletus, which killed Peter as he tried to protect his new allies._

 _Hurtling toward the final conflict, Logan killed Tony, who had built himself some makeshift armor, and then Bruce, who had a sort of mental break before the end. Steve had his first kill when he reluctant beat a determined and desperate Kate to death, leaving her screaming for Logan at the end. When Logan saw her bloody handprints on Steve's shield, he killed him for it, thus becoming the victor of the Avenger Games._


	2. Chapter 1: Like a Phoenix

**(A/N): And we're back with our Friday update! We promise we'll get you to the Games and the Reapings and a whole new cast of characters very soon, but as this is a sequel, we don't want to forget our Marvel babies either. I mean, there was, like, a whole year between one Games and the next. Surely they were doing *something*, right?**

 **Well, here to tell us all about what they were up to, please welcome back the lovely and talented Silmarilz1701, who was so wonderful to take on this chapter for us and give us our first peek into... well... I won't spoil it for you ;)**

 **Thank you to our amazing authors who reviewed as well as to Bookcrazysongbird for their review. We're glad to see you back! And don't worry; with a blend of both DC and Marvel, not all of our authors are familiar with both either, so we try to make sure there is a solid mix and that even if you don't know everyone, you can still love them and get engaged. Thankfully, we have GREAT writers who can pull that off. We have some serious talent here.**

 **So, without any further ado...**

* * *

 **Chapter One - Like a Phoenix**

 **Task Force X**

 **Sinthea Schmidt, formerly of District Six**

 **Written by Silmarilz1701**

* * *

" _How can you rise, if you have not burned?"  
\- Hiba Fatima Ahmad_

* * *

When Sinthea woke up, her eyes only glimpsed gray. The ceiling, not particularly far away from her, was the sort of cloud-gray that you see before a fierce thunderstorm. She missed the thunderstorms of 'up there.' Sure, she went on missions and the likes, all aboveground in the world, but it wasn't like _living_ there.

"Not that Six ever did much for me," she reminded herself aloud, sitting up in her cot and running her fingers through her red hair.

No, Six had very little. It had gangs, violence, death. But it also had bright grass, coursing winds, and it had _him_. Six had Crossbones, her best friend… or was he more than that?

Sinthea looked at the blinking automatic clock on her bedside table. **5:00**. She had an hour to get breakfast and meet up with her teammates for training. Immediately, she stood from her less-than-comfy bed. The small red rug beneath her feet made it a little easier than if she'd had to step on the cold tile floor of the rest of the room.

Sin went through her morning ritual, as she did every other day upon waking. Pull off the shirt. Change the undergarments. Pull on the new tank top. Slip into the training suit.

When this was done, she looked in the mirror of the small bathroom adjacent to her room. In it, she saw her reflection, as she did every morning. What she saw reminded her of her purpose. And she repeated the mantra that had driven her for so long, even before… _it._

"You will win."

She wasn't an idiot; she had no delusions of grandeur, of having won the Games. But she was _going_ to win the war. Her cheeks flushed slightly at the thought of being able to drive a dagger into Thanos' fat face. But in her heart, she knew her team wouldn't get the kill order for _that_ man. It would be Fury, of course. He was the man in charge.

Her lips curled up into a smirk at the thought. Fury was weak, just like Thanos. He thought he knew who was in charge, even assigned the infamous Amanda Waller to control their Task Force X, but they were both sorely mistaken.

Sure, Fury had apparently been the one to order her reanimation. She owed him for that. But like most men, he was weak on the inside. He couldn't see past his own nose.

Marvel didn't need to be free; Marvel needed to be controlled. And Thanos, the aging relic that he was, could no longer provide that. SHIELD's ideals were fanciful, foolish endeavors. A free world was a corrupt world. It was a _weak_ world.

HYDRA had better plans for it.

A blaring noise ripped Sinthea from the mirror's gaze. Her alarm clock sounded. **5:30**. Time for breakfast, and then off to see her co-conspirators.

Sin pressed the release for her quarters' door, and it slid open cooperatively. The base was already crawling with operatives, ants going from one worksite to another. Most of them were on the other side of the base, of course, past the layers and layers of security, walking aboveground and freely. Very few people knew about the reanimated tributes living just below the base, and Fury and Waller kept it strictly that way. But even the few that were allowed on this side of operations never rested.

Sin found some solace in the reliability of the days here; every day was busy, and every day was too short.

Sinthea made her way through the corridors, head and eyes up. She was the daughter of the Red Skull, victor of the Games and a force to be reckoned with. She was a zombie, a woman back from the dead. She was to be feared.

She found herself in a small room where the former tributes could find food. Sinthea assumed there was a larger cafeteria for the alive members of SHIELD, and therefore Hydra, though none of the tributes were allowed up there. From what she gleaned of the other side, SHIELD had no clue of the monstrous parasite growing inside it, the evolution that was taking place from weakness to strength.

"How are you doing this morning, Miss Schmidt?" A cheerful male voice ripped her from her thoughts when she entered the small room. "I see you remembered your lanyard today!"

She nodded. "It's red. I like it."

The larger man nodded with a smile. "I figured you would."

He handed her the tray of food for the morning. She didn't like Eric Koenig. In her mind, he was a bumbling fool. He was always going on about lanyards and protocols. She understood the need for such precautions, but he was SHIELD. Therefore, he was a nuisance. Yet despite this, he was one of the few people she had known from the beginning. Or at least, from that second beginning one gets after being brought back to life. So she put up with him.

* * *

" _Welcome back, Sinthea Schmidt."_

 _Horrible images flashed through her mind: blood, robotic laughter, water everywhere. She tried to shield her face from the brilliant white light that saturated her view, but she found herself restrained. She tried to move her head, but her neck was being held down too. Then she understood; her legs were stuck, her arms were stuck,_ she _was stuck._

 _So she screamed. She didn't scream in fear, or in surprise. She let out a banshee's cry in anger. How dare they restrain her? She had to win the Games!_

" _You bastards!" She continued to thrash, fury lacing her words like arsenic. "Let me out, you sons of bitches!"_

 _The spotlight went out, and she opened her eyes again. Smaller, more manageable lights came on and illuminated the room. What she noticed first was the high ceiling. Above and in front of her was a window. The glass must've been tinted, but she saw shadows behind it that were undoubtedly the people in charge._

 _She snarled. "Hey idiots! Let me out! I've got a fight to win."_

" _If you could just relax, Miss Schmidt, this will go smoothly," came the first voice again._

 _She tried to see who was talking to her. Out of a shadowy corner stepped a man with fat around his edges. He wore a dark suit and a silly blue lanyard around his neck. A sparkle was in his eyes._

" _Who are you?" Sinthea demanded the answer fiercely._

" _Agent Eric Koenig, of SHIELD." He lifted the triangle lanyard to show her, as if it meant something. "SHIELD brought you back."_

" _Back?" She narrowed her eyes and spoke with disdain. "I don't remember being here before."_

" _No." Koenig chuckled. "Back, as in to life."_

 _She stared at him, forgetting all about the restraints. "To life? As in… I was dead."_

" _We like to say you were only mostly dead all day." Koenig chuckled to himself at his reference. Then, he grew strangely serious. "But yes, you were very much dead. And remember, you could be again if you don't follow our protocols. We can always just…bring you back."_

 _Sinthea's heart was pounding. Dead? How was that even possible? But soon enough, the memories flooded back. The sewer system. She had almost drowned, her knee so badly damaged and her shoulder wound bleeding. But she had pushed, clawed her way out._

 _Then that_ thing _had torn her throat out._

" _So. I was…dead." She tried the word again. "Why am I back?" She didn't miss the glance Koenig threw at the tinted glass._

So he's not the man in charge _, she realized._ Good. He's too fat to be useful for much.

 _Koenig looked at her again. "SHIELD is building an army, Sinthea. An army to overthrow Thanos."_

 _Sin stared at him mutely. Overthrow the president of Marvel? Slowly, a grin formed on her face, and she let out a harsh laugh that cut through the thin air._

" _You want to kill Thanos?" She continued to laugh, even if it was tough under the restraints. "Where do I sign up?!"_

 _A woman's voice ominously filled the room. "You just did."_

* * *

Sinthea glanced up again at Koenig, who was on the phone with someone in the corner of the room. She continued to eat ravenously and wasn't surprised when Koenig nodded to her, said "Duty calls!" and left the room, lanyard flopping around.

When she had finished, Sin stashed her tray and plate in a corner for the custodians to pick up later. She had places to be, people to see and beat up. It was her favorite part of the day.

At six o'clock sharp, Sinthea arrived in the large training room for the former tributes. Across from her sat a girl on the mat-covered floors. She was stretching her legs.

"You're late," the girl murmured, reaching to her left leg.

Sin rolled her eyes. "I am not, Natasha, and you know that."

"Early is on time, and on time is late. You haven't stretched yet." Natasha Romanoff gestured with a hand to the other red head. "You need to stretch."

Sinthea admitted she was right. "Give me five."

"Three."

"I said five, Nat." Sinthea stared the girl down, unafraid.

"Never call me that." Natasha shot a glare full of daggers at Sin.

Sinthea shrugged and continued stretching. She started on her arms first, making sure every taut muscle was relaxed, was warm. Then, she moved on to the legs. She wasn't tall by any stretch of the imagination, but she was strong.

However much she and Natasha pretended to be at each other's throats, Sin had respect for her. Natasha had accepted Hydra almost as readily as she herself, seeing it as an extension of the group that trained her for the Games. Of course, Sin was more in the know, given the…intimacy she shared with the job. Daddy Dearest was high up in the ranks, after all.

At five after six exactly, Sinthea sprang up from her stretching and nodded to Natasha. There was no other signal needed. The girl ran at her with such a fury that, had Sin not become used to it in the six months since Tahiti, she would've been dead. But she _was_ used to it, plenty used to it.

Sinthea matched her ferocity. Neither held back in the slightest. A punch to the stomach for Sin, a twinged ankle for Natasha, the blows kept coming. Sin managed to knock Natasha to the ground in the end, but barely. As she went to pull the girl up, she found herself upended.

"Damn it," she heaved, trying to catch a breath as the wind was knocked out of her.

Natasha smirked. "Are you ever _not_ going to fall for that?"

"Someday," she chuckled, struggling to her feet on her own. "Any idea where Kate is? She was supposed to join us."

"Probably on her way. She was a little roughed up after our last training session." Natasha shrugged, grabbing a drink of water. "But she seemed to enjoy it. I'm more puzzled over T'Challa. Whitehall always brings him in here on time."

"Who knows where that boy is." Sin rolled her eyes. "He's too uncommitted for my liking."

At that moment, the door opened, and in came Kate and her handler, Kilgrave. As always, Kilgrave led the young girl by the shoulder, an ever-present hand on her skin.

He leaned in and whispered in her ear. "Smile, Katherine. It's time to train."

She gave a small smile and nodded. "Sorry I'm late. But I'm ready to train harder than ever."

"Good. Stretch." Natasha gestured for her to get to work with a nod of her head.

Kilgrave ran a finger down Kate's cheek. "Be a good girl while I'm gone, yeah?"

"Always." Kate nodded fiercely.

As he stepped back, he looked at Sinthea pointedly. She shivered. Kilgrave was despicable. He had a way of conditioning his tribute, a way she wasn't entirely in favor of. Or in favor of it _at all._

Sin knew brainwashing was a part of this, a way to ensure the unruly tributes would cooperate. Hydra needed cooperation. They were thousands of parts working seamlessly together for the greater good, for a stronger world. It was beautiful, really.

But Kilgrave was a man who knew no boundaries. Sinthea seethed as she thought about the way he touched Kate. She may have been the enemy in the Games, but here she was an ally in the fight against Thanos and for a better world.

"Come on, Kate." Sin spoke to the girl, but her eyes remained trained on her handler.

He left the room, and Sinthea watched his retreating form until the man dressed in purple was entirely gone. When she looked back at the others, it was because Natasha threw her to the ground.

"Get your head out of the clouds, Sin." Natasha curled her lip into a snarl. "We're fighting a war here."

Sin smirked as Kate went to help her up. She pulled the same trick Natasha had executed on her earlier. With a jerk and a kick, Kate went flying over her head. But unlike Sin, she landed gracefully.

"You're lucky you're so small," Sin muttered as she faced Kate. "Makes it easier to stick that landing."

"Or maybe I'm just better," Kate teased.

Sin laughed. "Hardly." She threw several kicks and punches at the small girl. "I may not be very big myself, but I can handle you."

They stopped their motions as a second door opened. Sin backed away from Kate, and they watched Whitehall escort in a boy with dark skin and slightly disheveled short hair.

"T'Challa!" Kate smiled a small smile.

He didn't return it.

Whitehall looked from his tribute to Sinthea, Natasha, and Kate. "I have a feeling T'Challa will be ready to participate more fully today." He looked at his tribute again. "After all, compliance will be rewarded."

T'Challa nodded. He stepped up to the girls and shot them all a pained look. Sin saw something akin to defeat in his eyes.

She found him foolish. Why resist at all? They were going to bring about a new Marvel. They were going to remake the world! Who wouldn't want to be a part of that?

"Be aware," Whitehall began, "Agent Waller will be by soon to check on your progress. Don't disappoint her."

"What about Wade?" Natasha folded her arms and looked at the man. "Will he be here, too?"

"She'll bring him." Whitehall had a look of disgust on his face.

Sinthea understood the look. Wade was unruly, uncontrollable. That made him dangerous. Whitehall, Waller, even the one the agents called Queen Bee, they'd all tried to tame him. In the end, well, Agent Waller decided a shock collar was their best bet.

Whitehall left the room then, leaving the four tributes alone. They were never truly alone, of course; the multitude of cameras made that impossible. But it was fun to pretend sometimes.

T'Challa looked at them with his broken eyes and nodded. "Shall we?"

"Why don't you work with him, Sin?" Natasha suggested. "I have a few pointers for Kate that I picked up on from our last mission."

Sinthea nodded. She gestured for T'Challa to follow her to the other side of the room. The white walls around them made it feel bigger than the already large room actually was. The black mats made sparring much easier too, but she found them almost annoying. They removed consequences.

"How'd Whitehall get you down here?" she asked quietly.

"Now that my father is gone, what else is there to do but fight?" T'Challa shook his head. "I suppose I should be thankful that the Queen Bee let me know, but… it still hurts." He shrugged. "But I am happy to comply now."

Sinthea nearly smiled. Of course it had been her. She had a way with the boys. Of all the experimental trials on Wade, her hypnotic ways were the only ones to show any promise. Or so her contacts had told her. She hadn't seen much of Wade these days.

"Ready?" Sinthea looked him in the eye again. She released a breath. "Begin."

T'Challa was much stronger than her, and nearly as fast. But due to his reluctance to support Hydra, he was rarely allowed to train during the past six or so months. Conversely, Sin had trained, and trained hard. She devoted her entire life to honing her skills now. She was approaching Natasha's skill level.

Sinthea ducked to the left as T'Challa tried to land a blow to her chest. She grabbed his arm, leaning into the blow and dancing around him. She landed a hard hit to his back. He barely flinched. She snarled like a dog.

This time, she instigated. Sin ran hard at him, leaping up to grab him by the neck. He dodged slightly, throwing her off-balance, but she recovered quickly. With her right leg, she smacked him in the face, and he struggled backwards.

"Sloppy."

The room went silent.

Amanda Waller stood in the doorway, her face set in a frown. Her dark plum dress suit complemented her dark complexion and her perpetually serious facial features.

"Do better, T'Challa." She shook her head. "I expected more from you. Work on it."

He straightened up. "Yes ma'am."

She narrowed her eyes. "I expect to be addressed as 'Sir'."

T'Challa nodded back. Sinthea looked Waller over. Even if Waller wasn't a part of Hydra, Sin respected her. She was a hard-nosed warrior. She commanded respect from everyone around her.

A giggling came from behind her. _Wade_.

"Guess the big cat is losing his claws." The boy continued laughing. "Aren't you, T-man!"

"Keep your mouth shut," Waller snapped. She raised her hand. In it was a little machine with a single button. A red button, because if SHIELD was anything, it wasn't subtle.

"Shock a lock," Wade sing-songed. "Can't stop me!"

Waller didn't even look at him before pressing the button, instead staring at the other four tributes. Sin had to suppress a smirk as he fell to the ground in pain. Wade was insane.

"I expect to see each of you here, every morning. You are to train harder than you thought possible." Waller walked, pacing slowly. "When we're through here, I want you to be the most dangerous force we have at our disposal."

"It's our pleasure," Kate smiled. "We're happy to help."

Waller stopped and looked at her. She gave a curt nod. Suddenly, she turned to the door and gestured for someone to come in. A man, tall and dark-skinned, wearing a black and red suit walked inside.

"This is Agent Lawton, also known as Deadshot. He's going to assist in training you with various types of firearms." She turned to Natasha and Sinthea. "Since you two have mastered hand to hand, you'll start today. But everyone's going to do this, is that understood?"

"I already know how to shoot a gun," Natasha objected.

"Not like him you don't," Waller responded angrily. "You'd do well to remember, Romanoff, you aren't an expert at everything."

Sinthea smirked, hidden from Natasha's view. She might respect the other tribute, but she liked putting her in her place sometimes.

Waller snapped them back to attention as Wade started laughing at Natasha. "Now, get back to work."

She left with Wade and Deadshot, leaving the tributes to finish their morning of training. Sinthea focused on sparring with Kate, doing her best to learn the girl's style. They had been on several missions together, but Kate was usually back with her bow. Often, it was Sinthea in support of Natasha on the ground.

They began sparring with blunted knives. This was familiar. This was her territory. Kate knew much less than she, but the girl sputtered out a cocky assurance.

"I let you get me once with a dagger," Kate panted with a grin. "It won't happen again."

"I disagree," Sinthea growled.

She leapt at the smaller girl. They worked hard to avoid each other's blows, and in the end, Sinthea won out.

She held the blunt dagger to Kate's throat and whispered in her ear. "I win."

Kate flinched at how close Sin was to her cheek. Sin noticed immediately and let go, realizing it probably reminded her of Kilgrave. She pitied the girl.

"You'd kick my ass at archery," she reminded Kate.

The girl smiled. "Without a doubt."

It wasn't much longer before the handlers came to collect T'Challa and Kate. Natasha slipped out unnoticed. This left Sinthea alone, standing in the middle of the room.

Suddenly, the lights went out, leaving the red emergency ones blinking. She looked around in confusion before realizing what this meant.

"We told you your compliance would be rewarded."

"Hello Bakshi." Sinthea smirked. "Drop the act; you know I don't respond to Whitehall's work. I'm here of my own volition."

The tall man nodded, leaning against the far wall. She couldn't see his features, but she knew what man this was. Sunil Bakshi was her main contact with Hydra, as speaking with Whitehall himself was deemed too conspicuous.

He stood straighter and walked forward. He was tall, well-built and perhaps even handsome. However, the glint in his eyes was off-putting, even to Sin at times.

"Disabled the cameras, I assume?" Sinthea stalked over to him. "Risky business, being so open."

"We have a gift for you." Bakshi drew a small velvet bag from his suit pocket. "Something you might remember."

She hungrily watched as Whitehall's assistant drew out the object. Her eyes went wide, and she quickly took it. Of course she remembered it.

A red skull pin. She said but one thing:

"Hail Hydra."


	3. Chapter 2: No Quarter Given

**(A/N): We're back with our Tuesday update! We promise this is the last "set up" chapter before the Reapings. (It's just that with SHIELD, Tahiti, and mentors (oh my), there are a lot of different aspects to cover!)**

 **But this is more than just setup, and we think you'll enjoy this little treat. After all, Logan was the winner of the Games last time, and as we all know, Canucklehead Cowgirl always knocks it out of the park with him ;)**

 **We'd like to thank all of our authors who reviewed, as well as Bookcrazysongbird, Scottyboy, GeekyComicBookGuy, and our guest reviewer for their interest. As you said, bookcrazysongbird, a lot of the questions will be revealed as the story goes on, though just a few points of clarification: For our guest reviewer, no, Wade's not with Hydra. Wade is doing his own Wade thing and neither Hydra nor Waller can control him without the "shock a lock." For Scottyboy on what's wrong with Kate: Hydra. Hydra is wrong with Kate. ;) As for the large cast, well, with 24 tributes last time and 24 tributes this time, it's unavoidable, but we promise we're trying to be as streamlined and coherent as possible. Bear with us; we hope it'll be worth it in the end ;)**

 **And for those who asked how far-reaching Hydra's reach and brainwashing is, and who else is alive, well, you'll see... ;)**

* * *

 **Chapter 2 - No Quarter Given**

 **District Seven**

 **Logan Howlett, 24th Victor**

 **By Canucklehead Cowgirl**

* * *

" _But when you think you're safe is precisely when you're most vulnerable."_

 _\- Seven Samurai_

" _Life is not so important when forced to choose between life and integrity."_

 _\- Tsunetomo Yamamoto from Hagakure: The Book of the Samurai_

* * *

It was a picture-perfect late spring day in District Seven. The wildflowers were blooming, and the breeze coming in off the mountains was filled with the promise of all that summer in the forest held — wet moss and ferns permeated the ever-present scent of pine that perfumed the warm air. Everything about it was reassuring, and after spending all the time he had in the Capitol this last time that he'd been requested back, Logan was content, for now, to be _home._

It had been a rough few months since the end of Logan's victory tour. He'd surprised himself and had taken Fury's advice to heart after their enigmatic conversation in the Capitol, parts of which still made him frown when he thought of them. As a means of keeping himself out of trouble, he'd even gone back to work on returning to Seven — though that was short-lived. He had no idea that it wasn't _allowed_ for the victors to continue working, and Logan had become convinced that it was another means to try and control every aspect of their lives that they could. But considering the ongoing 'interest' the Capitol had in his _personal_ well being, he really shouldn't have been surprised.

Of course, all it really had done was give him more time to think about all that Fury had said to him over the past few months; more time to read the stacks of books that had been waiting for him in the sprawling log home. And more time to let that one unanswered question ring in his ears during the quiet times early in the morning and late at night when the rest of the district was resting peacefully.

As usual, he'd gotten up early and had worked through the better part of a pot of coffee all on his lonesome while he watched the sky slowly shift from warm pinks to a deep, cloudless sapphire.

Normally, by the time the sky had fully lightened up to show the blues, Logan would have already been working over the kickboxing bag … working up a sweat. Doing anything he could to wear himself out a little bit.

But instead, he'd taken his time that morning in the log cabin that he'd been _ordered_ to occupy — and after he'd slipped his light brown flannel shirt over his shoulders, he stepped out, not surprised in the least to find his nearest neighbour, Groot, watering his freshly planted garden. The large, aging raccoon mutt that Groot kept as a pet stretched out and leaned into his hand when Logan scratched his ear on passing him by. Groot gave him a little nod and a soft smile in greeting — the man rarely said a word, but his message always seemed to get through regardless.

On any other day, there would be a few kids from the orphanage digging weeds for the older victor and clamoring to play with the raccoon and rub his tummy, but today was different, and instead everyone was beginning to cluster in the town square.

Logan made his way toward the gathering crowd skirting around the little makeshift trading post where some of the women met up to trade what they'd made or gathered. This time of year, it was just getting busy, with baskets of morel mushrooms, fiddlehead fern tops, and half a dozen different wild berries that had the smallest kids' fingers stained purple and red.

But he'd tried to stay away from all of that — intent on keeping to the edges. He had to stop short as a pack of little kids went rocketing past him. Once the path was cleared, he found his way over to a shady spot on the porch that stood in front of the foreman's office, where he could gain some distance from the crowd while technically still being in the square.

They were all supposed to wait for a special announcement from the Capitol about the Quarter Quell. No one knew what that meant, except that it likely promised an extra dose of misery for those that would be drawn to fight for their lives in the Games.

Logan was leaning against a post, thumbs in the loops of his jeans as he watched everyone in the crowd. Most of those still of reaping age were bunched up with friends or family members, quietly speculating about what could possibly be in the announcement, while the little ones were joyfully playing tag between the groups of teenagers.

Across the way, Logan spotted some of the upper crust of the district where they always seemed to gather. There weren't many well-to-do families in Seven — and outside of the Howletts, the Waynes were almost as high up the ladder of influence, though it was plain to see that Wayne didn't like Old Man Howlett's company any more than Logan did.

For an instant, from across the crowd, Bruce Wayne seemed to meet Logan's gaze before Smitty clapped a hand on his shoulder. It drew Logan's attention back to Smitty in a heartbeat and drove out any thoughts regarding the Waynes just as quickly.

"So what do _you_ think, kid?" Smitty asked in his booming voice as he left his arm draped over Logan's shoulder. "Any guesses as to what they might pull? All kinds of rumors swirling around, and Twoyoungmen closed the betting pool ten minutes ago."

"I wouldn't know where to start," Logan answered honestly. "I'm just ready to go back to flyin' under the radar. Feel sorry for the unlucky bastards they pick this time out, though."

Smitty chuckled at that and gave Logan an affectionate little shake. "Oh, well, yeah. But I'm just glad you came back," he admitted with a warm smile. "Even if you can't work with us. It just wouldn't be the same without you around, kid."

Logan had to nod at that as he listened to Smitty dive into the most popular theories. The Games were about the last thing Logan wanted to talk about with anyone, but he'd let Smitty get away with it. After all, Smitty'd been the next best thing to a father to him after he'd been kicked out of the Howlett Estate — though it wasn't until quite recently he'd learned that very nearly wasn't the case. And as a result of one arranged conversation, he could hardly look at Bruce Wayne without thinking about all that he'd said.

Logan ran a hand through his long black hair and hopped up to sit on the railing after a couple of the cutters' kids ran by and had Smitty going after them to get them to behave. He had to smirk listening to the older man get bent out of shape. Smitty obviously couldn't help himself but to try and direct someone at all times. As Logan watched him, he saw the two dark-haired, blue-eyed Wayne children standing close to their father.

He'd only known them in passing, and if he was being honest, really just the girl — and only when they were children. They were small enough at the time, he doubted that _she_ would even remember him. The boy, on the other hand, had come to Wayne Manor later — after Logan had been disowned. He frowned at the thought, his mind going back to the last time that he'd seen Bruce Wayne in more than just a casual, passing greeting.

It had been the night after he'd been informed that he wasn't allowed to work with the cutting crew anymore. It had been a bad night for everyone involved, and Jim Gordon, the Head Sentinel, wasn't happy in the least to deliver the news with Mayor Beaubier.

* * *

 _Logan was walking in from the section that the Alpha crew had been cutting when he was hailed by a tall, skinny young man that clearly had been sent for him. "You didn't walk all the way in, did you?" the kid asked._

" _Always do," Logan replied with a shrug before he came to a stop and looked the boy up and down. "What do you need …." he paused, waiting for the tall boy to fill in the blank._

" _Scott Summers," he replied after a moment with a ghost of a smile as he extended his hand. Logan just stared at Scott's hand for a moment before he reached out to shake it with a look of obvious suspicion on his face. "I'm supposed to tell you that Mayor Beaubier needed to talk to you."_

" _You always play errand boy for him, Slim?" Logan asked as he started walking forward again._

 _The tall brunette wrinkled his brow and shook his head lightly as he started to follow. "No. I just … Mac Hudson told me to catch you before you disappeared."_

 _At that, Logan nodded his head with a little chuckle. "Then you're Mac's buddy. Good to know. Hey. Thanks for the heads up, but I think I can find my way from here. Been there often enough."_

 _Scott came to a stop and frowned after him as Logan nosed toward the mayor's office._

 _Logan had hoped it wouldn't take too long, seeing as they'd pulled him off the job site in the middle of the day._

 _But that conversation went downhill quickly as it turned out that Gordon and Beaubier had brought him in to inform him that it was 'too dangerous' for the Capitol's newest victor to continue in his chosen profession. Two men had died the week before_ — _one from a falling branch, another when a bad cut made a tree barber chair and took a man's head clean off._

 _He'd argued hotly with them about it the moment he'd gotten past how absolutely insane it was. There wasn't anything in the rules that said he couldn't_ — _he wasn't getting into fights, he went to the Capitol when requested without argument, and he'd avoided Creed. Essentially, he'd done everything they had told him to, and he just didn't understand_ why _anyone would have a problem with him being productive._

 _It didn't help his disposition one damn bit when neither of them denied that it was more like the Capitol didn't want to risk losing him_ — _all aspects of his new position considered, and all the dangers and risks of the job taken into consideration. "It's the most dangerous job in the country," Gordon had said in a sympathetic tone. "More men die cutting than doing anything else."_

 _Even as reasonably as they'd informed him, it hadn't sat well with Logan. When he stormed from Gordon's office, he went straight to the bar like he was on a mission from God and gotten himself blind, rip roarin', stumbling drunk._

 _But all it really accomplished was drawing trouble_ — _and he quickly ended up getting himself beaten half to hell and back when Creed found him that wasted. It was like the older victor was just …_ waiting _for him to slip up, and he joyfully took advantage with no hesitation._

 _It was merciless. And very one-sided. And no one was brave enough to intervene when Creed was having that much fun._

 _As Logan lay there in the alley behind the bar_ — _just taking the hits and half hoping that Creed finished the damn job already_ — _someone finally stepped in and put a stop to it. Logan was far enough out of it that he didn't know or care who it was that had picked him up and dragged him out of the snow and mud. The voices were muted to his ears, and he simply didn't care enough to focus._

 _Considering all that had happened to him since the victory tour_ — _there really wasn't much anyone could do to him at that point that hadn't already been done. And Logan really didn't_ care _anymore._

 _So naturally, he was more than a bit confused to wake up God only knows how much later, stretched out on a bed in an almost familiar lavish setting. He sat up slowly and took in his surroundings. There was a warm fire crackling in the fireplace across the room, and someone had gone through the trouble of cleaning him up, treating his injuries_ — _and even putting out clean clothes for him to wear._

 _For a moment, he thought he'd wound up in his childhood home_ — _the big house on the hill, as everyone called it. But the intricate oak woodwork around the room wasn't close to the deep black walnut or light almost metallic bird's eye maple that his father had commissioned decades before._

 _He didn't figure out where he was until the master of the house made his presence known with a greeting from where he was seated near the fireplace, and then it all came back in a rush._

 _The familiarity of it was easy to remember in context. He'd been in the house often enough when he was young_ — _though never to the family's sleeping quarters. One look at Bruce Wayne had reminded him of the life he'd lost years before. And it was one hell of a rude awakening, all things considered._

" _I shouldn't be here," Logan muttered as he reached for the clean shirt nearby and swayed, still dizzy from the fight or the liquor_ — _it was a tough call on which was more to blame. He paused as he looked at the shirt_ — _it was the one he'd been wearing, and it was obvious that it had been cleaned and dried. "What time is it?"_

" _You came in last night and slept like the dead. Don't worry_ — _Alfred knows how to get the blood out of the carpet," Wayne said from where he was seated comfortably in his large chair by the fire, taking his tea as if this was just a normal, everyday occurrence for him._

" _Hazards of dragging in messes that are best left outside," Logan countered, with one hand covering his eyes, though he certainly wasn't making any quick movements yet. "Why'd you bother anyhow? Sure as hell not your problem."_

 _Wayne frowned his way as he set down the tea cup. "I wasn't going to let you just_ stay _there," he said, sounding honestly affronted. He paused, smirked, and added, "Gordon told me what happened, and you have to admit_ — _when you're up the next day with a clean shirt and a good rest while Creed has another arrest on his record, it's at least a little justice."_

" _Justice? Is_ that _what this is?" Logan asked dryly._

" _Partly," Bruce said. "And part of it is simply that I couldn't let John's son lie out there like a common drunk."_

" _Then you're getting confused in your advancing years. Or forgetful," Logan replied. "Everyone knows John wasn't my father."_

 _Bruce raised an eyebrow his way. "Of course he was. In every sense of the word but blood_ — _and you can't tell_ me _that's more important than who raised you," he said, a flash just behind his eyes, though he hadn't moved from his seat at all._

 _But Logan just shook his head lightly. "Doesn't matter. He's gone. And I'm not a Howlett anyhow."_

" _Your grandfather is a crazy, lonely,_ mean _old man. Don't let him speak for us crazy, lonely, normal old men," Bruce said, leaning forward in his chair with his hands clasped under his chin. "I'm just sorry I let him convince you that you weren't welcome here, James."_

" _That ... is_ not _my name anymore." Logan looked more than a little frustrated as he pulled the shirt over his head and quickly finished getting dressed. "Thanks for the hand. But it's probably best if I go back outside, where I belong."_

" _You're welcome to stay as long as you like," Bruce said as he watched Logan rushing to leave. "Alfred already started dinner for four if you're up to it."_

" _What, and start a rivalry up fresh with the crazy old guys on opposite ends of the road?" Logan let out a breath of a laugh as he shook his head. "Don't need to be blamed for anything else around here and he's already ticked off that I won't talk to him. You don't need that on you too."_

 _Bruce's eyes flashed. "I've stopped caring what Howlett thinks, and so should you," he said. "Now you can stay or you can leave_ — _it's entirely up to you_ — _but I_ will _come find you if I hear about something like this from Gordon again, and so help me, I will shove adoption papers down that old man's throat_ — _I don't care how old you are. He can talk about mending fences all he wants, but he's still the same old crank."_

 _Logan stopped and gave Bruce a raised eyebrow look, his boots forgotten for a moment, though his clothes and general appearance were certainly wildly out of place in Wayne manor. "I don't think I'm Wayne material. Outside of the black hair and blue eyes anyhow. And I'm definitely too old."_

" _And so changed," Bruce said, the anger gone as he leaned back in his chair to compose himself. "Believe me Ja-_ Logan _," he added, though he tripped over the name with a frown. "You'd have been more than welcome here. You_ are. _I should have just come to_ get _you when I heard what happened with your parents, but that's what I get for trying to do things legal and proper…" He trailed off and shook his head to himself._

 _Logan scrunched up his nose, confused on where Wayne was headed with that but finally had to ask when he just … Bruce couldn't be saying what he_ thought _he was saying. "What the hell are you talking about?"_

 _Bruce let out a long and weary sigh. "You'd have been a Wayne if I had my way_ — _but the old man blocked me at every turn when I petitioned the district for you," he admitted quietly. "So you'll have to forgive me_ — _but I can't just stand by again."_

 _For a moment, it was clear that Logan simply wasn't expecting to hear anything like that. "Don't do that," Logan said, one hand outstretched with his fingers spread, shaking his head and frowning deeply again. "It's done and over. Ancient history. That_ — _it never would have happened._ Never _would have worked out. I managed on my_ own _well enough. Besides … you've had plenty on your plate with yours to deal with."_

 _Wayne smirked. "You have no idea," he agreed._

" _Last night ... was just," Logan closed his eyes for a moment, searching for the now elusive quiet that used to come so easily to him before he continued, feeling like he owed Wayne at least an explanation in exchange for the trouble he'd gone to. But when he spoke at last, it was in very hushed tones. "It was just another way for the Capitol to keep me from … living. I lost my temper ... it probably won't happen again."_

" _Probably," Bruce repeated, one eyebrow raised._

" _Hey. I'm not makin' promises I can't keep," Logan pointed out with a bit of irritation to his voice._

" _Right." Bruce stood from his chair and let out a long, tired sigh. He wasn't anywhere near as old as Old Man Howlett on the hill, but he was getting on, and it showed, particularly in the flecks of silver at his temples. "You know where the dining room is if you want to join us. If not… I'm sure I'll see you around."_

" _I don't, actually," Logan softly admitted. "Know my way that is. Not from here. The layout feels different than my … ah … the Howlett place." He started toward the door and paused. "I think I can find my way out all the same."_

" _Try not to get lost. It would be a shame if you were stuck here," Bruce said with a little smirk._

 _Logan nodded, a little too lost in his own thoughts to catch Bruce's little tease, but he did stop to turn and walk backward so he could face Bruce. "Thanks for the reminder. You're a_ lot _older than I can remember my dad ever being. But ... he had a tendency to take pity on strays and lost causes too."_

" _I'm not that old," Bruce said, though his attempt at a grumble was betrayed by the honest smile that he couldn't hide after hearing the subtle compliment._

 _Logan just nodded, wondering to himself if he could remember the last time he'd seen a smile on the man's face before he dropped his gaze and silently made his way out of Wayne Manor._

* * *

"Hey, you okay?" Mac asked with a little shove as he passed Logan by. He was in full armor and was heading toward a group of kids "You got smoke coming out of your ears."

"You're a laugh riot, Hudson," Logan replied easily as Mac gave him a little smile.

"We're about to start — so don't fall asleep, okay? Gordon's watching you," Mac warned.

Logan nodded, then straightened up to lean on his post again. "Yeah, I heard. Thanks, Mac." The Sentinel took a couple quick steps toward a little gathered group of kids who all squealed as if they were terrified but then broke down in giggles when they saw _which_ Sentinel was teasing them.

As Mac gently directed the kids to where they were supposed to go, Old Man Howlett's voice cut over the crowd, and Logan had to turn around almost entirely to watch as he and Wayne had a little disagreement. It looked like it was something worth listening to as the old man's tone got more harsh — something that Logan hadn't heard in years, but was still intimately familiar with. The intonation was the same one that he'd used when he was insisting that someone get beaten for some minor offense — and there was Wayne, pushing him further like only Logan's father had ever gotten away with.

Logan crossed his arms, interested in watching, but before he could get much into the show between the old rich guys that ran the district, Smitty returned with a chuckle and another heavy clap on Logan's shoulder as he started to tell him about the kids that tried to get Mac to play.

All at once, the crowd fell quiet as the Marvel anthem's familiar strain began to fill the square, and the screens shifted from the flag that had been waving on a blue sky background to a view of the palace. It was rare for President Thanos to speak like this, but even seeing his purple-dyed visage, it was clear that no one in the crowd was comfortable; as if the monster himself could see right back through the screen to watch them.

When Thanos spoke, his voice was low, and his words metered at an almost too-slow pace, clearly relishing every word.

" **Citizens of Marvel, this is your president** ," Thanos said calmly in a deep, resonating timbre.

" **Twenty-five years ago, to the day, a war that threatened to tear this nation apart finally met its end, as all uprisings must. The nation divided became one, but those would-be rebels needed a reminder, a standing testament to the futility of fighting the power of the Capitol. The Avenger Games were created to remind them that even the strongest among them could not stand against us and that to attempt to do so meant courting death.**

" **It is a twenty-five-year-old lesson, the roots of which many of you do not remember or were not alive to be part of. There is a new generation rising to take our future, and they too must learn anew the lessons of the Games.**

" **For this reason, the twenty-fifth Games will be known as the first Quarter Quell, a special occasion marked by specific changes to the usual Games format."**

The entire district seemed to be holding its collective breath. The air felt electric as they watched Thanos continue. Whatever he had chosen to decree — it was clear that they were already nervous about it.

" **The original intent of the Games was to teach even the strongest of rebels the futility of their struggle, and now, we teach the strongest among you that same lesson anew. To make the Reaping more fair, no volunteers will be permitted to step forward. Instead, the choice will be up to your victors, your strongest fighters, your** _ **heroes."**_ He sneered at the word before he continued. " _ **They**_ **will be the ones to select from your sons and daughters the two tributes from each district who will participate in the Games.**

" **So that they cannot shirk the consequences of their choice, every victor will participate in mentoring the tributes. Those districts with fewer victors must consider how their own weakness has led them to their position. Your benevolent leaders within the Capitol** — _**not your victors**_ — **remain your only source of mercy.**

" **Look to your strongest, Marvel. Even they fall to the power of the Capitol. Your heroes, your victors, cannot save you. And as always, only one will emerge from the Games.** "

Thanos drew in a deep breath and seemed to relish every last syllable dripping from his lips as his eyes glittered maliciously. " **Until that hour of reckoning, may the odds be ever in your favor**."

When the transmission flickered off, a sort of rush swept through the crowd as all of the district's citizens were already searching to see their victors — fear etched on their faces, already worried that they'd find themselves or their children offered up in sacrifice for some petty offense.

"So much for stayin' under the radar," Smitty muttered quietly over Logan's shoulder as he realized the kids closest to him were just staring at him wide-eyed in fear.

"This was not part of the deal," Logan said between his teeth, his pulse ticking faster as the murmurs grew louder. But that didn't last either, as just a few seconds after the transmission ended, Victor Creed, on the far side of the square, started to laugh loudly. The square fell silent again, though the kids gathered were doing their best _not_ to look at Creed, seeking out the other victors instead.

Almost all those of Reaping age in the crowd looked unsettled — seeing as this wasn't at all the norm and it meant the rules had completely changed out from underneath them. There was a particularly skittish group near the back by some of the younger kids that Mac had been teasing. The older kids from the orphanage, the ones that were or would be Reaping age by the time the Reaping actually happened, seemed to be particularly nervous about the announcement.

They had reason to be. It wasn't like the people that ran the place would stick up for any of them if they got in trouble. No family to miss them either … the whole situation just rang with all the reasons those kids had been told they weren't wanted. Logan knew firsthand after all how cruel some of the residents of Seven could be to their unwanted and discarded youth.

Slim was there with them — tall and lanky and all of fifteen years old trying to do the job that a parent should have been there for. Slim- _Scott_ was doing his best to keep them more or less quiet while the crowd still hadn't dispersed, not wanting to draw any attention to them, but when one of the eleven-year-old girls muttered something about being "disposable," Scott snapped at her. "That's _not_ the case," he said. "I'm not about to let that happen."

Logan had to stare at the exchange — impressed with Scott's reaction. But as the girl questioned Scott on how he was going to do anything about it, they tall, slim brunette stiffened up and locked his jaw when it was clear that he didn't have an answer on _how_ he was going to do it. Instead, Scott simply went back to trying to get the kids back where they were supposed to be without drawing attention to how frightened some of them were, considering the mood Creed was in.

The young man glanced over at Logan and looked a bit tenser when he realized that the newest victor had been watching the discussion with the orphans as he shepherded them out.

"I can't do this," Logan said, only loud enough for Smitty to hear, his gaze locked onto the group of orphans leaving. "I can't pick a kid to die." Out of the corner of his eye, as he turned toward Smitty, he saw Bruce Wayne straighten up and focus on him.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Smitty directed, one hand on Logan's shoulder as he looked out at the crowd and the two of them headed off. "We can talk about it where it's quiet."

* * *

It hadn't taken long before Logan had gotten fed up with the looks and wariness from the residents of the district. If he didn't already feel completely isolated — well. The little twist that Thanos announced was enough to complete the job.

Paranoia was running rampant in the district, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to ease anyone's mind or get the odd behavior to stop — so he did the only thing that made any sense to him at all as he got to his feet and started grabbing a few clothes.

He had just finished packing a duffel bag with every intention to go into the woods until it was absolutely necessary to return for the Reaping. He picked up the bag and drew in a deep breath. He had at least two … not quite three weeks that he could be alone. Clear his head. _Hunt_. Fish. Avoid people. But on his way out of his room, he had to stop entirely when he realized he had a visitor in the living room — thumbing through one of the books on Bushido that Logan had brought back to Seven with him to pass the time.

"Interesting reading material," Bruce said as he gently closed the book and set it back down on the coffee table next to the books on martial arts and history that Fury had sent home with him with instructions to read through them.

"Yeah, well, I can't do much else." Logan paused and watched as Wayne seemed to take in the room around him before he started down the stairs again. "Awful long way from Wayne Manor to be slummin' it with celebrated murderers," Logan stated as he reached the bottom of the stairs and let the duffel bag slide off his shoulder.

"I think we need to have a little talk before you disappear again," Bruce replied, heading for a chair nearby, though he paused and fixed Logan with a look before he continued in almost a chiding tone. "You're not going out just to drink again, are you?"

"No," Logan said shortly, almost defensively. "Not that it would be anyone's business if I was." He shook the bag as if to emphasize his point when it didn't rattle with glass clunking or liquid sloshing before he set it down. "Argue if you want, but I'm pretty sure I got a solid reason to drink if I'm so inclined." He leaned against the banister and crossed his arms to watch his guest.

"Yes, running from your responsibility. I hear that one a lot," Bruce said evenly as he took a seat. "It's not a good enough reason for me. You'll have to try harder."

"Well, seein' as you have people to come back to, no. It'd be a shitty reason _for you._ "

Bruce shook his head. "That's not what I—" He let out a sigh and settled into the chair, his chin propped up for a moment in the palm of his hand as he studied the young man in front of him. "You can't simply walk away from what happened at the announcement. You can't _ignore_ it, even if God knows the rest of us want to."

Logan rubbed one hand over his eyes for a moment, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alright. I'll bite. Smitty isn't much help in this, and Groot is even less of a conversationalist than he's given credit for," Logan said before he took the handful of strides to take a seat in the chair opposite Bruce that had the wolverine pelt draped across the back of it. "I'm not running away from anything. I just don't see a strategy here that works for anyone, and I can't walk into town without being reminded — pretty clearly — that the better part of the population is afraid of me," Logan said quietly. "But as far as the pick — there's no way to tell who'd have an actual shot, and I can't send good kids in even if I thought they did." He took in a deep, cleansing breath before he continued. "Mac said to clear out the troublemakers, but even the kids that everyone _thinks_ are trouble — they got their own problems they're dealin' with. They're not _bad_ kids. There is no _right_ way to handle this."

"No, there isn't," Bruce agreed sounding pleasantly surprised at Logan's assessment. "But you still have to choose."

"I'm not going to be the one to pick a kid to die," Logan replied defiantly.

"Then you're choosing not to choose," Bruce said. "That's still a choice — and if that's the path you take, then I hope you can live with the consequences."

Logan let out a totally mirthless laugh. "At this point, does it matter what I can live with? That line keeps getting pushed, but I'm not going to be able to look some kid's family in the face after _picking_ their kid to be tortured to death or worse." He paused before he stood up again, shaking his head. "Out of curiosity. And for the sake of argument — what would _you_ do?"

"I can't say for sure," Bruce admitted. "I didn't live the Games. I don't know what that does to the decision you have ahead of you. But I think I would focus not on the children but on what _I_ could do once they were chosen."

Logan just watched him for a long moment. "That's all I could do anyhow," he pointed out.

Bruce paused and took in a deep breath. "I think I'd probably try to find someone that could work with me. That's the only chance any of them have."

Logan slowly shook his head at that. "You know that's a pretty damn selfish tactic. Picking someone I think will work with _me_. It's not about _me._ And them _knowing_ that I had picked them? It would do _nothing_ to help them trust me. God only knows that I don't have any kind of reputation of being good. I won't do that to anyone."

Logan looked very tired at the prospect of all of it, his gaze to the ground and his voice quickly losing all of his heat. "Maybe one of these days I'll tell you just exactly how screwed up that whole mess really is in the Capitol." He tipped his chin up just a bit, meeting Bruce's gaze again as Bruce narrowed his eyes and tipped his head slightly, watching Logan closer. "What you know? What they _showed_? It ain't even the half of it."

"I don't doubt it," Bruce said. "That final fight alone was clearly edited. The interview was just — nonsense." He waved his hand irritatedly before he fixed his gaze on Logan again. "Whatever happened in there, don't let your fear of it turn you from the children you're allowing _others_ to choose for you," he said softly.

But Logan shook his head at that as he held Bruce's gaze. "You don't understand _at all_. I'm not afraid of it," Logan told him. "Fact is — I'd go in their place if I could."

"Even without knowing who the others will pick?" Bruce asked with a raised eyebrow.

Logan just nodded as if he couldn't believe that was a consideration. "They're just _kids_. All of 'em. I'd take it on for 'em rather than let 'em suffer."

A smile played at Bruce's expression for a moment before it disappeared. "Then whoever they choose will have a good mentor. Seven's been needing one desperately."

At that, Logan had to smirk just a bit. "Don't be so hard on Groot."

Bruce returned the smirk for a moment. "He's a good man — but even I know you can only do so much without _telling_ children what to do, giving advice." He smirked a bit wider. "I _am_ a father."

"Nah, that's not it," Logan said, shaking his head and for the first time relaxing slightly around the 'other' big name in the district. "They'll do what they think is right regardless of what anyone says. I know I did. Whoever I get just needs someone that can pull in Capitol sponsors when they get in a tight spot."

"At least there I can help you," Bruce said with a small self-deprecating smile. "I do know a few people."

"With a little luck, some of that ' _popularity'_ they keep yappin' about around the Capitol will mean something for their benefit. Sure has hell hasn't done me a lick of good," Logan replied before he picked up his bag from the foot of the stairs and slung it over his shoulder again with a sigh, through Bruce was openly frowning at Logan's tone. "I gotta clear my head. Give the district some breathing room from lookin' at me. Maybe I'll see you before the Reaping."

"Possibly," Bruce agreed with a small nod, watching him closer once again. "Take care of yourself, Logan."

Logan waved over his shoulder with one hand without looking back as he left through the back door and slipped into the woods, leaving Bruce alone to close up whenever he was ready to leave.

* * *

When Logan did finally return from the woods — the night before the Reaping — the only one in the district to see his arrival was his neighbor, Groot, who looked positively stunned, though quite relieved, to see him emerge from the trees with a heavy beard to complete the look of a half-filthy mountain man.

Rocket picked up his head as Logan approached, and when Logan automatically reached over to scratch behind the raccoon's ear, the battered, mangy old mutt growled until he caught Logan's scent and rubbed one paw over his nose. "You don't smell too good yourself, pal," Logan muttered as Groot came closer, looking concerned for the young man.

Logan glanced up at him and ran his free hand over his beard. "Yeah. I know. I won't look this scruffy tomorrow. Don't worry."

The tall, older victor seemed to let out a breath and relax his shoulders. When Groot ran his hand down Rocket's back, the mutt climbed up his arm and perched around his shoulders. Before Logan could walk away, Groot rested a hand on his arm and gave him a significant look.

"I know. I've tried to find a way make the most of it — but I can't," Logan said. He looked up to meet Groot's gaze and nodded when Groot looked just as upset as he felt. "We'll just have to take care of whoever we get, cause I can't ..."

With that, Groot gave Logan's arm a little squeeze, and Logan let his statement die before the two of them parted ways — until the Reaping.


	4. Chapter 3: Trust Issues

**(A/N): Here we are at last! It's time to introduce this year's tributes, and we are oh so excited about this. :) This chapter features a new writer, BandGeek24601, whose Thea Queen is an absolute joy and who helped us to write her district partner so we could get you this Reaping chapter for this beautiful Friday update :)**

 **Thank you to our writers who reviewed our last chapter and to Slim Summers 2002 for his review. (Groot hasn't even said "I am Groot" yet so we'll just have to see on that count!)**

 **Without any further ado, then, here is the Reaping of District One!**

* * *

 **Chapter Three - Trust Issues**

 **Written by BandGeek24601 and our editorial team**

* * *

 **Thea Queen of District One**

 **Written by BandGeek24601**

* * *

 _"The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life." - Richard Bach_

* * *

Sweat dripped down Thea's back and face as she hit the padded post with her elbow for probably the millionth time that morning. It wasn't like Malcolm to be late. It was a month before the Reaping for the 25th annual Avenger Games, so maybe he was training one of the older kids. But in the five years she had been at the academy and the nine months of private training with Malcolm, short compared to some of the other students, he had never been late. If anyone was late, it was her.

She swiped her hand to strike one of the padded arms of the post and followed up with a kick at about the same spot. Whether Malcolm showed up or not, she needed to train. If she was going to justify her decision to leave home for the academy, she wanted to have something to show for it. Especially since, as it turned out, her trainer was also her father.

Malcolm walked in the door of the private training room, a full hour late. Thea stopped her practice and gave a half smile to her father as she walked over to her water bottle. "What took you so long?"

"I had some business to attend to," Malcolm responded, his expression one of triumph. Thea rolled her eyes. Of course he did. "I see you've been busy."

"Well if my trainer's going to be late, that's not going to stop me from starting on time," Thea said, taking a sip of the cool water she had brought with her. She set it back on the ground next to the wall and followed the wall to where the wide array of swords was mounted. Picking out one of her personal favorites, she turned to see that Malcolm had done the same. They did this every morning, though it was usually first.

"Well this business was very important," Malcolm said as he walked slowly towards his daughter. They began to circle each other with their lips spread into matching sly smiles; they both relished the challenge that the other presented them.

Thea took the first swing but was blocked by Malcolm. "What could be important enough to make you late for our daily duel?"

Malcolm tried an attack combination as he answered. "Nothing that concerns you at the moment. Just focus and remember all that I've been teaching you."

Thea blocked the attacks and succeeded in her own attack attempt. Malcolm seemed a bit distracted, even with a longsword at his throat. "It may not concern me yet, but I can tell it's concerning you. What's your problem? You're _never_ this happy in the mornings. Or this distracted."

After a moment of silent inner debate from her father, he moved the sword swiftly away from his throat with his own weapon and answered her with a proud grin. "You'll find out soon enough."

The two began another duel, as per usual. Thea dropped the topic and decided to listen to her father. She just needed to focus and remember her training, for now. Once the Games started, she could focus on watching the District One tributes and taking note of their rights and wrongs. But for now, she needed to train.

Soon, Thea had her father's blade at his throat along with her own, having beat him in combat yet again. Malcolm nodded and she backed away, handing his weapon back to him.

"Hey, Dad?" Thea asked as she walked back to her water.

"Yes, Thea?"

"I promised Ollie that I'd go to see him today. Can we end this early so I can meet up with him?"

Malcolm looked at her with the hard eyes of a trainer, not the eyes of a father. "You need to train, Thea. As I told you on the first day that you came here, there is never an excuse that will outweigh the importance of learning what I can teach you."

"Dad, I need a break. Just for today. I promise I'll be back by dinner. Ollie always seems to have something going at night, anyway. I just need a chance to see him," Thea pleaded. She loved her brother more than anything and desperately wished to see him more. But, because of her training, as well as her mother, her visits with her big brother were few and far between.

"In the Games, the other tributes will not give you a break," he answered harshly, raising his blade to her throat to emphasize his point.

Thea kept her calm. This was not the first time her father had pulled a weapon on her. "I'm only thirteen years old. I won't end up in the Games for a while. It's the eighteen-year-olds that volunteer to go in. But for now, I want to see my brother." She used her arm to move the blade out of her way quickly, causing her preoccupied trainer to drop the sword. As Malcolm looked down at the weapon, he was knocked over by a kick in the shoulder. Before he could grab the sword, Thea had it, a sly grin on her face showing her joy in catching the great Malcolm Merlyn off-guard.

Malcolm looked at his daughter, pride evident in his features as he lay on the training room floor. He pointed at her with a slight smile, his lengthy, golden, talon-like ring glistening in the fluorescent lights. According to the story he had told Thea, it was a gift from his mentor. "Just this once. But I expect you to train that much harder tomorrow."

Thea smiled wider and dropped the swords on the ground next to him. Taking her water with her, she walked towards the door as Malcolm got up from the ground with the swords. "See you at dinner."

"Thea, wait." Thea turned around to look at her father. "How did you do that? I didn't teach you that move."

Thea's smile turned mischievous as she shrugged. "It's like you've always said: a magician never reveals her secrets." She then turned and walked out the door, ready to get out of the academy for a while.

* * *

Thea walked with her brother away from the restaurant, their stomachs happily full of food. She smiled up at Oliver, happy to finally spend some time with him.

"So, how have you been since we last met? Any girls catching your eye?" Thea asked, teasingly nudging her brother's arm.

Oliver laughed a bit and shook his head. "No, no girls."

"Really? What about Laurel? I feel like you'd do well with her." Thea wanted her brother to be happy but felt like he was still trying to deal with her leaving home.

"Speedy, I can't even think about girls right now. The Reapings are in a month. I don't want to end up falling for someone and then going into the Games. This is my last year, though. Maybe next year, I'll find someone." He wrapped an arm around his little sister as she shook her head a bit with a smile

"Wow, I miss that nickname. But, you don't have to worry about being chosen. Someone from the academy goes every year."

"But volunteering isn't even allowed when the victors choose the tributes. Plus, what if you go in? I would volunteer for the Games to keep you safe, whether they allowed it or not." He squeezed her shoulders protectively. Thea knew he loved his baby sister and would hate for anything to happen to her if there was some way he could stop it.

Thea grabbed his hand and pulled his arm tighter around her shoulders, snuggling into his side. "You don't have to worry about anything happening to me. I'm only thirteen. The victors are looking for someone with more training than me, someone that will give them another victory. I've only been at the academy for five years. There are plenty of other choices for them to pick from."

Oliver kissed the top of her head, happy to have such a strong sister, and Thea smiled at the affection from her brother. "You're right. I'm allowed to worry, though. I'm your big brother. Protecting you is my job."

They walked in silence for a while, happy to simply be with each other. After a few minutes of quiet walking, the Queen siblings found themselves at the grave of their father, Robert Queen. Even after Thea found out her relationship to Malcolm Merlyn, Robert was still a father figure for her.

They spent nearly two hours at the cemetery. For a while, neither of them spoke. Eventually, Oliver broke the silence by speaking to his father. He spoke about his day: how he had gone to work with his mother, how he'd met up with Thea for lunch…

Thea was amazed by the casual tone her brother used while talking to the headstone. She could never understand how he could talk to stone as if their father could hear him. When her brother had finished his one-sided conversation, Thea gave it an uncomfortable try. This wasn't the first time that she had done this, but she obviously did not go as often as Oliver; her conversation was much shorter.

"What about you? Any guys on your radar back at the school?" Oliver asked her once they'd begun to leave the cemetery.

Thea laughed a bit and hid her face as she answered. "No. No guys for me. I have other things I need to focus on."

Oliver turned her to face him, leaning down with his hands on her shoulders, and saw the lingering smile on his sister's lips. "You're lying," he said with his own smile. "What's his name?"

After a few moments of embarrassing silence on Thea's part, she finally answered. "Roy Harper, though the other students call him Arsenal. He's a year or two older than me. He's been teaching me some archery when we are not in classes."

Oliver straightened up and smiled. "So, Speedy's got herself a boyfriend! That's great!"

Thea waved her hands, trying to stop and correct her brother before he ran too far with that idea. "He's not my boyfriend. He's just a—"

"A guy you meet up with in secret to hang out, do activities together, and occasionally kiss?" Oliver offered, interrupting the obvious lie that his sister was about to weave. "Isn't that how most of your relationships have been?"

Thea was at a loss for words, her mouth hanging open at the incredible perception skills of her brother. Thankfully for her, she was cut off by the sudden brightening of the sidewalk they were on. The two Queen children looked up as the street lamps turn on, indicating the end of their rather short visit.

"I've gotta go. I've got some business to attend to," Oliver said with a sad smile. He always loved visiting with his little sister, but he hated having to leave her. Thankfully, the business he had to deal with was for her.

"I need to go too. I told Malcolm I'd be back by dinner." She reached up to hug her brother around the neck, just as sad to see him go as he was to leave. He grabbed her around the waist and held his sister close with a firmer grip than the last time they met. He was obviously getting stronger. "I may not get to see you again until after the Reaping. This close to the Games, the trainers always have us going overtime," she said into her brother's ear, a single tear threatening to escape her eyes. When the two finally broke apart, she looked him in the eyes and gave him a small smile. "I'll see you later, though, 'kay?"

Oliver gave the same small smile back to his sister and nodded. "Be careful, Speedy."

"Always am, Ollie." She gave his hand a quick squeeze and walked away from him, back to the academy for dinner.

* * *

Today, the Fantastic Four would announce their choices for tributes to all of Marvel. Today, there was no training, no uniforms, and no early wake up calls. You could train after the Reaping was over, but there were no formal classes today. In Thea's mind, this was the best and worst day of every year.

She got out of bed at six, unable to sleep anymore. Whether she had class with the others, her solo training with Malcolm Merlyn, or no training at all, she always woke up at six. She went down to breakfast in her pajamas as always. As she mindlessly ate her food, a figure sat down next to her.

"Hey, Roy. You ready for today?" she asked the boy. He was as close to a boyfriend as she'd ever had, so she tried to hide the fact that she just didn't feel right about today.

Roy gave her a half smile. "Yeah. I think so. You?" He rubbed a hand on Thea's back with a mix of affection and reassurance.

Thea nodded and gave a half smile, happy that he was by her side.

"Well we have plenty of time before we need to get dressed up for the Reaping. So, do you want to go try some archery in the main training room? It's bound to be empty this early on Reaping Day." Something about Roy's tone told her that he could tell something was bothering her.

Thea finally turned to look at him. Taking a deep breath, with an unusual glint of fear in her eyes, she finally said aloud what she'd been thinking all morning: "I have a bad feeling about today."

Roy looked at her with a hard gaze. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he answered her with a firm tone. "Don't think about if you get chosen. Only start worrying if they say your name."

Thea gave him a slow nod and pulled herself together. Few people ever saw her broken, but she trusted Roy enough to let him be one of those people. "Speaking of which, it feels great to hear my real name for once. Everyone in class just calls me Arsenal."

Thea laughed a bit at that and brushed his hands off of her shoulders as well as the feeling from her mind. "Let's get going, _Roy_."

As she approached her room at top speed, she stopped and leaned against the wall to catch her breath and let Roy catch up. He rounded the corner and doubled over in front of Thea. "Dang! You're fast, aren't you? Your nickname should be Speedy, Thea!"

Thea smiled and straightened up. "It already is. Ollie calls me that all the time." Once Roy straightened up as well, mirroring her smile, she glanced at her door. "Well, I should go get ready. We have to be in the square in less than an hour, and Malcolm will kill me if I end up late." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and opened her door. "See you there, Arsenal," she added with a wink as she walked into her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

Taking a deep breath and looking at the clock, she went to her closet and pulled out one of her favorite dresses from before she joined the academy: a sleeveless, scarlet dress that hugged her curves all the way down to just above her knees with silver accents on the bodice and a sweetheart neckline. Being from the district of luxury definitely had its perks. She paired the dress with some sliver flats, put enough makeup on her fair-skinned face to make her emerald eyes pop, and curled her short, brown hair away from her face. By the time she was ready, she had less than twenty minutes to get to the square.

Making it in record time, she got in the check-in line and didn't even flinch when they pricked her finger. This was only her second Reaping of being eligible for the Games, but she had felt far more pain at the academy than a simple prick of the finger — especially with Malcolm as her tutor.

As she walked down the center aisle between the girls' side and the boys' side, she made eye contact with Ollie, who stood by his best friend, Tommy Merlyn. Little did they know that Tommy wasn't just a family friend. Thea and Oliver shared reassuring smiles as she kept walking towards her section.

Once she joined the rest of the thirteen year old girls, she found Malcolm in the crowd. He returned her slightly worried gaze with his own pride-filled one.

 _Why does he seem so proud of me today? We're not training, and I didn't just beat anyone up. What happened that warrants that look?_ Thea thought to herself, her earlier bad feeling returning. She looked over at the boys' side, trying to see Roy for another reassuring look, but she couldn't find him in the crowd.

She kept looking even after the ceremony started, only stopping when Wilson Fisk, the district escort for the Avenger Games, turned the mic over to Reed Richards, the designated leader of the Fantastic Four. She finally got a good look at the stage. Instead of the usual two large bowls filled with slips of paper, there were two smaller bowls with one slip apiece inside. District One always was a bit showy.

"Ladies first." Mr. Richards said, then reached into the bowl on his left. Pulling out the single slip of paper, he walked back to the microphone, and Thea began to wonder which of the students had gotten chosen. But she froze as soon as the victor read the name.

"Thea Queen."

She made sure to hide her reaction as much as possible. Her brother(s) were watching, along with her father. Even her mother was watching, wherever she was in that massive crowd. _I wonder if she's proud of me. On second thought, I wonder if she even cares._

She walked up to the stage with her head held high and a slight smile on her face, though the smile held no joy. She aimed to keep that demeanor as long as possible, especially with Malcolm around — and Ollie. If she were to show how utterly terrified she was, it wasn't Malcolm's disappointment that she would hate herself for. She'd hate herself forever if she were to break Oliver's heart like that. She needed him to think of her as strong, at least until she could no longer pretend. She found Oliver in the crowd and tried to give him a reassuring smile, but he just looked too broken for a smile to make a difference. She might not have to worry about acting strong; Ollie's heart already looked as broken as it could have ever been. The last time she had seen that expression on her brother's face was when they found out that their father had died.

She barely heard Mr. Richards announcing the male tribute over the uproar of the crowd. Almost every person there was furious that Thea had been chosen, and they made sure that the victors and the capitol knew that. After the noise died down, Mr. Richards reread the male tribute slip.

"Slade Wilson."

One of the eighteen-year-olds from the academy walked up, confident-looking, very fit, and much more mature than Thea was. She recognized him from classes at the academy, but they didn't really talk much. He _was_ five years older than her, after all. She couldn't help but think that he and Oliver may have gotten along, if they had known each other.

His reaping did not cause nearly the reaction that hers had, so the ceremony ended not long after that, the district clapping and cheering wildly. It seemed that they had quickly accepted that either Thea was tougher than she looked or that the district was about to lose the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in the district.

The two tributes were led to different rooms in City Hall so that they could see visitors before they were brought to the Capitol. Not long after the door closed behind Thea, it was reopened by Malcolm Merlyn, who was grinning ear to ear. The two walked to each other and embraced, though for two very different reasons. Merlyn was proud that his daughter was chosen, but Thea was terrified and looking for the support of her father.

"I told you you would find out soon enough," Malcolm said in her ear. At these words, Thea's mind jumped back to that one day he'd been late and the business he wouldn't tell her about. She had thought about that day often since then, and it finally started making sense. She shoved him away, fire in her eyes, as she realized what that business was.

"You told the victors to choose me!?" Thea yelled at her father. "Why would you do that!? I'm going to be _killed_ in there!"

"No you won't. You are my daughter," Merlyn responded calmly.

"Not anymore," Thea retorted in almost a growl.

This seemed to surprise Malcolm. "What?"

"I will be your student. I will be your soldier. Even if I have to, I will be your tribute. But never again will I be your daughter." She turned away from him, arms folded, and refused to look his way. Even after a moment of silent tension in the room, when Malcolm began to remind her of her training, she still would not look at the man that may have both created and signed her death warrant.

"This is what I've been training you for, Thea. You could win this. Trust your instincts. Don't be afraid to strike first. If you can hit them before they realize you're there, that's even better."

Thea was visibly uncomfortable with the thought of killing someone at all, let alone someone that didn't have a chance to fight back.

"You're young. Use that to your advantage. They won't think you are skilled enough to be worth killing, so you have the upper hand on them."

She looked at her trainer with her face conflicted. She didn't like lying either, though she knew that it would be her best chance.

"Get involved in the Career pack, but be on your guard. Don't _actually_ trust anyone, just make them think you do. Use _them_ to _your_ advantage, don't let them use you. And most of all, don't be afraid to take a life to save your own."

Thea finally interrupted his list with an almost pitiful plea. "I don't want to have to kill anyone."

"People do it every year, Thea. It's not as bad as you think. It's a commitment, but if you prepare yourself, the only damage done will be to your opponent," Malcolm said. He seemed to know how it felt to kill, but Thea was still too angry to speak to her father unless it was absolutely necessary; asking when he had killed was not necessary at that moment.

The Sentinels opened the door to lead Malcolm out of the room. He tried to give Thea one last hug, but in her mind, he didn't even deserve a parting glance.

Roy came in next. His visit was brief, though still meaningful to the both of them. "I am so glad I met you, Thea Queen. If you don't come back, I want you to know that. When I entered the academy, I had no family, no one that cared about me, no money to show either. I entered to either die in the Games or get a status boost from my unlikely win. But when you showed up, and we got closer, you gave me a better reason to fight."

Tears streamed down Thea's face at his words. She had never realized the impact she had had on his life until that moment. Roy cupped her face in his hands and wiped her tears away with his thumbs. He tried to have a reassuring smile on his face, but it appeared more pained than he intended.

"You'd better come back. But if you don't, just know I love you." After many kisses and a few tears, he was taken from her too.

As Roy left, Tommy and Laurel came in. Their visit was just as brief as Roy's was. Much fewer tears were shed, since she was not as close to them as her brother was, but they were still upset by her being chosen. Laurel left first, since she only really went so she could support Tommy, but Thea pulled Tommy aside as he went to leave. "There's something you need to know, Tommy."

"What?" he asked, oblivious to the impact that Thea's last words to him would have on his life as a Sentinel came in to remove him from the room. She held onto him with a desperate grip, trying to hold him there long enough to hear her words before he would be pulled from her.

"Malcolm Merlyn is my father. You're my _brother_ , Tommy." Before he could fully process what she had said to him, the doors of the room closed and she was left alone.

The last time those doors opened for her visitors, Oliver walked through with tears already in his eyes. Without words or hesitation, they pulled each other into what could be one of the last hugs they would be able to share. Her earlier stoic expression was shattered in that instant, and her body was wracked with sobs.

"It's going to be okay. You're going to get through this. You have to. I can't — I can't lose anyone else. I've already lost Dad. P-Please don't make me lose you too."

Thea had never seen her brother so distraught. He was usually so cocky and was never afraid to stand up to anyone or anything. But with his baby sister's life on the line, all of his strength was gone.

"Ollie. Ollie, I'm scared." Suddenly, with that one simple sentence, Oliver returned to his protective older brother position and held her tighter to him.

"Don't be, Speedy. You could still win this. You've been training with Malcolm. You have the skills. Now you just need to use them. I don't know what kind of training the academy does, but our tributes always do well. We may not win every year, but we will this year."

At the mention of training, she realized one thing she needed her brother to know in case he ended up being wrong about her making it to the end. "Ollie, speaking of training...I know."

She felt him freeze in her arms for a moment before he pulled away from her. "You… what?"

"I know what you've been doing at night. I know you've been training yourself in secret. Why would you do such a thing?" She honestly could not understand why her brother would have been training in secret, or at all for that matter.

"How did — How did you figure it out?" Oliver asked, shocked slightly.

"You think I didn't notice when you would walk with a limp? Or when you'd have a bandage wrapped around your arm? Or when you'd meet me with bruised knuckles? Or how every time we met, your hugs seemed to have more muscle behind them? I'm not stupid, Ollie. Why have you been training?"

With little hesitation, he answered. "To keep you safe," he said. "I wanted to be able to protect you in case you ended up actually going into the Games. I knew I would never be able to volunteer in your place, but I always hoped to at least protect you in the arena. But — we can't volunteer this year. Still, it should be me going in there, not you."

Thea pulled her brother back into the hug, grateful for the efforts he had made to keep her safe. After a few blissful moments of silence, moments where the Queens could pretend that they'd never be separated, one question burned at the back of Thea's mind.

"Where's Mom?"

Oliver held her closer and she felt a tear drip onto her shoulder. "She's not coming."

 _Of course she's not. I bet she's still mad I joined the academy in the first place._

"She was so distraught that she said she couldn't handle seeing you. She practically ran home after I talked to her. She couldn't stop crying long enough to say much else."

This time, it was Thea that pulled away from the embrace. "What?"

"She still loves you, Thea. No matter how mad she was at you leaving, you're still her daughter."

All too soon, the doors opened again with Sentinels to usher Oliver out.

"Wait, Ollie! How am I supposed to win this thing!? What do I do!?" Thea called after her big brother, terrified that she may never see him again. In response, he called out one word.

One word that rang in Thea's mind for rest of the time she sat in that silent room, awaiting direction.

One word she would never forget.

"Survive."

As she walked onto the train, the plush couches that awaited reminding her of her childhood home, she looked back at the view of her district as the Sentinels ushered her inside. For a moment, Thea could still see her brothers, both Oliver and Tommy, as they stood on the platform of the train station to see her off. She hated the idea of leaving them — particularly since she knew she may never see them again. Thankfully for her, the boys seemed closer and happier than they had the last time she saw them together as she lost sight of them behind the doors of the train.

 _I guess when you find out you share a sister, it brings you closer._

She sat down in a bit of a daze, only to be pulled from her thoughts by the entrance of Slade Wilson, the male tribute that had been chosen. Without saying a word, he sat across from her and grabbed a roll from the table between them. He also took the liberty of pouring himself a glass of a yellow liquid that Thea couldn't quite name.

Slade seemed to ignore her, for the most part, but looked at her with an analyzing gaze that had a strange softness to it. Every time he saw her looking at him, he would look away and scrutinize something else in the train car.

Three of the victors sat at the other end of the train car and spoke in hushed tones, but Mr. Richards had shut himself away as soon as they entered the train. Malcolm had taught Thea how to read lips, though, which made the hushed tones of the Storms and Ben a pointless effort to hide their conversation.

"Why do you think Reed is so standoffish today?" Johnny Storm asked, leaning towards his sister. Susan shrugged but didn't answer.

Ben Grimm leaned forward with his elbows on his knees as he looked at the Storm siblings. "I think he's just regretting his choice to send such a young girl into the Games. It's about _time_ he felt it." He obviously was mad at Reed.

 _Why would he be mad at Reed Richards? I thought those two were friends…_

Susan put a hand on Ben's knee and furrowed her brows. "You've got to let that go, Ben. That's not on him. Whatever _he_ told Reed when he pulled him from that room… it changed his mind, scared him into this choice, made him think it was the only option. It's not Reed's fault that Thea's here. That's on Malcolm Merlyn. Who knows what he said to Reed to make him change his mind?"

Once Thea heard that Malcolm had been the one that made them choose her, even though he had told her himself, she poured herself a glass of the same liquid that Slade was drinking and took that to her room. Her "father" had been known to lie, but the victors' conversation confirmed the truth she hadn't wanted to accept. So as her brain let that fact solidify and the train began to move, she simply collapsed onto the bed of her designated train car and hoped that the foul-smelling liquid in her glass was alcoholic.

* * *

 **Slade Wilson of District One**

 **Written by the combined forces of robbiepoo2341, Canucklehead Cowgirl, and BandGeek24601**

* * *

" _Some people don't understand the promises they're making when they make them." -John Green,_ The Fault in Our Stars

* * *

Slade started every morning the same way — with a run. Then, when he'd reached the limit and started to feel the ache in his calves, he would take the time to stretch before he headed into the mountains to meet up with Oliver Queen.

It was never his intent to find himself an apprentice of all things, but he seemed to have one anyhow — and a most unlikely one at that. _Oliver Queen._ Not a soul alive in One would ever guess that ol' 'Ollie', better known as the district playboy who had on more than one occasion gotten in trouble with the Sentinels for his lavish, blackout drunk parties, would be the type to work even half that hard on making a man out of himself instead of just remaining as another spoiled rich kid with a silver spoon.

It had surprised him even more when he found himself liking the guy. For as much flack as Slade gave him, Oliver was doing all he could for his sister, Thea. When he'd met the kid, he was scrawny, small — and determined, trying to train himself when he had realized that his sister would be turning twelve sooner than he was comfortable with.

It was there in the woods, a few years back, that Slade had found Oliver trying to train himself to fight, punching the rocky cliffside and bare vegetation and shadow boxing. With God-awful form.

* * *

" _You're going to break your hand," Slade called out, unable to stop himself when faced with someone that incredibly stupid. "Give it up and go home, kid. You got no business out here."_

" _Got just as much of a right to be here as anyone else," Oliver defended, his chin jutted out the way only a skinny rotten teenager could do.,_

" _That's where you're wrong." Slade laughed to himself at the kid's response, then decided to push him_ — _to show him that, frankly, he had no business even attempting to 'train' himself, especially not out here where Slade preferred to find a little solitude in the mornings._

 _In a flash, he rushed Oliver, and the scuffle was over before it started, with Oliver on the ground and Slade's boot to his neck, holding him in place. "If you wanted to train, you should have enrolled in one of those schools. Best way for you to pretend like you're something worthwhile. Might even get you further than battling saplings and tumbleweeds."_

" _Got kicked out," was the muffled response in the sand._

" _It helps if you don't show up smelling like a still," Slade replied. "You have no discipline. Worthless."_

 _Oliver narrowed his eyes from where he was still pressed into the ground, trying (and failing) to get out from underneath the pin. "Get off. What do you care?"_

" _You're out here acting like an idiot on my turf."_

" _Who made you king of the mountain?"_

" _Certainly not you. I've fought little_ girls _with more fire," Slade hissed low. When Oliver continued to struggle, Slade simply shook his head. "Get out before you get hurt."_

" _No."_

" _Leave on your own, or I'll put you in the hospital myself."_

 _Oliver shifted again. "Just for disturbing a pile of rocks and sand? Geez, what's the matter with you?"_

" _Just for stickin' your nose where it doesn't belong." He finally took a step back to let the young man up. "I took it easy on you."_

" _Yeah, yeah, I got that much from the 'little girl' commentary," Oliver said, shaking his head as he brushed out some of the sand in his hair._

" _You didn't really go to the academy, did you?" Slade asked, watching him with a frown._

" _Dad made me go, said it was a punishment," Oliver admitted, not looking Slade in the eye as he continued to brush himself off._

" _Well you didn't learn a damn thing. What are you doing anyway?"_

 _With most of his hair now sand-free, Oliver let out a sigh and plopped down onto the nearest rock at about knee height for sitting. "You wouldn't understand."_

 _Slade smirked at the response_ — typical. " _I think I have a better chance of understanding than you do of learning how to fight from a rock."_

 _Oliver considered him for a moment and then quietly matched his smirk. "Alright. Let's make a deal. I tell you what I'm doing out in 'your turf', and you tell me what I was doing wrong to break my hand earlier."_

 _Slade watched him with a tiny smile, sure that the kid had no idea what an easy deal that was from his side of things. "Alright. Make it good."_

 _Oliver shrugged. "I have an idiot sister," he said simply._

" _Pretty as your hair is, you can't volunteer for her."_

 _Oliver paused and gave Slade a dry look before he shook his head. "No, but I_ can _protect her," he said. "Or ... I want to. I don't know if it'll be the Games or some guy making too close a pass, but she's getting older_ — _and people are noticing, not just me."_

" _Not like this you can't," Slade replied. "Games or no. All you're going to do is make her feel sorry for how much you're bleeding."_

 _Oliver gestured around the area. "Well, this is what I've got. I was kicked out of the other schools, so here I am." He looked defensive for a moment. "I think I'm doing alright with what's available."_

 _Slade shook his head. "The only people who have ever taught themselves anything have been highly disciplined. That's not you, playboy."_

" _Yeah?" Oliver asked, one eyebrow high. "Try me."_

" _You like eating dirt then? Fine by me."_

 _The scuffle that followed was actually a bit longer than the first, though it did end almost exactly the same way. But this time, it was Oliver shouting up at Slade at the end of the fight. "You didn't tell me what I was doing wrong."_

" _I didn't agree to help you."_

" _You said if I told you what I was doing out here, that you'd tell me what I did wrong_ — _how I was going to break my hand."_

 _Slade shook his head and couldn't help but smirk as he leaned forward over Oliver's prone form. "You were hitting a rock, genius. What did you_ think _was going to happen?"_

* * *

It was Reaping Day — Slade's last — but Oliver and Slade still met up for a solid spar to start out the morning before they headed down to the square to line up with the other kids their age. No sense in letting the day pass without it; wasn't like the day was going to give their muscles a pass on losing form just because it was 'special.'

Slade didn't see what was so special about the solid heat of the middle of summer in the middle of a desert. A couple years back, at least he would have had the shot to see Shado in something new, but she'd run afoul of a nasty Sentinel two years back, so the past two Reapings there had been a distinct lack of 'spot the dragon tattoo in the crowd'. Childish, maybe, but a much better distraction than the same. old. speech.

This year, at least, it was a little different. The so-called Fantastic Four would be announcing their picks instead of going through the charade of a drawing, though Slade had the feeling for One, and possibly for the other Career districts, it wouldn't change a thing. The tributes had always been preselected at the training centers anyway. Not much in the way of the element of surprise either way.

Richards came forward first after all the fanfare was over. They really were trying to sell the "Quarter Quell" angle and how different it was, as if twenty-four deaths was any different just because the dressing had changed.

"Remember what the deal is, right?" Oliver said quietly, glancing around them.

"Kid, your sister's got about as much chance of being reaped as you do," Slade said without even turning to look his way.

"I know," Oliver said, unable to stop himself from searching out Thea in the group. "Doesn't make the wait any better though."

Slade let out a sigh and shook his head. "Look, they didn't ask me to be part of this year's final academy tryouts, so I can't tell you who's going up there to ease your mind."

"I heard they didn't do them at all," Oliver said before he met Slade's gaze. "I have other friends, you know."

"Bloodsucking social leeches don't count."

Slade smirked when Oliver fell into a silent glare, and the victor on the stage cleared his throat with the declaration of "Ladies first" that had Oliver holding his breath so obviously that an untrained person could see it.

"Take it easy, kid; you've got another six of these to get through with her."

"And it only gets worse every time," Oliver replied.

Richards unfolded the slip of paper he was holding on the stage and cleared his throat to read out the name — _Thea Queen_ — and Slade whipped around, forgetting form, to see the completely devastated look on Oliver's face.

 _Damn. Thought he was just paranoid._

The crowd around them, both adults and children alike, were already murmuring as Thea made her way to the stage. The Queen name was the most powerful one in the district, after all, and that combined with her age had half the murmurers already asking just what the Queens had done to piss off the Fantastic Four — though if the looks on Johnny and Sue Storm's faces were anything to go by, Slade had the feeling it was just Richards. The two blondes on stage were almost as much of an open book as the blonde standing next to Slade.

Slade watched Thea Queen with a critical eye as she strolled up the stairs and held her head high, even smiled for her big brother, like that was going to keep him from having a cardiac episode right there in the middle of the square, the way the blood had drained from his face.

"She's got a better handle on it than you," Slade told Oliver under his breath, and Oliver almost glared at him, but it had no power when he still looked like the rug had been pulled out from underneath him.

The problem was that the rules didn't apply this time around for the Quarter Quell. Nobody could volunteer, so there would be no last-minute salvation for Thea, and neither Oliver nor Slade could step in either, even though that _had_ been Oliver's plan.

So it was either a brilliant stroke of luck or some kind of cruel joke that the next name called was Slade's.

Slade glanced toward Oliver, who had gotten some of his color back but not anything approaching the mental capacity for words, and he took long strides toward the stage. Even if he'd never intended to use his training for the Games, it kicked in automatically — head high, never breaking eye contact with Richards, vaulting the stairs like child's play.

Closer up, he could see that the younger Queen wasn't managing the panic as well as she looked from far off, so he grinned her way, full of the arrogance that the younger kids needed that said he knew the way out — and turned toward the district to wave their way, two fingers to his forehead for a mock salute.

It had been spur of the moment, didn't mean anything, but he could see Oliver's sister keeping an eye on him and her surroundings, so he'd just keep up the show. If he was going to get her out, she needed to see that he knew what he was doing. Couldn't have her having a meltdown in the middle of all this mess on top of the fight to the death.

The two of them were led toward the Justice Building, and Slade could see in the way Thea held herself, arms in toward her center, mouth set in a thin line, that she was _mad_.

Good. Mad would keep her alive.

He didn't say much to Thea, still gauging her, and split from her without a parting word as Wilson Fisk directed him on which room he was supposed to sit in to wait for a family he didn't have. If he was being honest, the only person he'd expect to come would have been Oliver, but the kid had to be with his sister, probably a wreck more than she was and—

 _No, nevermind._ There he was, standing in the doorway with that same openly _destroyed_ expression from before.

Slade stood up from the single chair in the room and gestured to it. "You need it more than me. Look like you're gonna pass out."

"I'll make sure that both of you get sponsors," Oliver swore rather than address anything Slade had said. It was likely the kid hadn't heard Slade at all.

Slade nodded. "Not too concerned on that account," he told Oliver. "But it can't hurt."

"You keep saying I can't throw money at everything, but this is one time you're wrong," Oliver pointed out, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as if he was just holding onto his own sanity in front of him.

Slade had to smirk at that, pushing the chair Oliver's way with the toe of his boot. "Alright, prove me wrong, kid. Send me a sword, would ya?"

Oliver almost smiled, just a slight twitch at the corners of his mouth. "You mean if you don't get one right off? I'll do my best."

"I'll be too busy getting your sister a bow, I'm sure," Slade said, waving his hand. "We've crossed paths at the academy. Word is she's not half bad. I'll have to see for myself in training…" He shook his head and clapped one hand on Oliver's shoulder to physically pull him into a seat before he collapsed. "She'll be fine. I swear it."

"Thank you," Oliver replied as sincerely as he could. "Really."

Slade just nodded once, leaning back against the wall and watching Oliver rest his head in his hands. He waited until there was a little more color in his face before he tipped his head at the door. "Your sister's gotta be waiting for you. Can't see her off if you're sitting in my chair."

"Right. I just — I had to come see you too."

"I already told you I'll take care of her. Get moving, kid. This sentimental goodbye isn't going to last forever."

Oliver was on his feet again quickly, and he paused at the door, giving Slade one final nod before he slipped out. That left Slade alone again to pace the small room once and sit in the chair Oliver had vacated, resting his chin on his folded hands with his elbows on his knees as he considered the matter.

He _had_ promised Queen he would protect his sister, but it had always seemed so absurd that she would need it in the Games, of all things. On the streets, sure. Thirteen years old and she looked sixteen — she'd need it. He could see why Oliver was concerned. But an arena had always seemed like the worst-case scenario.

Slade always planned for the worst-case scenario, mind; he just hated that Oliver had been right to be that worried. Made the whole thing smell a little fishy.

Finally, the Sentinel outside the door gave him the signal that it was time to leave, and he followed the man — smaller and slighter than he was — out to the train. This time, he noted, Thea looked much more ruffled than she had on stage.

 _So she can keep it contained while there's an audience_ , he thought, nodding approvingly to himself as the young girl sank into one of the train seats with a look much more like her brother's on her face this time. Almost dazed.

He sat down across from her and did two things. The first was to snag a roll, since someone had so graciously left them on the table and he wasn't going to pass that up. Maybe she'd have one too; bread was good for an upset stomach, and she looked a little green. The second was to hit the cabinet and pull out the tequila that Johnny Storm clearly hadn't locked properly to pour himself a glass.

She didn't take the bait — so she was better than her brother at that age anyway — though her attention was occupied by the Four having a family spat further down the train. They weren't as quiet as they thought they were, and Slade nodded approvingly when he saw the concentrated look on her face. Eavesdropping. Successfully. He could work with that.

It didn't help that Thea was the topic of conversation for the Four, though he noted with raised eyebrows that the moment she'd heard all she wanted to hear, she did take the bait, pouring herself a healthy measure for someone _his_ size, let alone hers, and taking it off to her room.

 _Gotta watch that in the Capitol_ , Slade noted. The girl was good under public pressure, but if she was anything like her brother, that would go out the window if she got herself plastered. Last thing he needed was for her to let slip something she shouldn't or get too friendly with someone angling for an easy kill.

Slade sat forward and rubbed his temples with the index and middle fingers of both hands. _Damn Queen and his paranoia_ , he thought to himself before he poured himself another measure of tequila and followed Thea's lead, taking it with him to explore the rest of the train.


	5. Chapter 4: Riff Raff, Street Rat

**(A/N): Here we are back with our Tuesday update! We're excited to see this story moving forward, and we've seriously got some talented writers again. We just keep lucking out in that department! So I'll go ahead and let Seas and Shadows and pekuxumi introduce you to this year's District Two tributes and step back to let them shine...**

 **Thanks to all of our writers who left their reviews as well as to Slim Summers2002 and bookcrazysongbird (as well as bookcrazysongbird as a Guest! Sorry about your laptop lol) for their reviews. We're glad to hear that the Quarter Quell rules played well; the Capitol is playing a long game trying to keep its power, but as we know from behind the scenes, they're running out of time... We know the transition to DC characters for our Marvel readers can be a rough one, and we're thrilled that you're sticking with us. We promise we have lots of good crossover ideas in store for these two (three) universes to combine. ;) As for Thea being so young, well, not every tribute can be a buff 18-year-old, well-trained killer. :P**

* * *

 **Chapter Four - Riff Raff, Street Rat**

 **Written by Seas and Shadows and pekux** **umi**

* * *

 **Harvey Dent of District Two**

 **Written by Seas and Shadows**

* * *

 _The more you sweat in training, the less you bleed in combat. – U.S. Navy SEALs._

* * *

 _My name is Harvey Dent. I am sixteen years old._

 _ **Today I'm going to be Reaped for the twenty-fifth Avenger Games.**_

The young man rolled out of his cot, rubbing out the sleep from his eyes.

Reaping today. _Yippee._ He probably should have been more excited. He'd been preparing for the Avenger Games for years now. Of course, waking up at five in the morning had never been a good motivator for enthusiasm.

The room he had in the Avengers Academy was small, and a bit cramped, but Harvey was thankfully isolated from the other students in his own private room. Most of the institutes in the district didn't have those, but Harvey lived in what was probably the best of all the training centers in District Two.

The Avengers Academy was run by Adrian Chase, the Sentinel Prime. When the manager of the center was a man like that, no other groups could really ever compete, save for maybe the Red Room.

Harvey yanked out one of the drawers — that top one was really starting to get jammed, he should probably check it out eventually — and hurriedly replaced his nightshirt with something a bit fancier for the day. He still had that white button-up from last year, didn't he? Where was it?

 _Bottom drawer,_ one of the voices in his head muttered. _Left side. That's where you found it last year._

 _ **No!**_ The other voice argued. _**Keep looking, it's somewhere in there—**_

Harvey stopped for a moment, considering what the voices had to say. Bottom left? Yeah, that sounded about right.

He'd always had schizophrenia, but ever since the accident last year, his mind had split into two sides entirely.

The good one, and the bad one.

As he tugged on a pair of black suit pants, he glimpsed his marred face in the mirror.

Oh, right. There was still Harvey, somewhere in there, too. He supposed he was the ugly one.

Before he saw the hideous thing that was his face again, Harvey reached out and grabbed the bandages he had left on top of the dresser.

Hurriedly wrapping the cloth around his face, he finally looked back into the mirror, checking to make sure there wasn't a peep of red exposed from the left side of his face.

The crack he had made in the glass eight months ago had gotten worse. Harvey could see the light blue paint of the wall through the mirror's damaged corner.

He stubbornly ignored it, squinting closer. _Good_ , he finally decided. _One hundred percent invisible._ The only thing anybody would be able to see was his eyes.

 _ **Bad!**_ The other voice grumbled. _**Tear them off! Show those other kids who you really are!**_

The first voice paused. _You're kidding, right? Some of those people are our friends! If I can't even look at myself in the mirror; imagine how they'd react!_

 _ **Like their opinions really matter. I'm being Reaped today, remember? Once you come out of the arena, they won't care how you look.**_

 _I might need them as sponsors, though. Remember that District Six guy last year, the one who got those electronics? Do you know how much they would've cost?_

 _ **Oh, please. They'll find out eventually. Didn't the victor try to take a medicine bag into the arena last year? They'll never let us take bandages into the Arena. Just take them off now and get it over with.**_

Harvey blocked the voices out of his head and pushed the wooden door open. Some of the other students, most of which had come from the eight- or twelve-person dorms, were having breakfast already – _**Pigs, the sun hasn't even come up yet**_ – around the Academy's canteen, wolfing down the toast and bacon and eggs like it would be the last time they'd ever have a meal like that again.

Then again, the only ones who knew Harvey was getting Reaped were Chase, Harvey, and the Taskmaster. The rest all probably figured (or hoped) it would be them instead.

Paul Sloane waved him over to one of the tables, grinning as he sat down. "Harv! How you doing, bro?"

As much as he hated people like Sloane on the inside, he grinned through his bandages anyway. He had to remember what his trainers had taught him; always use every opportunity to make friends and allies.

In the Games, they could be the ones who'd sponsor antidotes, weapons, food and more. They could mean life or death.

"I'm doing great, Paul." Harvey said, stealing the apple juice carton in the center of the table. Pouring himself a glass, he looked around at the others sitting around him. "Big day today, huh?" He began. "The very first Quarter Quell!"

George Blake—

— _ **Shallow, idiotic—**_

— _loyal, well-meaning friend—_

—nodded eagerly. "Oh yeah. Who do you think the Victors are gonna pick?" he asked.

"No idea," Harvey lied. "I heard from Grace that the Mockingbird's grabbing some poor orphan from the slums. No idea why, though. Aren't there orphans enrolled in the academies?"

"Could be a kid from S.A.F.E.," One of the girls there — Evelyn, was her name? — pointed out. "They take in heaps of strays."

George frowned. "Wasn't the Barton guy from S.A.F.E.? He didn't even hit the Final Eight. What's Morse thinking, going there again?"

Paul raised his hands, stopping the debate before it really even started. "Guys. Hold up," he said, turning to face Harvey. "You're still talking to Grace?"

 _ **Stupid**_ —

 _Can't be that bad_ —

 _ **I slipped up**_ —

 _Just be honest_ —

 _ **Lie our way out**_ —

 _Lying's not fair, I should tell the truth_ —

 _ **Not fair**_ _._ The other voice repeated in defeat.

 _Has to be fair._

Fair. That was what Harvey was all about.

Seven years ago, when he first learned about how District Two's legal system worked, he had wanted with all of his heart to be a lawyer. To support the innocent without the violence of the Sentinels. He would become fair.

Five years ago, he worked out that to become a lawyer, to even get there in the first place, he had to go through the same training as the Sentinels and work his way through the ranks.

That was when his parents — _the best parents ever_ — had started saving up for the Avengers Academy, because by God, Harvey wasn't gonna be going to anything less than the best.

Three years ago, he had come back home to see his mother's dead body.

He remembered seeing the blood splattered on the walls, the mangled body of her corpse, the lingering guilt of everything he should have said and not said and not done and the feeling that it was _all his fault_.

His father had used the money he had gained from his wife's death to send Harvey into the Academy. Her last wish, he had said.

 _ **But our father was**_ **wrong** , the other voice snarled in Harvey's mind, _**there was**_ **no way** _**that could have ever been the last thing our mother wanted when she would have been**_ **dying** _**at the hands of her killer,**_ **screaming for him to stop—**

Again, Harvey shut the voices out. He didn't need to remember that. Not today.

One year ago, Tony Masters, the mighty victor of the sixteenth Avenger Games, had come over to the Academy. That was the day the accident happened.

Harvey couldn't quite recall exactly what happened. He remembered seeing the Taskmaster talking to his age group of kids.

He had been talking to them about the Games, and while Harvey wasn't interested in the topic, he had been sitting _right at the front_ , because it didn't matter what he was learning, the guy was _Tony freaking Masters._

He remembered Masters asking for a volunteer to come and show him the best way to take down a man, and Harvey had shot up excitedly, because he _knew what he was talking about, he had practiced the same technique,_ and then—

And then—

And then—

Everything was blurry after that in his mind.

He remembered an explosion. Loud and fiery and destructive, bursting right through the wall he and Tony Masters had been standing near.

He remembered fire, leaping up onto his chest—

 _ **It was on his head, it was on his face, it was burning him**_ —

He remembered screaming, shouting for help until his voice was raw, and then even harder, and — and—

Everything had gone black after that.

Later, roughly three weeks after the Twenty-fourth Avenger Games had finished, Tony Masters had come to see Harvey.

He had apologized. _Him. The Taskmaster._ Apologized.

The seventeen-year-olds in the room opposite of them had been working on wiring together basic explosions. Extra training for those who wanted to enter the Games.

One of the mines had gone off early.

No-one else had been hurt except for Harvey, but Tony Masters took the blame for it.

He had said that it was his fault Harvey had been there in the first place.

That Harvey would be scarred for the rest of his life.

At first, he'd laughed, because _really, how bad could it be?_ Besides, didn't girls like guys with scars?

Then he'd seen himself in the mirror. The ugly, burnt and black scarring, the crimson red flesh underneath, the disgusting apparent bulge in his left eye, the tendons that were once his cheek…

Harvey had stared for a long time at the alien in the mirror.

He never laughed about it again.

A small part of him realized that Harvey would never be able to live a normal life again. Not with a face like that.

Evidently, Tony Masters knew it too.

His solution: Put Harvey Dent into the Twenty-fifth Avenger Games.

The victor had given the matter a lot of thought. He'd taken a sense of responsibility for what had happened — Harvey could see that clear as day.

There was a bright side to being scarred for life and being put into an arena where he'd have to fight to the death, though; Tony Masters, like Harvey, was fair.

If he was going to enter a sixteen-year-old aspiring lawyer into the Games, the Taskmaster was going to at least give him a good chance at getting out of the arena.

From that day onward, Tony Masters had come to meet up with Harvey every week. He showed him how to throw a knife, how to block a sword, how to make a fire, how to find edible food. When the Taskmaster wasn't guiding Harvey, retired Sentinels and personal trainers were there instead, making him faster, smarter, stronger. Even Adrian Chase had come to see him at one point, to teach him about how to fight dirty when it came down to it.

If it weren't for the voices in his head, Harvey Dent would be the most dangerous person in the Games.

 _Back to reality,_ one of the voices advised. _Grace_.

Oh. Right.

"Um. No…." Harvey trailed off. "No, we're not. I heard it from her a couple months ago."

Evelyn smirked. "Are you sure? Don't you guys have a thing going on?"

"Not anymore," Harvey grunted. George got up to get seconds for breakfast, and Harvey asked him to pick up an omelet while he was there.

Once George had left, Harvey turned back. "That was, what, eight months ago? Ten? Grace's stopped talking to me."

Another one of the downsides of being a hideous freak of nature — once people found out, they treated you like one.

"Is it because of whatever's under those wraps of yours?" Paul asked curiously. "I heard from Jess that you showed her once."

Harvey self-consciously made sure his bandages were still tied together. "No!" He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "No. I didn't show her. And no, before you ask, I won't show you, either."

 _"Please,"_ Evelyn pleaded. "I'll do anything!"

 _Show her._

 _ **NO! Not like this! Not again!**_

"No." Harvey insisted. "Chances are, you'll find out eventually. You just have to wait it out. It's only fair."

Evelyn pouted pleadingly and checked to make sure the top two buttons of her shirt were undone.

Harvey took a deep breath again, this time for a completely different reason. He could see Paul struggling similarly.

 _ **Down, boy!**_

"No." Harvey repeated, just as George came back with his breakfast. He thanked the other boy, slapping his back cheerfully, before picking up his food. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to leave now. Good talking to you guys. See you at the Reaping, yeah?"

The others gave varying versions of sulky goodbyes, but Harvey wasn't too worried. They'd bounce back. It wouldn't affect anything that would come later on.

He hurriedly ducked out the exit of the canteen, breathing in the fresh morning air. Since District Two specialized in stonework and masonry, they lived in the mountainsides. Every day brought forth a glorious view of the rocky ranges.

He searched around — others had a similar idea to him and had hurriedly stolen the few benches and tables to catch a view of the sunrise. Harvey snuck over to the training rooms, going around them into the dark, dingy equipment sheds, and made himself a makeshift seat out of a faded navy punching bag.

No one ever came around to this part of the Academy, not this early in the morning. Usually, the threat of one of the crumbling wooden beams falling on top of them was enough to scare off anyone else. He put the plate on top of his knees and started systematically cutting the omelet apart with his fork.

Reaping Day.

Today was the day.

He was going to be in the Avenger Games.

He was going to win.

Omelet had never tasted so good before.

"Heads up."

Harvey whirled around immediately, just in time to see a sword coming down at his face.

He stepped back and kicked his punching bag seat as hard as he could towards his attacker, sending it rolling.

Tony Masters easily stepped over it, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "The punching bag? Really? You should have gone for the wooden swords on your right."

Alright, so he wasn't perfect. Not yet, at least.

"True." Harvey admitted. "Punching bags are way too heavy, anyway. I could have broken a toe."

"Exactly," the Taskmaster growled, slapping the back of Harvey's head. "How useful would you be for the Games then? You'd be gone in the bloodbath."

Tony Masters was an extraordinarily intimidating man. While most people retained a small amount of fat throughout their lives, the sixteenth Victor had absolutely none. Not even a little bit.

When you combined that sallowness with the bleached, stretched tight organ that was his skin, he looked more like a skeleton than a human being. The man had shaved his head years ago, and the trademark bone-white hood he wore only completed the image.

"Walk with me," the victor said, and set off at a steady pace down the mountainside. Harvey abandoned the spilt remnants of his breakfast and followed.

He didn't know how much time had passed — it could have been ten minutes, or thirty, or an hour, but eventually, Masters stopped. "Sit down, kid."

Harvey squatted down onto a large, fallen log. Ants scurried underneath his touch. The Taskmaster remained standing.

In front of them, the light glow of the morning began to shine behind the mountains. Harvey could have sat there forever at that moment, just admiring _the beauty, the life_. He felt even smaller than insignificant, staring at the behemoth empires of stone and dirt.

As the sun slowly began to creep upwards, Tony turned back to Harvey.

"You're going into the Games." It wasn't a question.

"I will."

Tony Masters bent down, looking at Harvey square in the eye. "You're going to come back here in one piece."

"I will."

The older man went behind Harvey's back, placing his strong, calloused hands on his shoulders. "But first, you're going to sit here and watch."

 _I will._

For the first time since they met, Tony Masters wasn't trying to teach Harvey, or correct him, or tell him off. And Harvey Dent didn't try to argue, or mouth off, or screw up one of his stances.

They just sat there and admired the view, because deep, deep down in the Taskmaster's gut, he had a feeling that Harvey would never be able to admire something like it again.

* * *

For the first time in what must have been decades, Edwin Jarvis didn't show up to the Reaping.

Instead, someone new came forward.

This year, a nervous-looking blonde dressed in what appeared to be a skimpier, snow-white copy of last year's Black Widow costume came forward.

Harvey frowned, deep within the midst of his fellow sixteen-year-olds. The girl must've been somewhere in her young twenties, and it looked as though she'd never been in front of a crowd before.

She paused in front of the microphone hesitantly, very aware of the many eyes that had latched onto her.

The woman flushed bright red. "Um," she started. "I-I'd like to welcome y-you all to the Twent- I mean, the Reaping of the Twenty-fifth Avenger Games, and — and the very first Quarter Quell!"

The young woman stopped awkwardly, as if unsure what to do next. A hesitant applause followed her.

"M-my name is S-Silver Sablinova, and I'm your, uh, your new escort! Isn't that great?"

Sablinova gave a visibly forced smile.

There was a lot less applause this time.

Harvey rubbed his temples. They replaced _Edwin Jarvis_ with a _bimbo with stage fright?_

"Before we s-start with the Reaping, let's… let's all watch the Quarter Q-Quell announcement our — w-wonderful President Thanos has provided!"

Smart. Let the video tell what was different this year, since Sablinova clearly couldn't.

" **Twenty-five years ago, to the day, a war that threatened to tear this nation apart finally met its end, as all uprising must."**

Harvey clenched his fists in a mixture of exasperation and anger.

This was exactly the same speech that had been given just weeks ago. Harvey had been told to pay attention in case there were any hints about the arena, or the Quell, but he didn't have many hopes for that idea.

" **The nation divided became one, but those would-be rebels needed a reminder, a standing testament to the futility of fighting the power of the Capitol. The Avenger Games were created to remind them that even the strongest among them could not stand against us and that to attempt to do so meant courting death."** Thanos' voice boomed across the pavilion, echoing menacingly into the distance.

Harvey bit back a yawn.

Thanos said something about all the old victors taking a part in mentoring, and 'addressing the imbalance' it would cause.

He didn't really care. He knew what was going on already, and it was a lot less impressive to hear the second time around.

The speech ended — _Finally_ — and Silver Sablinova's annoying, nervous voice pierced his ears.

"And n-now for the Reaping!" Sablinova called out. "This year, as part of the… Q-Quarter Quell… Our victors are going to be our tribu- I mean, picking our tributes!"

Harvey grinned. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. This was his moment. He had been born for this. He was ready.

Sablinova swallowed nervously. "Our f-first, female tribute, will be chosen by B-b-b-Bobbi Morse!"

The twenty-second victor of the Avenger Games, and third from District Two, the Mockingbird, stepped onto the platform.

Behind her, the young man could see Tony Masters and the last Victor, Ophelia something, sitting down. Harvey clenched his fists. _Don't be Grace,_ one of the voices prayed. _Don't let it be Grace._

"Harper Row!"

Harvey's first thought: _Oh, thank God, it's not Grace._

And then: _**Wait, who?**_

And after another moment: _She actually picked one of the street rats?!_

A grungy-looking girl with slightly shaking hands slowly made her way to the platform. Everyone around her parted ways like a weird reversed situation of dirty cats trying to escape a clean bath.

Piercings. Badly-done hair dye. _**Horrible**_ taste of clothing. A little bit of muscle, but nowhere near as much as the usual Two tributes. Harvey didn't even recognize her from any of the other training centers.

 _What was Morse thinking, choosing her?_

Harper Row wouldn't be getting sponsors, not looking like the street punk she was now. She certainly didn't look dangerous, either, not with skin that pale and arms that thin.

How was she meant to fit into the Career Pack?

Harvey narrowed his eyes. She had to have some kind of hidden talent, some knowledge or some skill that he didn't know about. Otherwise, she'd have never been picked. A girl like Harper Row wouldn't have a hope in hell otherwise.

But this was his district partner. He'd find out what it was.

Probably.

He hadn't seen that Potts girl's betrayal coming last year _at all._

Or maybe the girl on the platform really was useless, and she didn't have anything Harvey could learn.

The girl stepped onto the stage, and Harvey pushed away those questions for later. His moment was coming up, after all.

"Our female tribute!" Sablinova shouted a bit too loudly. The microphone shrieked with feedback, and the majority of the crowd flinched with dismay.

Sablinova flushed even harder with embarrassment. "Um — A-and our male tribute will be ch-chosen by — Tony Masters!"

The Taskmaster stepped up smoothly, and Sablinova whimpered slightly when she saw his face.

"Harvey Dent!"

Underneath his bandages, Harvey grinned. He started walking, and faces all around him turned to see the tribute for the Quarter Quell.

When he stepped up onto the stage, the audience began to murmur in curiosity. They were wondering about the bandages on his head, no doubt. He and Tony Masters had talked it over on the way to the Reaping, and decided it was best if he kept them on.

It would help keep the audience's attention fixed onto him, and once he showed his face, the reveal would hopefully make the sponsors' sympathy money skyrocket.

Sablinova grasped Harvey's arm in one hand and Harper Row's in the other. "Ladies and Gentlemen! I-I give to you, t-THE-THE DISTRICT TWO TRIBUTES OF THE TWENTY-FIFTH A-AVENGER GAMES!"

* * *

There had been a long line-up of people in front of the waiting room, wanting to see Harvey, but the last one to enter was the Taskmaster.

None of the others had really mattered. Anyone he knew was just another possible sponsor. He had a simple routine for them: smile, talk to them, convince them to squander as much money as possible on him. Repeat.

The walking skeleton swooped inside like the Grim Reaper. His piercing yellow eyes scanned the room methodically, searching for cameras or possible threats.

Once he was satisfied, those eyes landed on Harvey.

The back of his head helpfully reminded him that nine other people in the Avenger Games had looked into those eyes right before they died.

"You remember what to do?"

"Of course." Harvey answered. He started counting off his fingers. "Don't get nervous in front of the other Careers, or during the interviews. Make as many friends as possible straight away. Get friendly and chatty with any fans or interviewers. Make myself known. And _don't take off the bandages."_

Masters bared his teeth, cuffing him on the head for the second time that day.

 _"Don't take orders from anyone else,"_ the Victor hissed. "You're either in charge of the Career Pack or tough enough that they can't boss you around. You become compliant, you become weak, you become a target, you become dead."

Harvey sulked. "I thought that was common knowledge."

"No!" Tony Masters said. "Always consider _everything_. Even if it's the simplest stuff in the world, like what color the sky is. Everything is a factor in the Games, got that?" He paused for a second, seeing if the message had sunken in. "GOT THAT?!" he barked.

"Understood!" Harvey yelped. "Sky is blue, grass is green, you're very scary."

 _Bad move. Apologize. Preferably quickly._

 _ **Don't say anything. See how he'll react.**_

 _Not smart for the Games. He's mentoring us, remember?_

 _ **I've already had him for a year now. What else does he have left that he hasn't taught?**_

 _He can make our life miserable though. No sponsors, no funding, no blackmailing the Gamemakers…_

Before Harvey could do anything, Tony took a deep breath.

 _ **He looks as though he's thinking of the best way to serve up a Harvey-kebab.**_

 _Either that, or he's_ _memorizing our face like he'll never see it the same way again._

"D'you have a token?"

Harvey blinked, completely taken off guard by the question. "What? I… I don't think so, I guess the bandages could work…?"

 _"You didn't plan that ahead of_ — _"_ Masters pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He rummaged through his pockets before flicking something to Harvey.

The tribute snatched it out of the air. "A coin?" he asked skeptically. "I don't think I can bribe the other people not to kill me."

 _ **Well, there are the Twelves…**_

The Taskmaster gave Harvey a long stare that shut up his witticisms. "One of the rumors for the Quell is that there won't be any weapons. It's probably not true, but if it is, you could sharpen it and put it on the edge of a stick or something. Everything helps, remember? Use anything you can find."

Harvey frowned. "Well… Thanks? Talk to you at the Capitol?"

Tony Masters spun on his heel, heading for the door. "Have fun on the train," he said flatly, his cloak flapping out behind him. "Make sure you get the one back here."

The doors had slammed shut, but Harvey didn't care. The Games were only just beginning.

As he boarded the train, he experimentally flipped the coin, catching it with the same hand.

 _Plink._

Heads.

 _Huh. I could get used to this._

* * *

 **Harper Row of District Two**

 **Written by pekuxumi**

* * *

 _A green plastic watering can_

 _For a fake Chinese rubber plant_

 _In the fake plastic earth_

 _It wears her out_

 _It wears her out_

 _It wears her out -_

Radiohead - _Fake Plastic Trees_

* * *

When Cullen shouted her name, it was loud enough for the people in Twelve to hear it. Harper, surprised to see (and hear!) him so close to her, jumped a bit in shock. The screw fell to the ground and rolled under the huge stone — exactly what she had been trying to prevent for forty minutes of trying to fix a huge, high-voltage fuse box now.

Suppressing the urge to sigh, Harper grabbed the bolt and the remaining parts of the blown fuse and tugged them away for later. "Yes, dearest brother? What can I do for you?"

Cullen stared at her through his long bangs, disbelief in his eyes. "Have you shocked yourself again? They started already!" His gaze wandered down, trailing over her clothing. Before he could say anything, Harper pushed her tools into his arms and shooed him back.

"I'll lift the rock. Get the screw if you can."

"Is this really what you're wearing?"

Harper took a deep breath, bent down, and grabbed the heavy boulder. With all her power, she managed to heave it up half an inch, and Cullen quickly got to his knees and grabbed the screw that had gotten stuck beneath it. Not without complaining, of course. "There are stains on your shirt. And you promised to dye your hair for today."

"Tough..." Harper huffed and let go of the boulder after her brother's hand appeared again. " _Luck!"_

Being an electrician in a district that specialized in masonry wasn't exactly an easy job. In order to provide the crazy carvings and special deliveries for the Capitol, advanced stone-cutting machinery had to be established at the quarry. And that machinery had to run to do its job, meaning electric wires and temporary generators, complicated fuse boxes and insanely sensitive machines that could either shock you or crush you, between boulders, rocks, cliffs — all high-voltage, of course.

Enter Harper Row, electrician par excellence.

Steph liked to joke that her hair looked as crazy as it did because of the various shocks Harper had to endure while rappelling from cliffs. Harper usually insisted, instead, that it was the stress of raising her younger brother that made her grab and pull it. When Cullen was around, he pointed out her general bad taste in fashion and style, and then they agreed, regardless of any Harper-induced arguments. True, she had promised Cullen to look pretty for Reaping Day, but beauty lay in the eyes of the beholder and the emergency call from her boss had come in on last notice. Reaping Day would have to live with a washed and grown-out blue and violet undercut.

Therefore, _exit_ Harper Row, electrician par excellence facing serious over-time. Again. Because that damn fuse wouldn't do as she wanted it to, and Harper was not known for her ability to let things rest.

...And she had a great taste in fashion and style, even if her own brother didn't think so and kept repeating it on the way to the town square.

"Man, I hope they pick you," Harper growled finally, falling back into the game they played once Reaping Day drew close. "At least then you'd have a reason to complain."

"And if they pick you, I don't have to worry," Cullen sassed back, smugly. "You'll scare the other tributes away with that face of yours."

"If you'll be thrown into the arena, they'll commit suicide in the first hours to get away from your constant whining."

Ah, the love between siblings.

The mass of people, their faces turned towards a big screen on an ugly stage, became visible. The movie hadn't started yet, it seemed, and the people still talked and discussed the Reaping loudly. Their murmuring was already filling up the air, last bets and pleas with Sentinels mixing with the genuine excitement about the Reaping that engulfed the huge masses of idiots calling themselves ' _District Two_ '.

"But you won't be picked," she said finally to her brother, still a few meters ahead of them before they had to part. Only two years older, Harper was sometimes overcome by the maternal instincts when Cullen's well-being, fears, and pain lay in the air. It always happened on Reaping Days, even though this time it was even more unlikely he would be picked.

Cullen smiled, gently. _Because there are enough bloodthirsty dumbasses who apply for the job of being gutted_." The words were harsh, but his voice soft. He understood what she was trying to tell him. " _And the victors are much too obsessed with being successful murderers_."

"Poetic and true," Harper nodded at her own quote. She had just such a way with words. "Nothing's changed for us. It's Career business as usual."

Since the fun game of imprisoning 24 children so they murdered each other until only one was left called 'the Avenger Games' was celebrating 25 years of merry murdering, the Capitol had decided it was time to shake things up a little bit: this year, instead of picking a boy and a girl from each district through the lottery, the victors had had to choose them personally. In some districts, this rule caused distress. Of course, some victors had their own personal vendettas, or were bribed by politicians to send away sickos and criminals they couldn't get rid of otherwise.

In Two, however, the victors were obsessed with winning, the people were obsessed with winning, and especially the children were obsessed with winning. Training academies and centers boomed and catapulted masses of trained killer machines onto the streets, who only wanted to enter the arena and fight for life and death. It hadn't stopped this year, and there was no reason someone outside of one of the victors' pets were going to participate.

During Harper's fifteen years, three of those as possible tribute, the training centers had always decided early who was championing. The facade of the lottery had been performed, but seconds after the name of a boy or girl from the district was dropped, a brainwashed training center child of the same gender stepped forward and volunteered. The lottery had no function other than scaring two families senseless each year, and this time, they had finally gotten rid of that stupid ritual.

It was fine for Harper, who was still really mad about that damn broken fuse. The sooner she got back to kick its ass, the better.

"Still, be careful," Cullen said and lightly touched her shoulder. It was time to separate; they had to stand with the boys and the girls of the district, respectively.

"You too." She smiled a small, honest smile, one of the rare ones. Then he disappeared in the crowd of boys, and just when the short movie started, Harper made out the stark blonde head of her friend Stephanie in the girls' crowd.

While she wormed her way through the masses of bodies, a woman started to speak on the stage. Her voice seemed to stutter and break, and only when Harper had made it next to Stephanie did she realize that this woman was trying to introduce herself to the crowd.

"Jarvis is looking sexy this year," she whispered as a greeting to Steph, who snorted in response.

"He really needed a makeover."

"Blonde is his color, definitely."

"Contrary to that horrific red shirt you're wearing. Have you been robbed, and it was left behind by the clumsy, overweight burglar?"

Exasperated, Harper rolled her eyes with passion. Everyone was a critic these days.

"Excuse me, but I need to inform you that this is actually a very valuable—"

" _Harper Row!_ "

Flinching, Harper and Steph looked about to see the Sentinel that had called her name. Weirdly, though, everywhere Harper turned, shocked faces met her. It wasn't as if talking during the Reaping was such a big deal. _Seriously, these people—_

"Oh God... _Harper_." The urgency in Steph's voice drained the flippancy out of her thoughts. Her friend was focusing at the front, and with dread, Harper followed her gaze, a bad feeling starting to grow in her stomach — someone they knew had been picked — _oh God, not Cullen, please don't let it be..._

But there was no one up there but the victors, the new escort, and a boy with his face halfway turned away from the crowd. Nothing else but rows and rows of faces turned in the wrong direction, facing _them_ , and the nervous new girl vaguely staring into their general direction.

The bad feeling knotted into a tight ball in her stomach, daring to drop. "What…?" she tried to ask, but her voice died away. She knew what the sudden silence and looks meant. She had seen it on television before, when the tributes in other districts were called out. Never had she experienced it in her own district.

And then Steph gasped and grabbed the fabric of her shirt, vainly trying to push her away, anywhere, and the jolt made Harper return to reality.

 _The woman_ on the stage had called _her_ name.

She was the female tribute of district Two.

Suddenly, Harper wanted to hurl. It was like the lingering pain after an electric shock, slowly but steadily pulsating through her body until everything was shaking out of control but numbed down at the same time. She was a tribute. She had to go into the arena and—

A hand on her shoulder roughly pushed her forward. Dimly Harper heard Steph shouting something as a Sentinel steered her through the crowd that parted as if she was poisoned. Then at some point, the Sentinel was gone, and her legs moved on their own account, while her head and thoughts were trailing behind slowly, unable to keep up.

 _Stairs, there are stairs._ So she walked up, and then there was the new escort, Silver Sablinova, who introduced herself. Silver was yapping something and held out her hand, but Harper just blinked at it, oblivious. After a few seconds, the hand was gone, and the two women had turned their heads towards the crowd. Through the cotton that was wound around her head, reality only seeped in frame by frame, apparently.

But the longer Harper stood there, the more solid she found the ground beneath her feet again. She was on the stage. Because she was a tribute. In the Quarter Quell.

 _Shit_.

Now, fear started to fill in the formerly blank spaces of Harper's mind. It began to swirl in her chest, a cold and vicious vortex of despair that pressed against her throat. Breathing became hectic and difficult at the same time, as if someone was strangling her.

 _Oh God,_ she was a tribute _, a tribute in the Games!_

A body appeared in front of her, too close. She felt the urge to flee, but her legs still worked on their own and for some reason didn't consider _running for her life._ A hand waiting for her to shake it, _again,_ and this time, Harper looked up to blink in confusion at a white mass.

It took her a second to realize the white mass were bandages, wrapped around a human head. She knew immediately who this was (her brain was back online, at least some good news).

Everyone had heard about Harvey Dent, the poor kid who had been terribly disfigured during an accident in a training center. Even though Harper had never talked to him and only spotted his bandaged head in passing, she knew about the rumors. For months, the district had talked about nothing else but rumors that an explosion had blown off his face, how a grenade had obliterated his jaw, how a fire had blinded him…

She didn't know anything for sure about Harvey except that he was standing right in front of her on stage, meaning he had been chosen earlier as the male tribute when she wasn't paying attention, and he waited for her to shake his hand. It might have been a trick to the eye, weird lightning or plain mental breakdown, but it seemed as if he was smiling beneath the bandages.

 _Smiling!_

It was this smile that helped Harper to snap out of the situation, to turn pure, primal fear into an emotion she was much more acquainted with: Harper got angry.

* * *

When Steph came in, Harper had promised herself to stay composed. Steph saw her, then focused her blood-shot eyes on the chair and table and sat down heavily. She had cried, obviously, but the lines on her face told another story as well. She was pissed. Probably almost as pissed as Harper, who still sometimes teared up, though she didn't know if it was because of the fear or the frustration.

"Hey."

"Hey."

What was there to say? Sorry you got picked for the bloodbath? Sorry I won't be able to bring back some crappy souvenir?

"They're making an example of you," Steph said instead, answering a question Harper had asked so many times by now, but never aloud.

"An example?"

Steph avoided her gaze and sniffled. "They couldn't pick two Careers but still needed to make the Reaping meaningful. No one expected you."

"'Cuz I never participated in the madness," Harper concluded, understanding. "We're too poor to buy our way out but still don't apply at the centers."

Steph nodded. "They heed to the Capitol and still get their way."

Her voice was breaking up a little bit at the end of her sentences, and Harper loved her for it. Steph was not going to waste their last minutes by crying when there were important matters to discuss. Gentle and sensitive Stephanie had a side hard as stone and tough as steel if she had to be.

Harper met Stephanie a few years ago, when she had been ordered into the sewage system to clean out a dead rat that had somehow gnawed its way through 3 thick wires before dying. There had been voices in the dark tunnels, echoing through the halls as she cursed her way towards the rat, and then suddenly a girl appeared in the light beam of her flashlight. Steph had looked so much younger with her big, blue eyes and the long, blonde hair, younger even than Cullen, even though she was Harper's age. She had been spying on her criminal father, or the lousy excuse of one, whose voice was one of the talking ones and who was conducting some deal in the dark of the blackout.

Stupid Harper had asked her if she lost her way, back then. After that, it was Steph who usually led them home.

"You need to look out for Cullen." It finally broke out of Harper, and this time, it was her voice that cracked.

Steph flinched violently, even though she had had to see that coming. "Harper, don't..."

"He's fragile. I'm not worried about money, but he'll need to step up his game."

"Stop it, you'll come back."

"And make sure Derek pays him my loan — it's only fair considering all the over-time I did for him."

"Harper." Steph leaned forward, eyes meeting Harper's directly. It was the first time in that room they managed to look at each other without breaking up eye contact after a second. "You can make it."

Harper snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. The other kids trained and are strong, and their victors actually want them to win." Bitterness welled up in her. If Steph's theory was correct (and it was the best they had), the victors had chosen her as a blood victim. She was to go painfully in the bloodbath, slain brutally by some training center child. They had no interest in keeping her alive in the arena.

"Dent, maybe," Steph mused, leaning back in her thoughts. "We don't know about the others yet."

"Are you planning my victory?" Harper asked with venom in her voice. "I don't even know how to use a weapon. Least of all kill someone."

"You always learned fast." Stephanie was mustering her now, all serious and concentrated. Her words made Harper freeze up, because even though she didn't say it, Steph hinted at a revelation Harper had come to a short time ago, when she had been alone and wasn't able to block out the images of the killings of last year's Avenger Games.

There had been other kids, unprepared and frightened. Some of them had killed to survive, even though they had never even hurt a fly.

Harper had killed flies. And rats. And Harper would, she knew deep down even when she hadn't yet dared to verbalize it, kill if she had to. If her life depended on it.

And Steph knew too. "You might get into the Career pack. Try to be nice to Dent."

"You'll need to send me gifts."

Suddenly, the conversation had changed, and both girls had managed to find hope in each other.

"Some of the people of the district will donate for you; it doesn't matter who you are. It's district pride."

"But I need you to find me sponsors. Your dad knows people."

Steph looked uncomfortable; mentioning her good-for-nothing father's criminal connections still hit her hard. Yet, she nodded, and Harper knew that Steph would try, even if it meant trouble.

From outside, a Sentinel knocked on the door. Their time was up. It was probably the only time ever that a Sentinel was showing some sort of empathy towards the two of them, but making kids say good-bye to their loved ones was maybe tough on them too. Regardless, Steph and Harper had had enough run ins with Sentinels for a lifetime and didn't need to test out this one's patience. They stood up, eyeing each other sadly.

"I'm not going to hug you," Stephanie said at last, and Harper wondered if she had practiced that line. "I'll hug you when you come back."

"Cullen will be outside," Harper commented, nodding slowly. They both stood now, and Harper walked around the table as if walking Steph out. "Tell him we'll only have two minutes."

They had been talking longer, but Harper wasn't going to last through a whole talk with Cullen, and Steph, bless her, understood.

Her eyes were wet, though, as she turned around and opened the door. Harper had seen it clearly and tried to swallow the lump in her throat at the sight. "See ya," Steph said and waved lazily, already walking off. It was the way she usually said good-bye. Heavily, Harper leaned at the edge of the table.

"See ya."

The door remained closed behind her for less than a minute until it was thrown open violently and a sobbing Cullen was launching himself into her arms.

Harper burst into tears immediately. Not even a second of resistance, kind of embarrassing (if you forgot the whole _I'm gonna be murdered by trained assassins so the rest of Marvel can watch_ -stuff). They held onto each other, and while Cullen was sobbing into her shirt and Harper was making weird noises and produced a lot of snot, she looked at the door and wondered if someone was watching them, somehow.

Watching how two minors, both school age and in puberty and all that, said good-bye to all they had. It had always been Cullen and Harper against the rest of the world. Later, maybe, Steph had made it into the inner circle, but really the Row siblings were nothing without each other. Cullen wouldn't stand a chance in this world without his big sister, but his big sister wouldn't ever know what to fight for without him. It was as ridiculous as it was sad, and it made her hate the Games even more.

 _Weird that this was even_ possible.

"I'm crying," Cullen muttered between sobs, barely comprehensible, "for the others. They won't stand a chance."

After a lifetime, he pulled away first, surprisingly, and somehow it was Harper who wasn't able to get a grip on herself. Even though Cullen was still crying, he seemed more composed now, and silently watched her as she tried to rub the tears away.

He felt that she needed him calm, she knew. Cullen was that smart and sensitive.

"Take care, you little shithead," she pressed out.

He obviously believed their little lie about the visiting time, because he immediately straightened up and swallowed hard, one hand blindly reaching for the fabric of her sleeve. Harper was still leaning against the table, making Cullen taller than her right now.

Maybe she was able to let him go, this way, remembering him like this.

"Come back. You can do it."

"Take care of Steph when I'm gone."

The tears were flowing freely again, with both of them, until Cullen finally let go of her sleeve, visibly forcing himself to, and headed for the door. Harper let go of a shaky breath.

"Harper," he said, already through the open door. There was something in his voice that caught her attention. "Ask Dent to swap bandages with you so we don't have to see your face on the big screen; no stylist ever will help you with that."

Harper snorted and almost choked on her own snot when realization dawned. "Oh God, I never thought of the stylists…!"

Horrendous faces, painted in bright colors and glitter with fake eyelashes or even whiskers, hairs towering the most ridiculous ways, flashed before her eyes. The fashion of the Capitol, the styling for the interviews and the big entry….

Cullen moved forward, and Harper snapped out of that vision of horror to not miss this last glance of him. To her utter delight, it seemed as if he was snickering smugly through the tears that ran down his cheek.

That little bastard.

Harper sighed loudly after the sound of his footsteps had died away. _Stylists, shit._ Apparently, the list of kills she had to make was longer than twenty-three.


	6. Chapter 5: Rising Stars

**(A/N): And we're back with our Friday update! This time, we have two amazingly talented writers for District Three: Zutarashipper and Ophelia Claire. You may recognize Ophelia as a writer from "In the End You Always Kneel" (she wrote Kurt Wagner), and we're excited to have her back as well as to have Zutara working with us. Both are incredible!**

 **Thank you to all of our writers who reviewed as well as bookcrazysongbird for your continued interest. We're glad that you're able to be interested in the characters even if you don't know them well; that means our writers are doing them justice. ;)**

 **And of course, to anyone who hasn't read "In the End You Always Kneel," we'd highly suggest going to do that, if nothing else so that you can be reading in this universe in between updates! This series is planned to be a trilogy, with the third book focusing on the characters from both books coming together for the final fight (ala Hunger Games), so we can promise you'll probably want to know the characters from the first one ;)**

* * *

 **Chapter Five - Rising Stars**

 **Written by Zutarashipper and Ophelia Claire**

* * *

 **Caitlin Snow of District Three**

 **Written by Zutarashipper**

* * *

" _And when people try to minimize your pain they are doing you a disservice. And when you try to minimize your own pain you're doing yourself a disservice. Don't do that. The truth is it hurts because it's real. It hurts because it mattered. And that's an important thing to acknowledge to yourself." -John Green_

* * *

Sun shone through the window, birds chirped, and Caitlin felt miserable. She had spent the previous night worrying about the Reaping instead of sleeping. She had gone through the stupid interview a couple weeks ago but still wasn't confident.

 _Funny,_ she thought. _Probably the only interview I'll go through where I don't want the job_. Because this job meant being put into an arena with twenty-three other teenagers to fight to the death. This job would mean going to the Avenger Games.

Caitlin finally pulled herself out of bed and turned off the spinning fan that kept her cool at night. She'd swear her room was a furnace, but everyone else who'd been in there would disagree. Caitlin started on her daily morning routine and thought back to the day she was interviewed.

* * *

 _Harrison Wells stood at the front of the classroom, going off on his usual tangent on why his particle accelerator should have worked. Of course, this struck a nerve in Caitlin every time he did such. Her father, along with many other people, had died when the particle accelerator exploded. Caitlin was not at S.T.A.R Labs that day with her father like usual; she had stayed home with her sick mother. It was of course that day that tragedy struck. Caitlin stared blankly at the man she admired but at the same time had resentment towards. After all, he had killed her father._

" _Rory, if you would be so kind as to wake up; this is school not nap time," Professor Wells said, slamming a book on Mick Rory's desk. Leonard, his best friend and partner in crime, chuckled at him as Mick's head shot up._

" _You too, Snart." Wells shot Leonard a glare and walked back to the front of the room._

 _A hand raised near Wells. "Yes, Rathaway?" he asked, irritated, turning the direction of the boy who sat right front and center in the class._

" _Well, I was wondering if you could check on an invention I made. It's this_ — _"_

" _Afraid it might blow up? Why else would you have me check on it?" the teacher asked sarcastically which earned a few laughs from the class._

" _Well, you're such a great scientist and teacher I just thought_ — _" Hartley was once again interrupted by Wells._

" _No one likes a kiss ass, Rathaway. Besides, you're disrupting the class more than Sleeping Beauty over there. Can we please get back to the lesson?"_

 _Hartley sank back in his chair. In the back of the classroom, Mick was fuming, but Leonard kept him under control._

 _"Well then_ — _"_

 _A loud pinging noise came from the teacher's desk. Harrison took a look at the electronic surface and sighed heavily._

" _The victors are here to interview for potential tributes, since they have to pick them out. Everyone with the last name beginning with the letters A through C_ — _they are taking you first."_

 _Barry stood up, along with a couple other kids that Caitlin didn't know that well. "And of course, they take one of my best students. At least I still have the other two." Wells said, looking directly at Caitlin and her two best friends. "Good luck, you guys; head to room 2205."_

 _Barry sped out of the room, leaving Caitlin and Cisco. Caitlin felt her face was hot after being called out in front of the class. She kept her head down long after Wells actually went back to teaching his lesson. She could feel the stares from jealous classmates; this was District Three, after all._

 _After a while, Caitlin thought it was finally safe to look up. She was mostly right. Everyone had gone back to paying attention to the lesson that was being taught. Except for one red face that stared daggers back in her and Cisco's direction. The look of hatred was obvious on the boy that sat staring back from the front center desk._

 _It wasn't until Professor Stein's class that Caitlin was finally called. Caitlin was sitting at the table with Barry and Cisco of course. However, two of their other friends_ — _Ronnie Raymond and Felicity Smoak_ — _joined them. Professor Stein was talking about the son he recently adopted when the message telling all the students with the last names starting with R and S came. The entire table, aside from Barry, stood up._

 _Barry shot Caitlin a good luck wish with his eyes. Caitlin had noticed he had been out of it since his interview. Felicity had tried pressing him for what would happen, but he hadn't wanted to talk about it._

 _Caitlin smiled softly at Barry before following the rest of her friends out the door. Felicity, of course, was the first one to speak._

" _Okay, so you know how I decided to hack SHIELD the other day? So, guess what I found out? There is an entire city of sentient gorillas somewhere in the Savage lands. Apparently, they were some mutt gone wrong."_

" _You know they are going to kill you for hacking into SHIELD," Cisco said, but he seemed too impressed with her work to actually worry about her._

 _District Three wasn't like a lot of the other districts, Caitlin figured. From what she had seen from the Reapings in the others districts, the Sentinels seemed a lot stricter. In District Three, you would rarely see a Sentinel except for the occasional one passing by. Unless you did something really wrong. Or, like in Caitlin's case, knew one personally. Barry's adoptive father happened to be a Sentinel._

" _Only if they catch me. I am fairly sneaky," Felicity laughed, interrupting Caitlin from her train of thought. Felicity and Cisco continued their conversation about recent hacks and what they had found on the "Dark Web" as they sped forward._

" _Even for District Three, those two have got to be some of the biggest nerds you will ever come by," Ronnie joked under his breath, drawing a smile from Caitlin that only he could._

" _Better not let Overwatch hear you," Caitlin replied, referring to the nickname they had given Felicity. "She might go all 'Bitch with Wi-fi' again." Ronnie laughed out loud at her joke, shuddering at the memory._

 _Just then, they saw the line waiting outside the room. All the kids were their grade or slightly older. Caitlin waited in the alphabetical order a Capitol attendant put her in. She was in the middle of the letter S's, right behind Leonard and Lisa Snart. Hartley was near the front of the line. Behind him was Ronnie. A little farther back in line, she saw Cisco standing uncomfortably next to Mick Rory._

 _Caitlin watched as each kid went into the room and came out almost ten minutes later with a look of dread on their face. Caitlin could only imagine what was going through their minds. When Ronnie came out of the room, even he wasn't his usual happy, easy-going self. As if being interviewed a few weeks from the Avengers Games really brought the reality that you could be chosen. The Capitol talk shows all said this year was rumored to be extra horrific._

 _When it was Caitlin's turn, she walked into the bare classroom, nervously playing with one of the usual rings she wore on her finger. At the front of the classroom sat the only two previous victors from District Three, Obadiah Stane and James Rhodes. Or as they were known in the Capitol, Iron Monger and War Machine. Both held a tablet, and from the other side, Caitlin could see her face was pulled up on their screens. She brushed one of her long blond curls behind her ear and quickly sat down on the only chair left empty in the room._

" _Caitlin Snow," James said, sounding bored from a full day of interviewing. "I'm assuming you know why you're here."_

" _You need to pick tributes. I'm a candidate." Caitlin replied, voice flat._

" _First thing we want to do is go through and see if anyone is willing to volunteer. Are you?" Rhodes asked, leaning forward._

 _Caitlin had to resist a laugh. "Last year, a girl volunteered and her arm got ripped off by a cannibal on the first day. I can't say that makes me eager to follow in her footsteps." Rhodes nodded and typed something quickly on his tablet._

" _You're not bad-looking, the Capital would eat you up," Obadiah said, eagerly looking the young girl up and down. Again, she had to resist an urge, this time it was to punch the guy in the face and also cover every inch of her skin._

 _James glared at his fellow victor, silently telling him to behave himself, then returned his gaze to Caitlin. "I'm going to ask you a series of questions. I want you to answer them as honestly as possible. Can you do that for us?" Caitlin studied the man who wasn't much older than herself; he had won the Games only two years back. Before last year, tributes only had the pig that sat to his left as a mentor._

" _I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Caitlin sighed._

" _Unfortunately, no. So, Caitlin, what's your family like?" Rhodes asked his first question, ready to take notes on every word she said._

" _It's just my mom and me. We both work at S.T.A.R Labs. My dad did too, but the particle accelerator explosion killed him."_

" _How old were you when that happened?"_

" _About five. Ever since then, my mom and I have kind of drifted apart."_

" _Any friends?"_

" _Four good ones. Barry Allen, Cisco Ramon and Ronnie Raymond; you've already seen them. Also, Felicity Smoak."_

" _Any boyfriend?" Caitlin felt her face get hot at this question. She had never been on a date, much less had a boyfriend. However, she had been in love with Ronnie Raymond for years now. Caitlin hated herself for it. She had seen what loving and losing a love had done to her mother. Love was a stupid emotion that had absolutely no place in Caitlin's life. If she had learned one thing from her mother, it was that being closed off was the only way to live so you didn't get hurt._

" _No," Caitlin answered simply._

" _How athletic are you?"_

" _I'm healthy. I don't work out a lot, though; that's not a big focus here in Three."_

 _Rhodes chuckled. "You can say that again. Do you have a weak stomach? Does blood bother you?"_

" _Exercise isn't a big focus in three. No, and No." Rhodes laughed at Caitlin's joke and wrote something down on his tablet._

 _Caitlin glanced over at the other victor. He had gone from looking bored to more interested with every question. It suddenly occurred to her she was a good candidate. She had little family, and she and her mother weren't close. She didn't have many friends. She was healthy and smart. Obadiah mentioned she was attractive, and while Caitlin didn't see herself as that way, she would admit she wasn't bad-looking. She had long, blond hair, icy blue eyes and pale skin. Caitlin could only imagine what the stylists could do to make her stunning. Also, she had just made Rhodes laugh, which showed she was charming enough to earn sponsors._

" _Last question: if you were in the Games, do you think you could win?"_

 _Caitlin stared down the older of the two victors. Fury bubbled inside of her, because the more she thought about it, the more she could see that her friends were as good of candidates as herself._

" _I honestly don't know," Caitlin said between her teeth, "But I wouldn't go down without a fight." Obadiah smiled faintly at her, still remaining silent._

" _Thank you for your time, Ms. Snow. Could you send the next student in?" Rhodes asked and stood up. Caitlin broke her gaze with Stane and looked back at the younger victor._

" _Of course," Caitlin said coldly and left the room swiftly._

* * *

Caitlin looked at the time; it had been almost an hour since she had woken up. She had gotten very little done except brush her unruly hair. The people from the Capitol would be there in a few hours to get ready for the Reaping. They made it so the Reaping could stream live district by district for the people watching in the Capitol. Caitlin had risen early so she still had plenty of time. She was so accustomed to getting up early every morning for school or work that she couldn't sleep in on Reaping Days.

Caitlin curled her hair and put on a nice blue dress that accented her eyes. Once she felt satisfied with her appearance, Caitlin left her room to grab a quick breakfast. On the fridge was a note.

 _Putting in some extra hours at work. I won't be home until late today. Mom._

Caitlin's mom, even on a mandatory day off, still going to work. _Typical_. Caitlin thought as she rummaged through the fridge to find breakfast. Still, Caitlin knew things had been crazy at S.T.A.R. labs ever since Howard Stark had been found dead.

Caitlin stopped for a second to wonder if this was how all the past tributes' mornings had started. Just like any other day. She wondered what the new twenty-four must be doing right now. If they were trying to get in a little extra sleep, or if they were preparing, because they knew what their victors had chosen.

Sighing, Caitlin decided there was nothing good to eat, and as if on cue, a knock came at the door. Caitlin opened the door and was greeted by the smiling face of Ronnie Raymond. He was wearing a nice, scarlet button-up shirt with dress pants.

"Wow, Cait, you look amazing." He grinned, which made Caitlin blush. She looked down at her ice-blue dress. It was the nicest thing she had; it was made of some kind of reflective material, and the dress cut off just at her knees.

"Thanks; better look nice if I end up on TV today," Caitlin joked darkly.

"Speaking of which," Ronnie said, pulling at the hem of his shirt. "I was thinking: what if the absolute worst possible situation happens today? What if one of us gets picked to go to the Games? Then it hit me, we should do something fun this morning, like go and get breakfast, just in case." Ronnie couldn't even meet Caitlin's eyes.

"Are you asking me out?" Caitlin asked, more shocked than anything else.

"Yes, I mean no, I mean—" Ronnie stumbled over his words, which wasn't like him at all. He pulled himself together and confidently finished what he had been trying to say. "Yes. Come on, Caitlin, let's go on a fun date, no strings attached. Besides, you told me before you haven't ever gone on a date, and just in case, well, now you will have."

Caitlin's first instinct was to slam the door and run. She did not need or want this in her life. On the other hand, she was hungry, and he did make a valid argument. Besides, Ronnie was a friend, and she could see how hard it had been for him to ask her out. She didn't want to shoot him down.

"No strings attached?"

"None."

"And if I get chosen—"

"Hey, you'll have been on one date."

"Fine." Caitlin caved. She put her shoes on, black flats, and walked out the door. "Where to?"

Ronnie closed the door behind her like a gentleman. "Well, we'll see what's open and go from there."

Together Caitlin and Ronnie wandered into the market part of the district. Many shops were closed, but a few were still open for the occasional person walking by. They passed a group of old men talking and making bets on who would be chosen in the Reaping and a kind old lady selling buttons. Finally, the couple stopped at a small bakery that was open and ordered a couple rolls and two cupcakes. Ronnie pulled out the chair of a small table set up right outside the bakery. Caitlin made an effort to seem mad about sitting in the chair, huffing as she plopped down, but in her mind, she thought of how cute it was.

Caitlin ate a piece of the warm roll, and Ronnie spoke in a Capitol accent. "So, Snow, liking the food?"

Caitlin smiled and played along. "Yes, Raymond, but I don't know if cupcakes qualify as breakfast food."

"Ahh, but of course they do, Ms. Snow…" Ronnie continued to talk about cupcakes. After that, he talked about other meaningless topics to get their minds off what day it was. Caitlin and Ronnie sat there talking and laughing long after their food was gone. On any other day, they would have looked like a normal, cute teen couple on a date. Caitlin let herself picture that for the moment.

"So, I made this thing in one of my engineering classes. We had to—" Ronnie began but was interrupted by a large group of people walking towards the town center. All of them were adults and took their time, but it dawned on Caitlin where they were supposed to be.

"Crap, we're going to be late to the Reaping." Together, they stood up and started sprinting to the center of the district. If Caitlin could have avoided the Reaping altogether, she would have. But it was a mandatory attendance, punishable by prison if you didn't show up. The couple got there with only a few minutes to spare. Caitlin stood at the back of the girls' line, and Ronnie left her side to go in the boys' line.

As she waited, Caitlin looked around, and something strange caught her eye. She saw Obadiah Stane talking with a hooded figure. The figure was smaller in size, and quite scrawny. An envelope passed from the hooded figure to Stane, and the victor grinned and nodded. Stane turned around and walked back towards the stage. The hooded figure turned around to make sure the coast was clear. Caitlin only saw his face for a second before he turned back around and raced away, but she knew exactly who he was. Hartley Rathaway.

Caitlin felt tempted to go after him, but it was then her arm was taken by the wrist. She whirled around to see it was one of the Capitol attendants. He pricked her finger, forced the blood on a pad, then demanded Caitlin hurry to her spot. She did as the Capitolite asked, sneaking one more glance behind her shoulder. Rathaway was nowhere to be seen.

Caitlin got into her spot with all the other 17 year old girls and stood right next to Felicity. She glanced over at the boys her age and saw Cisco and Ronnie, but no Barry and no Hartley.

There was the noise of a microphone, which drew Caitlin's attention to the stage. Happy Hogan stood in his usual white suit and wore the same bored expression as he had every year at the Reaping. Caitlin wondered if he had gotten the name Happy as a joke.

"Welcome to the Reaping of the 25th annual Avenger Games, and the first Quarter Quell. As you all know, there was an extra twist this year. The previous victors had to choose this year's tributes." Happy sounded very robotic, as if he were reading from a screen only he could see. Caitlin didn't doubt this was completely possible, especially in the technology district. Commotion seemed to be happening, and Caitlin glanced over to where the loud whispers were coming from. Barry was finally here, late, like usual.

"But before we get on to who this year's tributes are, we will be showing a short clip." Happy finished his introduction and sat down for a minute while the annual clip played about the Civil War and why they had the games. Caitlin didn't pay attention to the clip; none of the older kids really did. In fact, one face stood out that was watching very intently. Hartley was the only kid older than 15 staring at the screen. Caitlin hadn't seen him sneak in; he had done so more gracefully than Barry. Caitlin was extremely suspicious of what the little rat had been up to, but it couldn't have been anything good.

Once the video ended, Caitlin grudgingly took her eyes off the boys' section and looked back at the stage. "Now, the moment you have all been waiting for: the choosing of the tributes. And as always, may the odds be ever in your favor." Caitlin held her breath, just as she had the last five years she had been in the reaping pool. "Ladies first."

Happy nodded to James Rhodes. He took his place at the podium and took a deep breath before saying the name: "Caitlin Snow."

Time seemed to freeze. Caitlin knew what she heard, but it couldn't be right. She looked again over at the boys' section and saw the faces of three of her best friends full of terror, staring directly at her. Caitlin looked to her other side. She was met by the sad expression of Iris West, Barry's adoptive sister, then Felicity, standing right next to her, who was already tearing up. Caitlin could hear her heart pound as she looked back up at the stage. All of a sudden, she was moving, walking. Like some unseen force was pushing her forward, but when she looked down, she saw only her legs. Soon, she was on the stage, shaking hands with Happy. He said something, but Caitlin couldn't hear any other sound other than her own heartbeat. She glanced over at the victors; Rhodes looked at her solemnly and mouthed the word 'sorry.' Caitlin could finally hear again, just in time for the male tribute to be announced.

"Now for the boys," Happy said, and Obadiah Stane took the floor.

"Francisco Ramon," Stane announced, then sat back down next to the other victor.

Caitlin hadn't even recovered from her first wave of shock when that sent another wave rolling through her body. _Of all the people._ Caitlin thought, while whirling her head around for some kind of explanation. She looked to the victors' seats again, but this time, Rhodes looked just as confused as she must have looked. Obadiah Stane, on the other hand, looked mildly amused, even a little victorious. Caitlin turned her head back to see one of her best friends walking that long isle to the stage. When he got up with her, Caitlin and Cisco locked eyes. She could feel her eyes getting wet as she was forced to shake hands with her friend. She heard Happy say something, but it didn't process in the jumbled thoughts going on in her brain. Before she knew it, a Sentinel she recognized as Joe West was escorting her to the room, where she would say her final goodbyes.

* * *

Barry was the first one to visit her. Caitlin met his presence with a hug, and they embraced for a long time. When the hug finally broke, Caitlin could see Barry's eyes had turned an irritated red.

"How's Cisco doing?" Caitlin asked, thinking of her friend-turned-district partner.

"I don't know; I came here first," Barry admitted. "I figured his family would want to say goodbye to him first."

Caitlin nodded. "Barry, thank you so much for being my friend. If I don't come back—"

"No. Don't talk like that." Barry said, taking Caitlin's hands.

"Barry, even in the best-case scenario, either Cisco or I — no matter what, at least one of us isn't coming home. So please listen." Barry nodded, tears streaming down his cheeks. "If — if I don't make it, I appreciate you and love you. You're the brother I never had." Caitlin's voice cracked.

"Please don't die," Barry sobbed. "I don't want either of you to die."

"Barry, no matter what happens, you have to live your life. Join the Sentinels, become a forensic scientist. Tell Iris how you really feel about her. Promise me." Caitlin held his shoulders and stared him in the eyes.

"I'll try," Barry sniffled. "But that means you have to also. Try."

"Yeah, I'll try." Barry pulled Caitlin into another hug. That one was shorter, and after it was over, Barry placed a kiss on Caitlin's forehead. With that, he walked out of the room, doing his best to compose himself.

Next, Felicity came in. Her visit was brief, because she could barely get a word out through all the crying. Caitlin still appreciated Felicity coming to see her off. It wasn't long before Felicity left, tears staining her beautiful, dark blue dress.

The door opened again, and Mrs. Snow walked in the room. "Mother? I thought you were working," Caitlin said, surprised to see her mom.

"I was, but we all thought we'd come in memory of Mr. Stark. He wasn't the same after last year when it was his son." Caitlin's mother said matter-of-factly; no emotion escaped through her cold tone. "It's too bad that S.T.A.R. labs will be losing some of its finest interns."

Caitlin didn't know whether to take what her mom said as a compliment or be offended that her mom only saw her as a work collage rather than a daughter. Ever since they had lost Caitlin's father, Mrs. Snow barely acknowledged her daughter.

"Good luck in the Games," her mother said and left the room without saying anything else. She didn't even look back over her shoulder to her only daughter that might die.

The next person to walk in surprised Caitlin by his visit more than her mother had.

"District Three might finally get a female victor this year," Harrison Wells said as he closed the door behind him.

"What chance do I have against tributes that have trained their entire lives for this? The ones who bribed their victors into choosing them?" Caitlin asked hopelessly.

"Sure, but you've been training too." Wells walked over to Caitlin, and she shook her head. "You are at the top of your class, you are charming and pretty—"

"And you are just trying to make me feel better."

"No, I'm not. You don't see me giving a pep talk to Ramon, do you?" Wells asked. Caitlin was about to argue, but Harrison held his hand up. "Sure, he's smart, but he isn't going to win, not by a long shot. I've seen the killer in you, Caitlin. When I talk about the particle accelerator that killed your dad, when someone hurts one of your friends, you are ready to kill. Caitlin, in these Games, you are the only person who matters. Not the other tributes, not Ramon, you. Don't worry about morality, right or wrong. Don't keep your feelings locked away. In the Games, let the killer loose."

Caitlin backed away from her teacher during his scary monologue. As he finished, all she could do was gaze at him, mouth hanging open. Wells' mouth twisted into a faint smile, and he left the room.

The door didn't finish closing before Ronnie ran in the room. Caitlin sighed with relief when she was whisked into his strong arms. His breathing was labored, though, and it took him a second to catch his breath.

"When I took you out this morning, I didn't actually think that…" Ronnie trailed off. He put his hands onto Caitlin's shoulders and looked deep into her light blue eyes.

"I know," Caitlin said, peering back into his amber eyes. She felt her own eyes once again become moist as Ronnie stood there. She had held it together through the rest of the goodbyes, but of course Raymond would be the one that got her to crack.

"I brought you something. I tried telling you about it before, but we were interrupted." Out of his pocket, Ronnie pulled out two silver rings. They seemed to be plain bands. "I had to run home to grab them. I made them in Professor Stein's class, and well…. They let you take a token."

"I don't know what you're implying, mister, but you said no strings attached," Caitlin joked, but still felt her breath quicken a little as she looked at the rings.

"It's a district token, not a wedding band." Ronnie grinned and slipped the smaller of the two rings onto Caitlin's right hand ring finger. He then put the other one on his own matching finger. As he slipped his on, Caitlin's ring began to dimly glow orange and get warm. "No matter how far away we are, if we touch our ring, the others will glow. Mine gets blue and cold to remind me of you."

"Ronnie, I don't know what to say." Caitlin touched her own ring, and sure enough, Ronnie's began glowing blue.

"Then don't say anything at all." Ronnie rushed forward and grabbed either side of Caitlin's face. He began kissing her fervently. At first, she was taken by surprise but began kissing him back. She wrapped her arms around him. One of Ronnie's hands moved to Caitlin's lower back, pulling her in closer. The other moved to her hair and pulled lightly.

They broke away for a second, and Caitlin caught her breath. "I should have done this a long time ago," Ronnie said fervently, and they went back to their kiss, more intense than before. They didn't stop until Sentinels came in the room, ripped Ronnie away from her body, and started dragging him out of the room.

"I love you, Caitlin Snow; please come back to me."

"I'll try," was all Caitlin could manage to get out before the door slammed, and the lock click sounded. Caitlin sat down on a velvet chair, hot tears springing from her eyes and down her cheeks. Caitlin looked down at her token; it was glowing a magnificent fire orange.

Caitlin wrapped her other hand around the warm ring and, for the first time since her father had died a little over twelve years ago, let herself _truly_ cry.

* * *

 **Cisco Ramon of District Three**

 **Written by Ophelia Claire**

* * *

" _For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust first." - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games_

" _Betrayal is common for men with no conscience." - Toba Beta, My Ancestor Was An Ancient Astronaut_

* * *

The morning of the Reaping, Cisco woke from a dream with his interview questions playing over and over in his head. He'd thought about them every day for the past month, wondering day and night if his answers would keep him from the Games.

 _Cisco sat gingerly in a chair across from Obadiah Stane and James Rhodes. Rhodes held a tablet that Cisco guessed had information on him._

Today, he would find out.

He climbed quietly out of bed, not wanting to wake his parents, who slept in the room next door. He went across the hall to the small bathroom and washed his face and hair in the sink before heading to the kitchen.

 _"Francisco Ramon."_

 _"Just… just Cisco. Sorry. No one calls me Francisco."_

 _"Cisco…" Stane looked like the name put a bad taste in his mouth. "We'll be asking a series of questions. It would be in your best interests to answer honestly."_

 _"First, as a formality: are you willing to volunteer?" Rhodes looked like he would rather be anywhere than in a room with Stane, and Cisco didn't blame him. The man was creepy as all get out._

 _"Well, I don't really have a death wish, so no."_

Cisco rummaged through the cupboards and came up with a half a loaf of bread. His family wasn't well-off by any means — Cisco was barely sixteen, and though he'd begun tinkering at a young age, he was only now old enough to begin working professionally. His mother was an engineer, and his father had been one too, but when his brother, Dante, had died a few years back, Mr. Ramon had become a shell of his former self.

Cisco cut himself two slices and toasted them in the still-smoldering embers of last-night's fire. There was nothing to put on them, but it was better than nothing. Maybe he could snag something from Caitlin before the Reaping. Her mother was a scientist and made quite a bit more money. Caitlin usually had nice clothes, curled hair, and often could treat herself to luxuries at bakeries and shops. The most expensive thing Cisco — indeed, maybe his whole family — owned was his pair of glasses that sat on top of the small dresser by his bed.

 _"Your family?"_

 _"Me, my mom, my dad."_

 _"You had a brother," Stane said, but it was a statement that he was waiting for confirmation on, not a question._

 _"He died, a few years back," Cisco said quietly._

 _"Anything to do with the particle accelerator explosion?" Stane asked. Rhodes looked like he wanted to slap Stane for the tasteless comment but said nothing._

 _"No… a gang fight," Cisco said. "He made some bad choices."_

Cisco tried hard to make better choices than Dante. He studied hard to do well in school and was at the top of his class. He worked as an intern at STAR Labs, getting paid to tinker to his heart's content. He didn't associate with any of the gangs that roamed Three's streets — not even the delinquents that were in his classes.

Although… he would not admit it to anyone…

 _"What about friendships?" Rhodes asked. "Any good friends here, or elsewhere in the district?"_

 _"Caitlin Snow, Barry Allen… um, Felicity Smoak and Ronnie Raymond, too."_

 _"Any relationships, current or past?"_

 _Cisco hesitated. "N-no, none. There was a girl I had a crush on a while ago, but it didn't work out."_ I suppose there's Lisa, but if I even looked at her, Leonard would probably kill me. _"Nothing at the moment."_

Cisco dressed in the one nice shirt he owned. It was a burnt orange and was only in decent condition because he — and the previous owner, Dante — had only worn it once a year. He threw on a pair of slacks and picked the less ratty pair of his shoes before setting out into the quiet district.

Though it was a day off of work and school, there were still a few shops opening up for the morning. Cisco nodded at the lady who sold buttons and other odds and ends on the corner or the market square.

He didn't really have a destination in mind — he'd just planned to wander for a while — but his feet took him through town, past STAR Labs, and into the neighborhood on the other side of town where many of the Sentinels lived. A tall, thin boy was heading down the street in Cisco's direction. When he saw Cisco, he began to jog towards him, waving a hand in greeting.

"Hey, Barry," Cisco called out as the boys drew close to each other. "Sleep in much?"

Barry shrugged. "A bit. Joe was up earlier than usual; they had a lot of the Sentinels doing Reaping prep. Iris and Wally were up before me too — it's Wally's first Reaping, and he's nervous, even though we've told him he has nothing to worry about for this one. Rhodes wouldn't let Stane pick a kid, and Stane wouldn't want one anyways — he wants a winner."

"Well, I guess that puts me out of the running," Cisco joked. Barry slugged him good-naturedly.

"Just because you're not as athletic as some people-"

"I'm sorry, are you calling me a weakling?" Cisco asked in mock offense.

"Out of the two of us, who runs track at school?" The boys continued their banter as they meandered up the street.

 _"What about your athletic abilities?" Stane asked, but the tone of his voice was less like a querying victor and more like a prospective cattle buyer, and Cisco didn't like it. He forced a laugh anyways._

 _"Uh… not much. I can run for a bit, but cardio's not really my strong suit. I don't really have a strong suit in the athletic field_ — _I'm much better at building stuff. I like engineering."_

 _"What about seeing blood_ — _does that sort of thing bother you? Weak stomach?"_

 _"I guess… I mean, it depends on the amount. Little cuts, scrapes, that sort of thing_ — _that's fine. But I saw the stab wounds that killed my brother… it gave me nightmares for months." Stane typed a short note into his tablet, an unimpressed expression on his face._

 _"All right, last question," said Rhodes. "If you were in the Games_ — _do you think you could win?"_

 _"Not unless I found some really good stuff to build with," said Cisco. "If I had to rely on pure physicality_ — _no chance in hell."_

 _"All right. Thank you for your time, Mr. Ramon," said Rhodes, indicating that Cisco could leave._

 _In the hall, Cisco passed Hartley waiting_ — _he was next, Rathaway coming right after Ramon. Hartley wore an inscrutable expression as the boys made eye contact before Hartley slipped into the room._

"Any plans for your day off?" Barry asked as they wandered through the quiet marketplace.

"Thought I might go into the lab later. Harrison promised to take a look at a couple things of mine outside of class, so I want to finish them up. Although Hartley might have the same idea — have you noticed he's been acting weirdly the last couple weeks? Like, more so than usual? Like he's hiding something but he's proud of it." Cisco traced a finger along the bow of his glasses — a thinking habit of his.

"He's always smug about something. I wouldn't worry about it too much," Barry said. "I think I'll go for a run later. Today always stresses me out."

They walked in silence for a few hundred meters.

"Okay, here's a question," Cisco said. "The kids who are going through this for the first time — are they gonna be more or less scared than the rest of us?"

"Didn't they only interview the oldest kids? Sixteen and over?" Barry pointed out.

"Well, yeah, but you never know. They might just do it completely randomly after all of that. Maybe none of us are quite right for the Games."

Barry shrugged and then pointed down the road. "You could ask Jefferson. He's twelve this year."

Cisco glanced down the road to find a trio of people heading in their direction. Cisco recognized them as one of his teachers, Martin Stein, Stein's wife Clarissa, and the boy that they'd adopted, Jefferson Jackson, who usually went by the much more relaxed "Jax."

Cisco remembered — vaguely — when Jax came to town. Jax had been two, Cisco was six. Jax had caused something of a stir, not only because successful adoption was so rare outside of the most powerful families who could afford the extra mouth to feed but because the color of his skin stood out somewhat among the citizens of Three.

Dark skin wasn't unheard of, of course — Barry's adoptive family all had dark skin, and even Cisco's skin was a few shades darker than the average Three citizen. But the district was predominantly white, and — unless you were a scientist or a Sentinel like Joe West — that was where most of the wealth lay too.

Jax waved at Barry and Cisco. He knew them, as he often spent time in his father's classroom when he wasn't in class himself. Jax broke into a jog, reaching the boys faster than Martin and Clarissa.

Barry and Cisco greeted him with a "hey" and claps on the shoulder. They were hesitant to broach the subject of the Games, but Jax had no such qualms.

"Are you guys scared for today? Did they ask you weird questions? Did they—"

"Jefferson, give the boys a chance to breathe," Martin said with a laugh. "Mr. Ramon, Mr. Allen. I hope the day finds you well, even with foreboding events on the horizon." He laid a hand on his son's shoulder. "I've told him that he has nothing to worry about this year. Hopefully, neither do the two of you — I would greatly miss your presences in my class."

"Thanks, Professor Stein," Barry said. "We've been talking — we think we're probably out of the woods."

"What happens at the Reaping?" Jax asked. "What do they do when you get there? Grey doesn't really know — he never was in the Reaping."

"'Grey?'" Barry asked, a slight smile on his lips.

"It's Jefferson's little nickname for Martin," Clarissa said amusedly.

"It just seemed to fit," Jax said, a little sheepishly.

As Cisco watched Jax chatter, he thought about how nervous he'd been for his first Reaping, and he'd had a brother to lead him through it.

"Professor Stein, we could help Jax get checked in today, show him where to go, that sort of thing," Cisco offered. Relief flashed across Jax's face.

"I'm sure he'd very much appreciate that, Mr. Ramon," said Stein. "Thank you." He pulled a watch out of his pocket. "Speaking of, we ought to get going. Check-in begins shortly, if I've got the time right."

The others agreed, and then Barry yelped. "Ah, no! I forgot to change… I'll meet you there; I just gotta run home." He took off in the direction of his house at a sprint.

The small group made their way back into the center of town and joined the crush of people.

Cisco explained the check-in process to Jax. The younger boy looked a little apprehensive when they mentioned the blood test, but they assured him that it hardly hurt. The two of them said farewell to the Steins and joined the line of boys. Over in the girls' line, Cisco caught a glimpse of white-blond hair that could only belong to Caitlin.

Cisco had managed to stave off nerves while talking with Barry and the Steins, but as the line slowly pressed forward, he could feel a heavy ball of dread settling into his gut. He tried to reason with himself — there was no good reason that they'd pick him. He didn't have the physical prowess or fighting will to be able to win the Games. There were plenty of people that could actually win.

He still couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong, though. He didn't know what it was, but as he held out a finger for the Sentinel to prick, something made him glance up toward the stage. There were four chairs lined up. James Rhodes, the mayor, and the Capitol escort, "Happy" Hogan occupied three of them. The fourth chair was empty — Stane should have been sitting there. Cisco glanced around to find Stane on the ground on the left side of the stage, talking to someone surreptitiously. The figure wore a dark coat and hood pulled over their head, obscuring their face in shadow. The mystery person's stance looked like they were asking a question, or maybe offering something.

Cisco's attention was pulled back to the Sentinel as his finger was pricked and his blood smeared on the Sentinel's pad. As he was shooed along to find his section, he looked back up at the stage. The hooded figure had vanished, and Stane was climbing back up onto the stage. As he took his seat, Hogan rose and made his way to the microphone at the front. His white suit practically shone in the sun.

The people near Cisco shifted to make room for someone, and Barry appeared at his side, out of breath.

"Made it," he gasped quietly.

"Barely," Cisco whispered. "We gotta work on your timeliness."

Hogan began to speak, looking distinctly not thrilled to be up on the stage. "Welcome to the 25th annual Avenger Games Reaping and the first Quarter Quell. As you know, there's an extra twist this year — the previous victors had to choose this year's tributes." He gestured up at a white screen unfurling in front of the Justice Building. "But as usual, we have a special clip before we can get to the choosing." Cisco glanced up at the screen, seeing it but not really paying attention to the clip. At this point, he'd seen similar clips five times already. They were inaccurate and frankly a little demeaning.

Thankfully, they were short, and Hogan resumed his position at the microphone. "Now, for the moment you've all been waiting for — the choosing of our tributes."

 _Maybe if we didn't have to watch the stupid videos every year, we wouldn't have to wait as long…_ Cisco thought.

"And as always, may the odds be ever in your favor," Hogan finished before the victors took his place at the microphone. "Ladies first."

Rhodes spoke first, taking a deep breath. "Caitlin Snow," he said simply.

Cisco's head whipped around, searching for that distinctive blonde hair. As he found her, she met his eyes. Her face looked emotionless at first glance, but he could see the terror rising under the surface. She stepped, almost zombie-like, out of her section, and made her way up to the stage. She shook hands with Hogan, who then motioned to Stane. He appeared to hesitate for just the slightest second before speaking.

"Francisco Ramon." Cisco's heart dropped like a stone, right down to his feet.

"No…" he heard Barry whisper next to him. Cisco found himself unable to take a single step.

Why? What did they gain by sending him? He functioned far better in a lab than anywhere else.

Someone took him by the arm, and he realized he'd done nothing to respond to his name. A Sentinel was leading him towards the stage, and he followed along on numb legs.

He stumbled his way up the wooden steps to join Hogan and Caitlin. She met his eyes, hers shining slightly as they shook hands.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your Quarter Quell tributes!" Hogan announced. There was a smattering of applause as Sentinels placed hands on their shoulders and escorted them inside. Cisco, still in shock, vaguely noticed that the Sentinel with his hand on Caitlin's shoulder was Barry's adoptive father, Joe West, and though his face was stoic, his eyes shone too.

Cisco was shown into a small room and left to wait. He didn't have long to stew before his parents arrived. He heard his mother wailing from down the hall before they actually arrived in the room. His father seemed to be reacting more like Cisco himself — numb shock. Cisco embraced his parents, which seemed to be the final crack in the dam, and let his sobs begin. He cried into his mother's shoulder, while his father just held onto his family.

"I love you, _mi Cisquito,_ " his mother whispered into his hair. "You make me proud each day."

"I love you too, _mamá_ ," he said. "I'll make you proud in the Games too."

His mother kissed the top of his head. "I know you will."

She and Mr. Ramon were escorted out by a Sentinel and replaced by Barry. Barry's eyes were red, and Cisco guessed he'd come from next door, or wherever Caitlin was waiting. The two wrapped each other in tight hugs, their height difference emphasized when Cisco's face squished against Barry's collarbone.

"H-how's Cait?" Cisco asked through little post-cry hiccups.

"She's pretty shaken. She's hiding it pretty well but…I mean, it's the Games." Barry sighed, and a couple fresh tears trickled from his eyes. "Why you two? I can't lose both of you; what am I gonna do? What are you gonna do?"

"Anything I can. Maybe I'll get lucky and a sponsor will send me something I can build with. I just have to get past the bloodbath, and then maybe I can pull a Tony Stark, make something to get me through the Games."

"You're the smartest guy I know, Cisco. You won't have any trouble with that." The boys embraced one last time as the Sentinel came to escort Barry out.

Cisco expected to be led out of the room as well, but he had one final visitor. Cisco actually reared back slightly as Hartley Rathaway sidled into the room, looking extremely smug.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here, Hartley?" Cisco snapped. "Couldn't resist one final chance to gloat?"

Hartley smirked even more. "I just wanted to make your send-off as memorable as possible. A little rivalry to send you on your way, a little betrayal to give you an edge in the Games…"

"Betrayal?" Cisco repeated. "What do you… mean…" He trailed off as he finally noticed Hartley's attire. A black coat… with a hood hanging off the collar.

" _You_ ," Cisco hissed. "You did this."

"Even rich victors are easy to manipulate if you know the song in their hearts," Hartley said. "With you gone, Harrison Wells will be looking for a new intern at STAR Labs. Even if we don't always… see eye to eye, he needs some intelligent blood. And Caitlin's name coming up too — not part of my original plan, but a stroke of luck, I'd say." He adjusted his tortoiseshell glasses with a nudge to the bow.

"This was all because you were jealous?" Cisco was torn between rage and disbelief that Rathaway had become this petty. They'd had their feuds, but (at least he'd thought) there had always been some kind of grudging respect.

Hartley appeared to consider it. "Mmm…yes, it was. It absolutely was."

Cisco lunged at the boy, but Hartley danced out of reach and disappeared through the door. The Sentinel came through almost immediately afterwards and led Cisco from the room. Caitlin joined him, eyes slightly red and puffy.

"It was Hartley," Cisco murmured as they walked down the hallway.

"What?" Caitlin seemed a little out of it.

"Hartley set me up," Cisco said. "I wasn't Stane's original pick. Hartley convinced him to choose me to take my spot at the lab."

Caitlin's brow furrowed, and she looked like she was about to say something, but they passed through the doors and out into the sunshiny afternoon once more. They were shepherded down the short road to Three's solitary train platform and onto the waiting bullet train.

The doors hissed shut behind them, and Cisco could only see them as the lid to his coffin.


	7. Chapter 6: Walking Among the Gods

**(A/N): And we're back with our Tuesday update! This chapter features a few familiar faces to those of you that followed "In the End, You Always Kneel" (shameless plug to go read it because it's awesome). We've got InDeepDarkWood (who wrote Storm last time) and robbiepoo2341 (who wrote Kate Bishop last time) for the ever-fabulous District Four!**

 **Thanks to all of our writers who reviewed; it's amazing to see the outpouring of support for everyone! Thanks also to bookcrazysongbird for your review - we agree entirely that already we're getting way too emotionally invested, and we're only a third of the way through all of the tributes, as of this chapter right here! Hang on, because the ride's only going to get more involved from here, as you remember from the last one! ;)**

* * *

 **Chapter Six - Walking Among the Gods**

 **Written by robbiepoo2341 and InDeepDarkWood**

* * *

 **Kaldur Ahm of District Four**

 **Written by robbiepoo2341**

* * *

" _You can judge a leader by the size of the problem he tackles. Other people can cope with the waves; it's his job to watch the tide." -Anthony Jay_

* * *

Only the most experienced divers went out to the reef to untangle the nets in the waters off the east bay. There was a dangerous riptide that could catch you off guard even if you swam the area a hundred times over, and since Kaldur took the diving job, three men had been dragged out to the ocean and joined the halls of their fathers.

Out in the water, that was where a man found himself. Out there with nothing but a well-trained breath in his lungs and a good sense of direction to avoid the deadly current — that was the only thing separating him from life and death.

But, oh, was it living.

The water was the perfect temperature — nothing like the sticky heat back on dry land that plastered his shirt to his chest and wet his hair the moment he woke up. Not that his hair was ever truly dry. He spent too much time in the waves, even when he wasn't working. He hadn't stopped smelling like sea salt since he was nine years old, and he would probably die with salt on his lips, carried out by the riptide that loomed always in the corners of his world.

The sky above was cloudless, and the sun filtered down through the waves, catching the glint of fish and fishing tools alike. Kaldur searched through the wet sand for the edge of the nets that had been swept out to the east bay by newer fishermen. Every summer, boys would come out to these waters looking to become men, and every summer, the ocean would best them. It was as predictable as the ebb and flow of the ocean itself.

And Kaldur would come, every summer, and pick up the broken remains. A good net was a good net, after all, and if it could be repaired, it had to be salvaged. The Capitol would not broke with excess.

The fish in the waters paid Kaldur little heed. He was no fisherman, and the fishermen didn't come to those waters anyway — not if they had any sense at all. No, better to fish where the sea could not steal away their livelihoods in an instant — and leave these fish their haven.

A large manta drifted lazily past, and he watched it with an easy smile.

Finally, Kaldur seized the edge of the net and kicked off — strong, powerful strokes propelling him to the surface, and he took in a great lungful as his head broke the waves. He shook the water off his face as he pulled himself through the water toward the waiting boat, where his friend Garth helped him to climb aboard.

"No one else but you volunteers for this bay, Kaldur," Garth teased as he looked over the net. It was torn in places, buffeted by the waves as well as the bottom of the ocean, but it could be fixed. There was talent enough on the shores of Four to fix almost anything, and once, they would have taken it to Tula to fix. Now, they took it to other, less talented women, much to the loss of the district as well as the two boys.

"When my king asks, I answer the call," Kaldur replied. To him, it was the most obvious answer in the world, and he stretched out on the bottom of the small craft, catching his breath as Garth rowed them back to shore. Garth didn't like the dangerous waters of the east bay, but he would row into a tempest itself if called upon by duty or a friend. There was no one else Kaldur would rather have waiting for him at the end of a long day of searching the ocean depths.

Arthur Curry was no king, but that was what everyone called him. King of Atlantis — the underwater domain. It was spoken in whispers and shadows, since the Capitol could not abide the taste of authority granted to anyone but their appointed few. Still, no one could quash it, just as no one could stop the district from referring to Odin as the All-Father.

Arthur was the leader of the divers, though his wife, Mera, was the comfort to those like Kaldur and Garth who had seen family and friends lost to the ever-changeable whim of the ancient ocean gods. When Tula, dear to Garth and the object of Kaldur's heart, had been lost to the very riptide whose shadow haunted Kaldur's workplace — it had been Mera who wrapped both of them in her arms and spoke comfort to them.

Arthur had given them the week off to mourn, and Odin himself had come, setting aside the old rivalries of the powerful families as they always did when someone was lost, to celebrate her life. But it was Mera who had watched over them both long after the mourners left, Mera who had taught them the secrets the ocean had to teach those who knew how to listen. And unknown to even Arthur, it was Mera who taught Kaldur that the riptide was only a shadow — taught him how to avoid its tendrils by simply allowing himself to be taken, so that he could fight once he came to the other side of it.

Garth shook his head at Kaldur's answer. It was expected. Kaldur felt the sense of his duty to Arthur, a kinship with Mera. When Arthur asked for volunteers to comb the east bay, it was a challenge of bravery, and Kaldur answered. Every. Time.

"One of these days," Garth said, shaking his head slowly, "we must teach you how to say 'no.'"

Kaldur laughed at that. It was an impossible proposition. He'd never been able to say no — not to Garth when he had asked if Kaldur would remain his friend if he pursued Tula for himself, not to Mera's offer to take him past the reef to the gaping jaws of the depths, not to Arthur's offer to train him how to fight so that he could stand tall in a district of warriors.

Not even to Odin's invitation to his home just a fortnight prior.

* * *

 _It was rare for Odin to invite a diver to his home. Those who lived in the water were so different from those who lived in the district proper, for whom the water was not life but merely a way of living. And yet the announcement passed down from the Capitol had required the All-Father and the tinkerer, Otto Octavius, to choose those who would represent the district in the Games._

 _It would not be Octavius who would make such a choice, and the whole district knew it._

 _The All-Father had his warriors, of course, but the last year's Games had changed him. Both of his sons and his niece in one fell blow had fallen to the merciless Games, and from that time on, it was clear something had shifted in the All-Father's worldview. In no other year would a diver be permitted there. Now, Odin was looking beyond his kin._

 _Kaldur looked around the well-furnished home. Even though Odin largely lived as anyone else in the district, the signs of his station were there, even if it hadn't been for the fact that the Victors Village itself was ever-resplendent, its pathways paved and well-maintained, unlike the sandy footpaths elsewhere._

 _No other person in the district had spears that were entirely for decoration, for instance. That was an excess. Spears were for fishing._

" _You admire the weapons," Odin said as he came from his back room, his sharp gaze taking in seemingly everything about Kaldur at once, even with only one good eye._

" _I deplore the excess," Kaldur said with a frown, though to his surprise, the comment earned him a light chuckle. He turned to face the All-Father and saw something in his gaze that had not been there before. "These should be used by your people."_

" _You presume to tell me what should and should not be in my own house?" Odin asked, and his voice had a tone of thunder, but his gaze held only that same_ something _that Kaldur could not place._

" _I presume nothing. What should be is what should be, regardless of where I am or to whom I am speaking," Kaldur replied evenly._

 _Odin further surprised Kaldur in his response, shaking his head as he chuckled rather than getting angry — as he was wont to do for other, far more minor offenses._

" _What is so funny?" Kaldur asked at last._

 _But rather than answer him, Odin turned his way with a far more commanding look than before. "You know the rules of this year's Games," he said._

" _Yes."_

" _Then you know what they were truly designed to do. Where it is they aim their spears."_

 _Kaldur frowned and looked around the little hut. "I know what was said in the broadcast."_

 _Odin let out a laugh that had no mirth to it. "That is not what I asked."_

" _All-Father…" Kaldur watched the old man carefully, but Odin simply held his gaze, waiting. Finally, Kaldur let out a breath. "Yes. They mean to strike at the victors. They are jealous of your power."_

" _Yes."_

" _They mean to create enmity."_

" _Yes."_

" _You already know these things, All-Father," Kaldur said. "Why do you have me tell them to you?"_

" _Because this year, more than in ones before it, the Games are not simply a test of strength and will," Odin said simply. "More than ever, they are a test of power, and that is altogether different from strength alone." He stood up for a moment and looked to the ocean — tempestuous today, though its mood would change soon enough. "Though they are not of the sea, even those sharks can still smell the blood in the water."_

" _If I may take my leave," Kaldur said at last, after a long and protracted silence. When the response was simply a nod, Kaldur frowned after the old man and then slipped out of the hut, left to his own thoughts._

* * *

It was still early when Garth and Kaldur arrived back at the shore. The divers were always out earlier than everyone else, and the most curious of the youngest children were beginning to gather on the beaches, as they always did on Reaping Day.

A few screeching little ones zoomed around, kicking up trails of sand in their wakes, as Garth and Kaldur took the net back to the fishers' huts so that it could be repaired. After all, even on Reaping Day, there were fish to catch.

Garth laid a hand on his friend's shoulder after they took their leave of the young woman who had promised to make the net usable again with her skilled hand — and Kaldur had seen her work miracles, so he knew that she could do it.

"What are you thinking, Kaldur?" Garth asked.

Kaldur smiled. "I'm thinking it was unwise of me to befriend someone so much older. You have no stake in the Reaping anymore, and here I am getting my finger pricked instead of being out in the waves."

"You can't live only in the ocean, Kaldur."

"And why not?" Kaldur asked, smiling as he and his friend fell into their usual argument.

"When you grow gills, then you can argue with me," Garth laughed.

"One day, then," Kaldur said with a nod.

The two friends embraced, not in a hug, but clasping each other's forearms, resting their foreheads against each other for a long moment with no words exchanged.

"Good luck," Garth said at last before he left to stand with the adults, though Kaldur felt that Garth hardly qualified as such. For all his talents, he was only a boy still, with a boy's ambitions.

Slowly, he made his way to stand with the others his age, boys on the verge of being men. Some of those who were seventeen had bested tempests. The Capitol's Games might have held terror for others, but here, they held the chance for glory and honor. Boys became men when they bested the ocean. Surely they could do the same besting the tempests of the Capitol.

And yet Odin's words rang in Kaldur's ears as the boys around him boasted of their prowess and strength. So many warriors to choose from, and all of them hoping to have caught the All-Father's eye.

And still Kaldur could hear the man's words ringing in his ears. These Games were about _power._

Those words were like a mantra, something he could not ignore as William Cobb spoke to the district. His words held none of the majesty that the district's true leaders held, and the video played was enough to lull even the most alert to sleep.

There were no bowls this year to continue the charade of names drawn, as though it had ever been the case that volunteers and warriors would not come forth from this district. This time, Odin himself took the center stage to choose who would represent the district.

The crowd was silent, nearly reverent as the aging All-Father approached the microphone, his mouth set in something like a grimace as he looked over the gathered group.

"Our district is one of honor and strength," he said in a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the air itself, as if the district was charged with electricity. Or perhaps that was simply Kaldur's imagination lending more power to the man than was due as he considered the words he'd uttered in the hut that night.

"Our children bear that same mantle, regardless of name or station. It is our crucible, through which our children pass, stronger still with every chance to test their mettle," Odin said, and here, he paused, looking beyond the gathered children to the families that held _power_ — the Princes, the Curries. He took in a deep breath and spoke very clearly into the microphone.

"Kaldur Ahm."

Perhaps if it had been someone else, Kaldur would have frozen. Should Odin have chosen his friend Garth, for instance, Kaldur would have cried foul, would have berated the old man for his cowardice in refusing to choose a son of his own warriors. But Garth was too old for this danger — and what's more, Kaldur had known.

Perhaps he had always known.

That conversation a fortnight ago rang through his very bones. _These Games are a test of power._ The words echoed in his mind as he reached the stage, and when he met the gaze of the All-Father, he suddenly understood.

He closed the fist of his right hand and brought it to his chest in a salute, falling to one knee before the All-Father to show his deference even more truly. His loyalty was to Four, to the ocean — let the Capitol see that for themselves.

There were murmurs throughout the district's gathered people as many of them followed suit, but Kaldur did not rise until the All-Father put his hand on his shoulder, despite the fact that Cobb was hissing his directions to do just that, incensed at the display.

Perhaps it had placed a target on Kaldur's shoulders. He was well-aware of the weight of his actions. He was a diver, a child of Arthur Curry's domain, kneeling before the All-Father. He could think of no other way to show the Capitol where the _true_ power lay. Not in the Capitol. Not in their Games. Even the All-Father, fallen from grace by his kin's defeat, was worthier of deference than the Capitol's gilded falsehoods.

He stood slowly and met Odin's gaze before it seemed the cronies of the Capitol could not stand to let him celebrate the very victors they meant to denigrate any longer, and a Sentinel grabbed him by the arm, moving him aside as their fellows ordered the crowd to its feet so that Odin could call the name of Kaldur's newly minted district partner.

He was ashamed to admit that he paid little attention to Diana Prince and her introduction, though from the murmurs of the crowd, it seemed she was not going to let him outdo her either. He had meant to pay her heed, but instead, his gaze had found Mera, far in the back, closest to the ocean, where she always stood.

Her red hair had found the sea breeze, as if the ocean itself was trying to draw her back to it by those tendrils alone, and when she found Kaldur's gaze, he saw her clasp her closed fist to her chest for just a moment.

He nodded his deference to his queen before his gaze found his king, and Arthur Curry simply nodded once, a silent approval.

It was all he needed to know he was on the path he was meant to follow.

He turned his attention at last to the girl who would be his partner in the days to come and found himself meeting a gaze filled with fire, burning just behind her eyes. The Prince family was powerful — again, that word _power_ filled his mind — and it showed in not only her gaze but her grasp as the two of them clasped hands.

"Do not cross me," she whispered to him fiercely.

"Do not give me reason," he whispered back, matching her tone.

In an instant, the two of them were separated, the Sentinels keeping close watch over both of them warily. Career district they might have been, but there was something in the air for this Reaping, something that no one could name.

 _Power._

Kaldur could hardly breathe for the weight of it, the electricity in the air as he reached the waiting room. He had no family to speak of — his father was a hiss and a byword and long presumed dead. But Garth, predictably, was there in a moment.

The two friends rushed to embrace one another, forearms clasped as they rested their foreheads against each other.

The air rang again — _power._ This time of a different kind. A stronger kind.

When at last the ringing seemed to cease, Garth released his grasp, and when Kaldur looked up, he was surprised to see that there were tears in his friend's eyes.

"Do not make me lose you," Garth said softly.

"I will not give you empty promises," Kaldur replied, matching his volume.

Garth frowned at that before he grasped Kaldur and pulled him into an honest hug. Surprised, Kaldur could only return the gesture until at last the Sentinel at the door called out to them that the time was up.

Garth took a step back before he could be torn from his friend, his gaze never leaving Kaldur's. "You've put a target on your back with that stunt on the stage," he said.

"I know."

"You're swimming with sharks."

"It won't be the first time."

Garth let out his breath. "Be _careful_."

With that, Kaldur watched his best friend leave, though he couldn't help the nearly disbelieving chuckle that escaped him. The time for careful was long past. Now, there was only _power_ , the Games that wanted to devour him whole. He could feel their insistent tugging at the threads of his own fate.

But he was used to that. He had long ago made dangerous power his companion.

Now, the riptide was coming for him.

* * *

 **Diana Prince of District Four**

 **Written by InDeepDarkWood**

* * *

 _"Power does not corrupt. Fear corrupts...perhaps the fear of a loss of power."_ ― _John Steinbeck_

 _"Darwin may have been quite correct in his theory that man descended from the apes of the forest, but surely woman rose from the frothy sea, as resplendent as Aphrodite on her scalloped chariot." ― Margot Datz_

* * *

The sun cast its reflection on the surface of the water, throwing out a million, million sparkles that were far more rich and beautiful than anything a rock could create on land. The rays glinted through windows, glass-filled and empty alike, waking any who still slumbered within.

Not that Diana was sleeping.

That wouldn't be an appropriate way to spend her time, not when there was planning to be done. She sat at her kitchen table, tapping her pencil against the wood, surveying the ocean as it glinted and glistened out the window. The Prince residence was close enough to the waters that Diana could imagine she could touch it. It was all an illusion, though; Hippolyta would not have dared construct her stronghold so close to the All-Father, even if his home for the last quarter century was the Victor's Village.

She gave a small sigh, a noise echoed by the second person in the room, and looked over to where her mother stood.

"I am aware of my own reasonings, but what in Minerva's name is yours?" she asked, resuming her sketching of outlines for the latest production of equipment for District Four. The powerhouses of the fishing district may have their feudal disagreements, but they always needed to work together to keep the life blood flowing. Odin's fishermen may keep the district fed, but it was _Diana's_ family that crafted the tridents, spears and larger nets that kept the fishers in employment.

"I worry," Hippolyta said, giving a further sigh that showed the lines of anxiety etched in her face. "The All-Father has lost his way this past year, and my fear for our beloved home grows." She paused. "Every moment creeps ever closer to Reaping. The dark clouds of Ares are threatening to tear Four apart."

Diana was tempted to roll her eyes at her mother's words. Hippolyta was always one for the melodramatics, and presuming the metaphorical storm clouds of war were gathering was a common trait in her words. She didn't, though, partly because this was her mother and her leader — the true leader — and eye-rolling was frowned upon by both of those titles. Mainly though, it was the look on Hippolyta's face. The last time it had been like that, Diana had been rather small, and the fish had gone from the water.

The peace between the All-Father and her mother had briefly shattered on that occasion.

Diana was near grown now, though, and had been given more responsibility as preparation for taking over from Hippolyta when the time came. She had to, therefore, come up with words of advice and presumed wisdom to alleviate her mother's fears. She struggled, the pencil curling around her hair lightly, feeling just a hint of the burden the older woman carried for so many years.

"War will not come from Odin," she said softly. "He has nothing to gain, and in his weakened state, everything to lose. He would be a very foolish man to pursue such folly."

"He has lost his two sons, Diana. What else is there to lose?"

"His stronghold. The ocean. The rest of his people," Diana answered, defending her advice. "When someone close is lost, you cannot forget your people and your purpose. Odin has forgotten the fishermen, and should he choose war, they will _not_ rally to his call."

"He will find a way to balance the scales." Hippolyta appeared unconvinced, if her statement was anything to go by, but moved over to her daughter, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Diana leaned into it lightly, and they stayed like that for a moment, drawing strength from each other, as they had for so many years. Though their community was tight-knit, and they relied on everyone for support, Diana appreciated the quiet times where the two were alone and satisfied to simply be in each other's company.

"Have you finished, dear daughter?" Hippolyta asked at last, changing the topic as she leaned over Diana's shoulder, gold curls mixing with her own strands of brown. Diana held up the first sheet she had finished earlier in the morning. It was a sketch of a new spear design, a large disc protruding out halfway down the shaft. The elder placed a finger on it, tilting her head.

"The fishermen queried us for objects to shield them from shoal sight. I thought a two-way mirror might solve this issue."

"The fish have been caught for years without needing a hand-holding such as this," Hippolyta stated, and Diana's face fell slightly. "But, what would I know? I am a mere old woman, and I heed the Capitol fishers' words. We can make these. Diana, make the requests." Diana nodded, taking the sheet back to write the stamp of approval the design had received, her face still crestfallen.

"Old?" she asked.

"Mere woman?" Hippolyta said with rhetoric, her lips twitching upwards at her own words. Diana gave a short laugh; her mother was anything but old, and though there were still some in the district that scorned the idea of a matriarchal leader, they would never say such a thing aloud, knowing the retribution price. "Enough talk of this," she continued with a short clap of hands. "Make haste; see how the preparations are faring for tonight before you dress. You know how the Capitol likes to look at our family."

Diana nodded, placing a swift kiss on her mother's cheek, before venturing out, her sheets of paper left on the table for the moment. There would be time to go over the teaching schedule with her mother at another time. For now, she smiled to herself as the sun beat down, bathing her in a halo, and inhaled deeply, tasting the salt and sea. The ocean wind that caressed her lightly had the power to blow the less well-made houses to the ground should the gods find ill-favor with the citizens.

Diana liked that power, ancient, old, rumbling in time with the beat of ocean waves.

She couldn't help thinking about Hippolyta's last words as she hurried down the path towards the more densely populated area. _Always ready to snub Odin in some way,_ she thought. The shows in the Capitol liked the powerful families of each district and featured them heavily at each Games' screening, from the Curries here, to the Waynes of Seven, and the Bishops of Twelve. They rarely showed anything to do with the downtrodden and weak of the outliers; that would not be good for viewer rating — at least, that was according to Octavius. While Four was indeed blessed with good fortune, and the gods smiled down on them for the most part, there were always those less fortunate than her.

Hippolyta was a fair and just woman, and tried to ensure there were no starvation deaths in her neck of the woods. Diana was learning her ways, but — perhaps more importantly — was learning the ways of the other family domains. _They_ were the families that the Capitol cameras focused on each Reaping, to showcase what a fair society it was; the Curries, lording over the deep waters; the Princes, makers of fine tools; and the All-Father's extended family, that had been cut at the knees a year ago.

District Four held the Capitol in contempt and thickly-veiled disdain, alleviated by their vast exports and love of the Games. "Perhaps not 'love'," Diana said aloud. It wasn't the love of watching children tear each other apart. It was the honor of fighting for Four, of bringing prosperity to the district. _Of being a hero,_ she thought.

If Thanos wanted to see that as 'love,' though, Diana wasn't going to tell him otherwise.

She gave another deep inhalation as the noise and bustling roads spread out before her. Mixed with the salty air — since nothing was _not_ salty — were the tantalizing smells of cooking fish and vegetables, some tinged with a hint of spice, others laden down with herbs. It made the girl's stomach rumble at just the thought of the feast that evening, shared by all, from the highborn so-whispered King of Atlantis, right down to the lowly blind amputee, lost without a means to support himself on the ocean.

Diana had already made her contribution to the feast, mussels and oysters stewed over a fire, ready to be reheated when the bonfire was lit. There were parties all over the district after the Reaping; the Norn residence always produced the most memorable and, if Urd had anything to do with it, shocking stories, but all were preceded by the bonfires. Diana wondered who would light it this year as she wove between people on the streets; perhaps Erda, Odin's sibling. It was always one of his, anyway. His son had done it one year, if she recalled correctly.

 _The warrior one_ , she thought. "The auf," she added to herself, rather unkindly. It wasn't his fault he'd been more brawn than brain. It had been no surprise when his cousin had gotten further than him, at least not to Diana; Brunhilde had, at least, brought a scrap of honor for Odin to return home with. She hadn't shared that with the All-Father nor his people, though, the last time she'd been in his company.

* * *

 _There was something a little broody about the new victor, in a way that made some of the girls swoon in the banquet hall. Diana could see a trio of them, all blonde, all bosomy, all staring at the short man like hungry dogs. She gave a withering sigh and turned away from them, picking up a drink from the reception table and floating through the crowd. It was full of Four's elite, all coming to lift their glasses in joyous celebration of James Howlett and how he murdered all his friends._ Not all of them, Diana, _she reminded herself, smiling in greeting at a passing face belonging to Odin's brood._

 _She had seen him before, a redhead, normally flanked with a duo of pseudo-brothers. Diana had talked to them at events such as this, and had even watched them tree climbing on occasion._ Hogun? _she asked herself, but he was gone before she could voice the question. Moving away from him, she headed towards the familiar face of her aunt, whose features were distorted in mild exasperation._

 _She slipped into the middle of a conversation, Otto Octavius hiccupping on his wine as he laughed, clapping his comrade on the back and sloshing the liquid in the glass. Diana took a well-rehearsed step back to avoid the splash zone, smoothing out the red and blue fabric of the flowing dress she wore._

 _"The Capitol wants to see our achievements, our successes," Octavius said, obviously continuing a debate. "They don't want to see things like… like poverty. Ratings would plummet!" Holding up his finger before the woman could speak, he gestured with his glass towards Diana. "Look at your niece, Antiope; this is what they want! Beauty, grace, strength._ That _gets us favors,_ not _looking at dead fish."_

 _"Leave this conversation, Diana," Antiope said with a shake of her head. "You would do well to not include her in this, good doctor. Mayhap we continue this insensible debate when you are more… together?" Diana backed away at the victor's attempts to justify his supposedly intact mind, wine littering the floor once more, and bumped into a figure behind her in the process._

 _"My apologies. Forgive me, I did not see you there," she said automatically, her own drink still perfectly balanced as she turned. There were so many people in such a small room, the majority of whom had the excuse of alcohol to hit off people and not beg forgiveness, but she felt the need to._

 _"No forgiveness necessary," the man replied smoothly, his back against the wall. "It is a little distraction to the dull affair that exists before me." He was another of Odin's fisher warriors, recognizable at these events, and a border patrol leader. That was always the case with an All-Father event, packed full of his own people; a way to showcase his power and influence, to remind Arthur Curry and Hippolyta that Four was still_ his _district, and he was not to be trifled with. She could see the former from across the room, flanked by a man just far enough away to give privacy, close enough to snap someone's neck if they tried to trifle with the Sea King._

 _"I would hardly call it dull, especially in the presence of Odin," Diana stated. "There is revelry, and alcohol, and music."_

 _"And a Victor not from Four," the man finished._

 _"You speak the truth, Heimdall." Diana started slightly at the words behind her, maintaining her drink in the glass but taking a large gulp to err on the side of caution. "We had… three opportunities… and the honor was given to a forest rat."_

 _"All-Father," the man named Heimdall greeted the man, touching his two fingers to his lips._

 _"Borsson," Diana said a heartbeat later. "Even a forest rat can tear the roots of Yggdrasil, if they choose the correct spot."_

 _"Aye, and James Howlett found it," Odin returned, his voice strong, though his eyes betrayed the weariness. "He has a power in him. Gods know if it is a maelstrom or a wind on our backs." There was a long moment of silence between the three, observing the crowd before them. Diana's eyes lingered on the newest victor as he held a glass protectively, as though it were his soul, rebuffing approaches of conversation from men and women alike with stony silence and drink swigging. Odin broke the frozen three from their thoughts, nodding at Heimdall, and then at Diana. "Good evening, Miss. Prince. Enjoy the rest of the festivities."_

 _"All-Father," she said, as he turned to go. Odin paused. "Your sons had their own powers. You would be wise not to forget that." She thought she heard him sigh._

 _"Aye. Ne'er forget the power of Four. Next time, though, we'll have a more favorable breeze._ I'll _have a more favorable breeze."_

* * *

She wandered through the cooks and the weavers, making the occasional suggestion or complimenting the works in progress. There were hours to go before the feast, but not long before the reason behind it began. She caught the full view of the ocean bay and watched the little boats bob in to the shoreline; the fishermen and divers were home early for the Reaping, hoping for time to wash and change before the tributes were announced. That meant it was time for her to go too, but she had to pick up someone along the way.

She looped back down a different road, back to the house, and stopped at a particularly noisy door, leaning against the wooden frame, and listened. It sounded like cats fighting within the walls, unmerciful screeches erupting from what she knew was a pint-sized source. It came to an abrupt silence when she knocked on the door and peeked inside, struggling to keep a smile from her face.

Antiope stood, trident in hand, towering over the origin of the yowling, the weapon pointed straight at the young girl's throat, one foot carefully placed on her chest. Her aunt was near enough the height of Diana, both tall and strong, both a future potential of the younger's stature.

"You are a cheat!" the girl shouted, careful not to move too close to the trident.

"You allowed yourself to be distracted," Antiope replied haughtily. The girl's head snapped towards Diana.

"This is _your_ fault!" she screeched, struggling under the foot of her aunt.

"My fault?" Diana asked, placing a hand over her heart and looked affronted. "You wound me. A true warrior does not let insignificant sounds such as a knock to distract them from the battle, Donna."

"Let me go," Donna protested, wiggling on the ground.

"That can be your lesson for the day," Diana suggested, giving a pointed nod towards Antiope. "Come, we must get ready for the Reaping. You can resume tomorrow." Her aunt nodded, releasing her sister, the trident snapping back into an upright position. Donna sprang onto her feet like a cat and began to head towards the door. "Are you forgetting something, dear sister?" The little girl paused.

"Thank you for this day of training, Aunt Antiope," Donna said, half-grudgingly, pressing her fist against her chest and then straightening her arm in salute. Antiope returned the gesture, and then the girl raced out into the open street.

"She is as bad as you were, Diana," the woman observed. "Mirror images."

"'Till tonight," Diana responded by way of farewell, repeating the gesture the pair had made to each other. She followed the young girl out of the house, keeping a close eye on her as she skipped ahead, leaping over potholes and small baskets at doors. Donna was not even eight years old; Diana recalled arguing fiercely with their mother at that age to let Antiope train her. Donna had not needed to be quite so persuasive.

There was little time to get prepared before the Reaping; the girl helped her sibling into a loose dress that kept the heat from becoming unbearable and then quickly slipped into something of her own while Donna played at the table with a rope knot. The dress she wore skimmed her thighs and highlighted the tan of an outdoor life, with the muscles to prove it. It was simple and blue but would meet the approval of the Prince's outer look. Hippolyta would meet them down there to take Donna while Diana went for Reaping.

Conversations drifted across her as Donna chatted happily by her side, content to natter while her elder sister remained silent. The Reaping was the forefront of conversation to all but the youngest, and ideas and betting on who would be chosen had been a heated topic since Thanos had made his announcement. She knew some of those who had been petitioning Odin for favors to enter the Games this year; she even knew of some poor fools who thought currying Otto's good graces would get them Reaped. The Games were about honor though to Four — and honor to the family who was chosen.

Odin needed his honor restored.

Diana gave her sister a quick kiss on the cheek when they met with Hippolyta, flashing her mother an easy smile as she left to get her finger pricked and stand with the others her age. Some of the seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds had children of their own, standing with the adults. They were the few amongst the crowd that didn't wish for their names to be called. It seemed unlikely that any in the seventeen-year-olds would be called anyway; Brunhilde had been Diana's age when she volunteered, and the Gods rarely graced the same age group with the good fortune of a second Reaping in a row.

"Welcome, District Four, to another glorious Avenger Games!" William Cobb was certainly trying to have a powerful command of the crowd; he just always seemed to fall a little short. _Poor Cobb_ , Diana thought, mentally preparing herself for the attempt to appear interested in his words for the sake of the cameras. _Honor_ , she told herself, flashing a glance over to the tall frame of Hippolyta. "Even more spectacularly, this is _the Quarter Quell!_ "

Diana applauded in feigned enthusiasm along with the rest of the crowd, feeling the charge of anticipation as the film rolled along. It grew as the familiar images grew closer to the end, when Thanos appeared, repeating his Quarter Quell speech instead of the usual one about duty and responsibility. There was another rally of applause as the film ended, but the sound was cut off abruptly as Odin stepped forward.

"Our district is one of honor and strength. Our children bear that same mantle, regardless of name or station," the All-Father announced. "It is our crucible, through which our children pass, stronger still with every chance to test their mettle."

The entire district held their breaths collectively, and the wait became near unbearable for all those not accustomed to diving — until Odin spoke his first tribute.

 _Male_ , Diana confirmed, her gaze roving over the boys' sections until her eyes rested on the boy emerging from his section and making his way up to the stage. Tangled blonde curls obscured his face as he dropped to his knee and bowed at Odin. _A diver_ , was her next thought, her lip curling slightly in disdain, glancing to where the Curries stood. _Is there no loyalty to Atlantis_? She was not one of those to follow Kaldur's actions, her back tall and straight, aware that it was Odin's closest who bent knee. As the Sentinels called for order, a rare occurrence in Four, Diana returned her attention to stage, suppressing a sigh at William Cobb's failed attempts to bring decorum back to his male tribute, then watched Odin.

"We must all learn that true power comes not just from influence alone. To find true power, you must first see what your true character is." Odin paused again, and the district again took a breath — and for a moment, there was silence, until a seagull cawed overhead, and the All-Father spoke into the microphone.

"Diana Prince."

 _True power,_ she thought, her gaze fixed on the man. _True character. Maelstrom, or fair breeze_? She would not let her loyalties waver. Her mother stood at the side of the stage, closest to the victors, and Diana turned away from Odin. She stood tall, an heir, not a serf to bend knee, and with deliberate firmness thumped a closed fist against her heart and straightened her arm into a salute. Most of her family, extended and otherwise, stood with Hippolyta. All of them returned the gesture in a single fluid motion, and Diana nodded, making her way through the crowd.

Odin did not shake her hand, nor did he try to touch her shoulder. He did give her a short nod of acknowledgement, which Diana did not return, fixing him a hard stare as she reached the stage. "You have not taken Hippolyta's power," she said in undertones as she passed him by, moving to stand with Kaldur.

Her eyes met her mother's as she rounded out to greet the diver. She watched Hippolyta's hand tighten against Donna's shoulder, and her nostrils flared. _Let Odin_ try _and cut us at the knees,_ she thought, breaking off her look and taking in Kaldur's features. Cobb enthusiastically welcomed the two tributes as they took each other's hands, testing the strength within the grip. Both strong. _Both powerful._

"Do not cross me," she hissed. _I will not kneel_...

"Do not give me reason." Diana's eyes flashed, aware of the ferocity behind the diver's eyes as they broke apart and gave short waves to the crowd before heading to the building's entrance.

 _...to the Capitol...or to Odin._


	8. Chapter 7: Estranged Hope

**(A/N): We're back with our Friday update! This one features a new writer, Aliit Vodeson, as well as an old face, Ophelia Claire. Both of these ladies are amazing writers, and we'll let their chapters speak for themselves!**

 **As always, thank you to all of our writers who reviewed as well as to Bookcrazysongbird. We also love the Wonder Woman movie, so Diana's chapter was pretty timely! And of course, the political intrigue... well, that's just how Four is ;) Glad you enjoyed it!**

* * *

 **Chapter Seven - Estranged Hope**

 **Written by Aliit Vodeson and Ophelia Claire**

* * *

 **Clark Kent of District Five**

 **Written by Aliit Vodeson**

* * *

" _I'm not a prophet or a stone aged man, just a mortal with potential of a superman. I'm living on." - David Bowie_

* * *

"You won't do anything foolish today, now will you, Clark?"

It's the same thing Ma said every year. She put the plate of pancakes down on the old kitchen table, looked him in the eyes, and asked if he was going to do anything foolish. From the time he turned twelve, every year, the same stack of pancakes, the same question in a no-nonsense voice.

He wasn't sure she'd even bother to ask this year.

But it seemed that the whims of the Gamemakers wouldn't be enough to stop Ma, and she asked him just the same as always, with that edge to her eyes that he so rarely saw, and her hands still on the plate of pancakes. And he, for the first time in his life, didn't answer right off. He looked up at her, blinked, and felt his gaze start to drift off. His usual words, the usual promise, felt too large to leave his lips.

 _Of course, Ma;_ he wanted to say. Wanted to promise her that he wouldn't do anything foolish at the Reaping, that he'd keep his head down and get through his one last year like all the other years. _Of course Ma,_ he won't volunteer, won't step up no matter which one of his friends is called to the slaughter. Won't do anything to make the Sentinels put their hands on her, won't have her face tighten up with worry. His last year in the square for the Reaping, and he wanted to promise one last time that he wouldn't do anything dumb.

But the lie shriveled up and died in his throat, unsaid.

She was still staring at him, and Clark could see the worry growing in her eyes. Something overtook them, in the silence that followed. Something dark spread across Martha Kent's face, and Clark watched as it grew without any ounce of power to stop it. All at once, her face turned from familiar concern to outright terror. She staggered back. Dropped down to her chair. Put her hand to her chest and stared at Clark with a trembling lip, her face white.

"No..." A soft whisper to break the silence, and that's all there was before Clark felt his own chest tighten up, his own face crack into hurt and fearful emotion. Ma was staring at him with tears in her eyes, and Clark longed to reach out and brush them off her cheeks. But the plate, with its damn stack of pancakes, was still sitting between them, and it felt too far apart to breach. It was as if the gap between them had suddenly become a gulf, and there wasn't enough strength in the world to reach across to her. "Clark, what did you do?"

And there it was. Not that he planned to do anything, but that he had already done it. And he knew that he should have done things differently, should have told her before, should have tried to lie even now.

Clark also knew that he never could have done it.

He couldn't have lied to her, not in this familiar kitchen, not on her last day of hope, and not with the size of the lie he would have to tell.

Clark bowed his head and looked down at his own hands. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. Ma's breath turned into a hiccup, and Clark still couldn't lift his eyes back up to her. His mouth was dry, as dry as the callouses on his hand as he stared at it. The knot of guilt and pain in his stomach that had been building all week tightened and then suddenly grew so large he thought it might burst open out of his chest.

"Clark? Talk to me, son. Please, what did you do? Don't tell me you—"

But she didn't even get to finish her own words before she broke down.

Ma was crying in a series of long hiccups, and Clark stared at his own hands as if he would find the words he needed to say within them.

He didn't.

Time in the kitchen dragged on, with each breath, each tick of the clock on the wall, each breath seemed too large and too loud for the space, as the noise of their respective lungs rattled around. Clark felt as if each time he breathed, the noise of it got stuck between him and Ma, until there was just an uncontrollable buzzing in his ears that he couldn't shake out. And just when it seemed like it would be too much, that he would have to speak, Ma would take another soft breath, or he would exhale another lungful of air, and everything would keep on building.

Clark didn't know what to say.

He had no words left in his mind, no apology for what he had done, no promise that he knew what he was doing.

His chair creaked, and that was how he knew he'd gotten up. It was as if his legs weren't controlled by his mind, but once he was standing, then his body froze again. He was still looking down, no longer at his hands but at the rough floorboards. He took one step, watched his foot lift off the ground and move forward. It was as if he was watching someone else control his body; he didn't feel in charge of his own movements. Another step. A half twist around the corner of the kitchen table. Two more steps.

Then Ma was in front of him, and Clark crumpled to the floor.

The moment his knees hit the ground, it was as if a switch had been flipped in his mind, and he could feel everything within him once again. The pain of his knees from dropping like that, the itch of Ma's skirt as he put his hands on top of her lap, the guilty dryness in his mouth. He folded his fingers on top of her skirt and put his head against her leg, and her shaking hand came up to cradle the back of his neck. He could feel her wrinkled fingers and short nails brush against his skin and fought the urge to lean into the touch, just as he had done when he was five.

A few small tears fell from his eyes.

"What did you do?" Ma asked, and it was just like that time he stayed out too late and one of the Sentinels had to bring him home, and Pa was sitting on the porch swing, tapping his foot, Ma on her rocker, both of them with that disproving relief in their eyes, and he had to explain that he and Lois had been necking behind the school until it was dark.

"What did you do, Clark?" she asked, and she surely already knew what he had done. But she was asking him anyways; she gave him that chance to lie, or deny things. Because she knew he never would. Because he needed the moment again, needed to confess what he had done. Because she would have to prompt him before he would open his mouth. Because he couldn't lie to her.

His voice, when it came, was small, barely above a whisper.

"He was going to pick Jimmy."

Ma hissed through her teeth, and her hand tightened on his neck. "Oh. Oh, Clark."

"I couldn't let him." He was speaking through his tears now, as they fell from his eyes and darkened the spot on Ma's skirt just below his cheek. "Quill said he was going to pick Jimmy, and I can't let him Ma, I can't let him just pick Jimmy—"

Because Jimmy had six younger siblings, and making it through this year meant Jimmy could finally start making full pay at the power station, and the Olsens would be that little bit further away from starvation. Because Jimmy looked around at the district and didn't see a place that hated him, but a place that could be built up, could grow, could be better. Because Jimmy had held Clark's shoulder when he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed at Pa's funeral.

And he didn't have to say any of that, because Ma squeezed his neck, and Clark knew that she knew.

"Okay, okay."

They sat there, in the too large kitchen, in the pressing silence, and both of their lungs make hiccupping noises too loud for their ears. Ma's hand petting his neck, Clark's cheek pressed against her lap. His knees grew sore from sitting in one place for so long, but he couldn't bring himself to move. The smell of pancakes that had filled the kitchen faded away, leaked out of the air as the food on the table grew cold. Clark's tears dried up. Ma's hand never stopped squeezing and petting his neck.

And then the clock on the door chimed.

Clark jumped at the sudden sound and nearly fell over as the pins and needles ran up his legs.

"Oh," Ma said, and dragged it out into a whole breath. She tapped her fingers on her chair as he got up, and then she brushed them over her skirt and looked up at him. The area under her eyes was rimmed with dried up tears. Her eyes themselves were red, and puffy, and filled with the same resigned sadness he remembered from Pa's death.

"I trust you know you're doing right."

Clark nodded, his jaw tight.

"Well then, you best be off before you're let. Would be mighty foolish, that."

Clark kissed the top of her hand and tried to pretend that he didn't notice how her hands shook when she hugged his shoulders. He rolled his shoulders back, as the clock gave another quiet chime, and Ma tugged his shirt down. She looked him over, as she always had, and slowly, for the last time, gave her nod of approval.

Just before he walked out the door, he heard her say, after if from a far greater distance than what lay between them, "You ain't done foolish at all."

By the time he reached the square, dust covered his shoes, and his stomach rumbled in protest of a missed breakfast. _Later,_ Clark told himself, then remembered there wouldn't be a later. There weren't many left in the line-up for check in, and Clark didn't have to wait long.

"Final year, Kent?"

"Yes sir." He held out his arm on instinct, even if the Sentinel wasn't quite at that point in the routine yet. Didn't matter. The man reached up and took the sample all the same.

"We'll have to buy you drinks tomorrow."

Clark felt his expression twist, but the officer was looking down at the display, and he didn't seem to notice Clark's natural reaction to the assumption. Then Clark became aware that the man was looking up at him, was expecting a reaction, and the most he could manage was a half-hearted shrug.

"If I get through this one, sir." His voice held. The lie wasn't so hard when offered to a near stranger.

"Ah, don't worry Kent." The Sentinel waved him through, but not before he added, "You aren't a fool like some of your family."

The comment was like an itch against his scalp as he walked into the square proper and looked around. His eyes missed Jimmy the first time he looked over the line-up of the oldest boys, and it was when he had been standing in one spot for too long that he saw Jimmy's tall head sticking out over the crowd.

"What were you doing, Clark, smelling every rose on the way over?"

Clark forced a smile onto his face and pushed a laugh to match. Jimmy shot him a look, like he didn't believe it, and Clark switched to words instead. "Ma and I just got talking. About your stupid ass, and what you're going to waste your raise on."

"Oh, is that how it's going to be?"

Clark grinned and dodged Jimmy's elbow at his side, and they both fell into line as the final kids ran through the square and the Sentinels all took up positions around them. The tension in the air shifted, as everyone took a deep breath in and held it hard in their lungs. Clark wasn't exempt from that tense feeling. His leg jittered on the ground.

Clark looked up at the stage and the two envelopes that sat there.

He took a breath. Forced the air out of his lungs. Took another.

Michael Barnett stepped up to the microphone, and Clark stopped listening to the noise. The man's mouth moved, and Clark heard not a single word that left his lips. There was the usual shuffling in the crowd, the standard faces of covered-up disbelief, even the younger kids able to hide their disbelief at the ideas of the propaganda that fell from the man's lips as easily as honey.

The film started to roll, and everyone in the square looked up. Clark could hear the hurried beating of his own heart, louder than the booming voice of the narrator. He stared up at the screen, felt his gaze drift off into unseeing absentmindedness, as his mind fell away from the Capital's manufactured falsehoods. Jimmy's presence next to him, every movement the other guy made, left Clark's heart beating ever faster. He wanted this to be over.

He'd never felt the need for the Reaping to be over as much as he felt it then.

The mayor gave a shorter speech than he usually did, or so it felt, and as Quill stepped up to the take the first envelope, Clark let his gaze drift over to the girl's section.

Before that very moment, he had not given a single thought to which girl would be chosen.

And now, he suddenly found himself needing to consider the reality of it.

Quill, who was well-liked by the district, who had never felt distinct to life among the others, who seemed as much like any resident of District Five, stood on that grand stage and seemed as if he had aged twelve years since he was last there, rather than the simple twelve months that it had been. He had looked that way when Clark went to talk to him. And yet it looked more striking to see when he was in the spot that he had looked so alive before.

Any man who looked that weighed down by his forced choice wouldn't choose one of the younger girls.

Clark was running his gaze down the line of the oldest girls, trying to judge which one of his classmates would be most likely to be chosen, when—

"No!"

A shout went up in the square, and Clark had been so focused on his last-minute consideration of a female tribute that he had missed the reading of the actual girl's name. He looked back over the last section, directly across the aisle from him. _Who?_

No one in the oldest group of girls stepped forward.

And then... Jimmy had to elbow him, because Clark was still looking in the wrong spot. There was a blond girl in the aisle, and she seemed to have come from the fifteen-year-old group. Clark didn't recognize her, though it was just the back of her head at that point. Why did Jimmy look so stricken?

She reached the stage. Climbed the stairs. Turned to face the crowd.

Clark couldn't feel anything.

"Oh god," Jimmy said under his breath, and Clark's thoughts were a wild jumbled mess, and he couldn't even hear his own heartbeat, his own breath. It was like when Pa died, only there was a crowd of strangers around him, and he was stuck to the very patch of dirt he stood on. He didn't feel like he was human anymore.

The numbness hadn't faded from his chest when Quill once more stepped up to the microphone.

And this time, Clark knew what was coming, and he had Quill's promise of what name would be on that sheet of paper. And yet, somehow, it still felt like a punch to the gut when Quill leaned in, and in a heavy voice, said:

"Clark Kent."

Jimmy groaned.

Clark clapped his friend on the shoulder, knew that Jimmy would give him a yelling at during the visiting time, and didn't bother to say a word. His face, already numb, fell into a mask devoid of emotion. He walked down the dirt aisle. He climbed the stairs.

He met Kara's eyes.

The noise of the crowd in the square came back, and Barnett was telling them to shake hands, as Sentinels let everyone settle to the shock of their latest tributes for the slaughter. Clark no longer felt so absolutely numb to the world, and to himself. His heart found a steady beat. He heard the murmur of the crowd as the last formalities were spoken. He felt, like a brand, Jimmy's eyes on him. He walked beside Kara into the building.

And he still felt nothing towards her.

They put Clark in a room, with a pair of chairs that looked like they'd been gathering dust for the past twenty-five years, and he tried not to bounce on his feet as he stared at the simple wooden door. He waited, and waited, and then waited no longer.

It was Jimmy and Winn.

Jimmy took three steps into the room and then stopped. He stared at Clark, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes as hard as they had ever been in any of the schoolyard fights. His jaw was clenched tight. Anger, Clark knew, easy to read, and Jimmy was trying to keep it contained.

"You knew."

"I did."

"Why?"

Clark shrugged, and looked away and felt the lie crumble away from him. "I talked to Quill. Asked who he was picking. Figured whoever it was, they ought to know. Shouldn't just be a surprise for them. He wouldn't tell me who the girl was," and given the events of the Reaping, maybe that had been for a reason. "But he told me who he was picking for the boys."

"Who?" Jimmy's expression didn't move an inch. He just looked at Clark, looked practically all the way through him, and it was hard to talk when Jimmy was looking at him like that, but Clark knew he had to. Knew he didn't have the ability to refuse the answers.

"Wasn't right, that's what it was. Wasn't right, what Quill was going to do."

"Who." Jimmy's voice was a hard cut of anger, deeper than ever Clark had heard it. "Did. You. Choose. To. Die. For."

Clark looked away, at the single high window. Swallowed. Felt his stomach twist in guilt and regret and the certainty of his choice. He couldn't meet Jimmy's eyes, couldn't meet Winn's eyes.

"You."

He heard Jimmy's intake of breath. Winn gently swore. And Clark still wasn't able to look at either of them. He kept talking, though, kept talking with his eyes on the window and his head ringing with the thought that he should have told them before, should have let them know what was going to happen.

"He told me he put all the boy's names into a hat, pulled out yours. Wasn't going to change that, said it was the best thing that he could do. Never mind that you got your family needing you, that your siblings need you. Never mind that there's all the others of us who ain't got the families."

"So you told him to pick you."

"Yeah." Clark admitted it with the last remaining strength, and finally, finally, turned to look at Jimmy's face.

He looked less heartbroken than he should have. More like he was thinking, thinking in the clever way that he always had managed. The brains of their outfit, that was Jimmy.

Jimmy nodded.

"You, Clark Kent, are a self-sacrificing, idiot of a foolish man."

And he stepped forward, and for a split second Clark thought Jimmy was going to punch him.

He got pulled into a hug instead, hard and firm and painful enough to make him wince.

"And I'm going to miss you."

Clark nodded and blinked back tears he couldn't allow to fall. He squeezed Jimmy's shoulders tight and then pulled back to look Jimmy in the eyes. "Keep an eye on Ma, for me, will ya? She's got the garden, and you know how she gets, with her ideas of farming and all. And there's two more solar panels fixed up in the shed. Need you to take them down to the Langs' for me."

Jimmy chuckled and lightly slapped Clark upside the head. "Shoulda thought about that before you went to get your ass killed."

"Hey." Clark managed his first real smile of the day. "At least you guys won't have to watch me die on national television. Kara's likely to stab me before we even get to the interviews."

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "I'll talk with her. But, Clark, you're going to have to get over this."

"She hates me, I don't hate her! She's the one that started all this."

"Just try, alright? Make things work for the Games. Sell it to the cameras; things like that make great stories. Two orphaned cousins, raised apart, fighting in the Games side by side. The Capitol will love it; you've seen the news they put out." Jimmy dreamed of writing news — not the shit the Capitol put out, which was why he would never do it, but it was moments like this that reminded Clark that Jimmy understood the flow of the Captiol's cameras more than he did. Far more than he did. "You've got a story, Clark; don't let it go."

And after a speech like that, Clark just had to pull Jimmy in for another hug.

Jimmy and Winn had barely left — the door didn't even close properly behind them — when it opened again, and in rushed Lois.

Clark threw his arms around her, caught her up against his chest, and spun her around. She laid her head against his shoulder; her hair tickled his chin, her face wet with tears. "Why did he have to pick you? Why?"

Clark's heart surged against his chest, and he was close to crying himself, but he couldn't, he just wouldn't let himself. Refused to let the twisting beat of his heart get to his head like that. He held Lois tight, ran his hands over her back, and looked straight over the crest of her head because he couldn't face seeing her face like that.

"Because it was the right choice."

He felt Lois gulp, her breath a hiccup. He closed his eyes.

"I hate you right now, mister Kent."

"I know."

"You ain't some superman, with all those powers to beat them."

"I know."

"You're not going to let them break you."

"I won't."

"Good."

Clark felt her hands on his chin, and he let her pull his face down to her level, and then she was kissing him. And they had kissed before, behind the school, on the dusty path up to her house, on Ma's front porch swing. They had a summer of kisses behind them, and Clark knew where to put his hands on the back of her head to hold her, and how to run his tongue across her lips, and how she liked to nip against him when he did that. But those kisses had been wet and fast and sloppy, the kisses they had shared when they had their whole lives ahead of them, and it had been just one more year until they were free of the Games.

This kiss was desperate and slow, and Clark felt Lois shake against him as she cried. And she didn't nip at his tongue but tried to hold him tight against her. And Clark didn't know where he ended and she began. And he thought, _This is the last time._ And he thought, _This is the best time._ And he thought, _I wish we had more time_.

And he thought a great many things as the Sentinels came into the room and pulled Lois away from him. As he was led out from the building, and Kara walked beside him, and as they boarded the train Clark could still taste Lois on his lips as he sat on a too-soft seat. He could still feel Jimmy's arms tight around him as the train pulled away from the station.

He could still hear Ma's voice in his ear, saying he wasn't foolish at all.

No, he wasn't foolish at all.

* * *

 **Kara Danvers of District Five**

 **Written by Ophelia Claire**

* * *

" _The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life." -Richard Bach_

* * *

"How does it feel to have made it out alive?" Kara watched her sister raise herself up on one elbow, brushing her short hair out of her eyes. Now nineteen, Alex was free from the Reapings and could live the rest of her life in peace. Or as much peace as one could get in a Marvel district with Sentinels breathing down your neck.

"Were you just watching me sleep?" Alex mumbled. "How long have you been up?"

"I wasn't watching you; you know I can never sleep on Reaping nights," Kara said, swinging her feet over the side of the bed and facing her sister's bed across the room.

Alex yawned and sat up fully. "I don't think I'll sleep well until we're both safe and not putting our lives on the line once a year."

"Only two more years after today," Kara said in agreement. "D'you think I'll have better or worse luck with the special Quell Reaping?"

Alex shrugged. "Hard to say. Dad says the arena might be different too. He heard a rumor at work that it could be weaponless."

Kara slid off her bed and onto the thin carpet that covered the floor between their beds. "I just feel bad for Quill, y'know? He's gotta pick _both_ tributes. Poor guy."

Kara went to their shared wardrobe and began rummaging through her side. "Can you believe that there are people lining up to ask the victors? I mean, I know the Careers volunteer anyways, but can you imagine them arguing for their chance to die?" She pulled out a white blouse and green skirt. Alex tossed her covers back and came to join her. She pulled out a blue dress and offered it to Kara.

"Wanna wear this instead? It's too small for me, and you've worn that same outfit for the last three years." Kara took the proffered dress and laid it on the bed. Alex smiled. "The blue will look nice with your necklace, too."

Kara traced the small golden pendant that hung around her neck. The distinctive "S" shape ( _"It's not an 'S,' Kara dear, it's an old family symbol. It stands for hope."_ ) was one of the few connections she still had to her parents. She knew a similar pendant hung around the neck of her cousin Clark — one of the only things she knew about him.

Clark was a year older and so was in a different class at school. He worked in one of the electrical plants while Kara worked part-time as one of the personal assistants to Cat Grant, Five's assistant mayor. She hardly ever saw him in her day-to-day life, and she never purposefully sought him out. Some deep-rooted dislike that she couldn't quite place and yet couldn't overcome.

* * *

 _On the morning of her fifth birthday, Kara had come downstairs to a cake, two wrapped presents, and her waiting mother and father._

 _"Happy birthday, dear!" Alura had said. Kara had blown out the candles (and made a wish), unwrapped a new dress and the gold pendant, and dug into a slice of cake, delighted that she'd been able to eat cake for breakfast. As she'd eaten, her mother had begun to talk._

 _"Kara, now that you're older, there are some things you need to know about the El family. We've been a prominent family of District Five for many years. We've helped make scientific advances in many, many fields." Alura paused, looked down at her daughter with a serious expression. "But there have been some members of our family who have not upheld the El name."_

 _Kara looked up at her mother, blue frosting smeared on the corner of her mouth. "What do you mean, Mama?"_

 _"We've told you of your aunt and uncle; Papa's brother and his wife?" Alura asked._

 _Kara nodded. "Cousin Clark's other mommy and daddy that died?"_

 _"Yes. They were scientists_ — _"_

 _"Just like Papa!" Kara said, proud to have made the connection._

 _"Well, not just like Papa. They didn't want to work on the right projects like Papa was. They wanted to work on their own projects and didn't want to listen to anyone."_

 _"That's naughty," Kara said with a small scowl. "You have to listen."_

 _Her mother nodded, pleased with her daughter's response. "That's right, Kara. You have to listen. And because they didn't listen, one of their projects went wrong and exploded."_

 _Kara's eyes got big. "It 'sploded? Is that how they died?"_

 _"Yes, it was right before you were born," Alura said._

 _"Is that why Clark lives with his other mommy and daddy and not us? Because his mommy and daddy were bad?"_

 _Alura nodded. Kara's brow furrowed as she thought. "But that doesn't make him bad, does it? He was just a baby."_

 _Alura had an unreadable expression on her face. "It's just the way our family works, sweet Kara. You'll understand more when you're older._

 _Kara, mollified for the time being, went back to her cake, but Alura's words sunk quietly into her malleable five-year-old mind._

* * *

Kara dressed and went to the kitchen, where Jeremiah Danvers was nursing a cup of coffee.

"Sleep well?" he asked with a wan smile. All but one of the Reapings Kara had been through had been while she'd been living with the Danverses, and Jeremiah was no stranger to her sleepless nights. Kara chuckled as she placed a few slices of bread into the toaster and poured a glass of milk.

"Not great, but better than the last few years. I'm not… too worried, though. Quill doesn't even know who I am, and it's not like I've done anything to draw attention to myself. Haven't petitioned him or made enemies."

 _Well…I've done almost nothing. But they wouldn't know about that, would they?_

"Unless people think you're too nice," Alex joked as she entered the room, her brown bob sleek along her jawline. "And they just can't stand Kara 'Sunshine' Danvers brightening up the district anymore."

Kara took the pieces of toast as they popped back up. "Hopefully no one is curmudgeonly enough to send me off for being too _happy_." Alex snatched one of the pieces as she passed, and Kara swatted at her good-naturedly.

As the young women of the Danvers household were finishing their breakfast, there was a knock at the door. Jeremiah's wife, Eliza, who had just entered the kitchen, hurried to answer it.

"James, come in!" the rest of the family heard her say before she re-entered the room followed by Kara's friend James Olsen. He was already dressed for the Reaping too, with a charcoal grey dress shirt and a red tie, dark hair buzzed close to his skin.

"Would you like a quick bite to eat?" Eliza offered.

"No thanks, Mrs. Danvers, I ate already. I'm just here to snag Kara on the way to Winn's."

Kara rinsed her dishes in the kitchen sink and joined James at the front door. "I'll meet up with you guys in the square before the Reaping?" she asked Eliza, who was joining Jeremiah at the table.

Eliza nodded. "We'll see you there." Kara closed the front door behind her as she and James descended the three wooden steps.

"Nervous?" Kara asked

"Nah. I've kept a pretty low profile. But I heard Siobhan went to Quill the day it was announced to petition him for the spot."

"He probably promised it to her to get her to stop talking," Kara said with a giggle.

"Certainly would take that much to accomplish that feat," James agreed. As the pair neared Winn's house, the door banged open, and Winn came storming out. He was in the middle of shouting something.

"—and I don't need this today of all days, Dad!" He slammed the door and turned to find Kara and James waiting for him. Kara raised her eyebrows.

"Trouble with your dad again?" she asked softly.

"He's going on about his toys. Again," Winn muttered. "He still thinks he's going to have some kind of breakthrough and the entire district will adore him and we'll be rich, or some other fantasy. It changes every week, and I'm stuck with it until I can support myself." He shook his head. "Maybe I can make something cool enough to get myself to the Capitol. The further from him, the better."

"Aw, Winn." Kara and James flanked their friend and squished their shoulders against his. "We'd miss you if you went to the Capitol," Kara said.

The trio wandered through the neighborhoods, passing houses that ranged from shacks to the half-dozen grandiose mansions in the Victor's Village. As they passed a row of modest houses, Kara quickened her pace.

James and Winn knew why, but they didn't try to catch up with Kara.

"Kara, don't you think it's time you tried to patch things up with Clark?" James called. James was in Clark's class at school and was pretty good friends with him. Kara didn't hold it against him, though. James was too nice to hold any sort of grudge against.

If Kara was being honest with herself, it was time. It had been years since her parents had ingrained in her the "crimes" Clark's parents had committed, and every time Kara thought about it as she got older, she wondered if she'd gotten the whole story as a child.

And yet every time she thought about making an attempt to repair their damaged relationship, her knee-jerk reaction was to avoid it. Perhaps part of her didn't want to dishonor her parents' memory, even if the shining image of her parents grew more and more tarnished over the years.

"One of these days, we're gonna lock you two in a room until you actually talk to one another," Winn said.

"You _wouldn't_ ," Kara said as the boys caught up to her.

"We might… you never know what we might do in the interest of our best friends," James said, poking Kara in the side. She giggled and danced away from him.

All three looked up when three long tones pealed through the air of the district.

"Yikes, we better get going," Winn said. Kara and James nodded in agreement, and the trio hurried the last few blocks to the town square and joined the tide of people oozing to fill the space. Kara spotted her family and split from James and Winn, who had to go to the boys' check-in anyway. There was a quick round of hugs, top-of-head kisses, and whispered encouragement before Kara joined the line for girls' check-in. She made it to the front of the line, winced slightly as the Sentinel jabbed her thumb and drew a drop of blood, and then joined the other 16 year old girls of District Five. The section was one of the largest age groups in a while.

Because of the way the Reaping worked this year, there were no large fishbowls full of paper onstage. Instead, on top of each little pedestal was an envelope sealed with red wax. Inside would be the name of whichever unlucky souls Peter Quill had been forced to condemn to the Games.

All hushed conversation died as Michael Barnett stepped up to the microphone at the front of the stage. He was quite a striking sight, with deep red-orange hair and an indigo suit that positively shone in the midday sunlight. He had an angular chin that jutted out when he smiled at the assembled crowd, as he was doing now.

"Welcome, one and all, to a very special Reaping for a very special Avenger Games. This year marks the twenty-fifth year of peaceful times in Marvel, thanks to President Thanos." Kara could hear several people around her scoff quietly. By their age, people could easily recognize the Capitol propaganda that the escorts spewed each year.

"And because of this, we have a brand new film to show you today." Barnett stepped back from the microphone and folded his hands behind him as he looked up at the pristine white screen unfurling on the front of the Justice Building.

The film might have been new, but the message was the same. _Happy power plant workers, the benevolence and generosity of the Capitol, blah blah blah; rebellion is bad, yadda yadda. Probably the only people who believe this nonsense are the Capitol citizens. Yup, we're all just as happy and dumb as you are._

Kara emerged from her mental monologue when Peter Quill and the mayor stepped up to the front of the stage. Quill's usual exuberance was gone, replaced by a tight smile and gaunt appearance. Kara liked Quill — most people did; he was kind, funny, and happy-go-lucky — and was saddened to see the toll that this new twist to the Games had taken on him.

"Just as a reminder, there are to be no volunteers this year," the mayor said. "As President Thanos said, all tesserae applications will be honored and applicants will receive all allotted rations." He paused. "So, without further ado…" He nodded to Quill who collected the envelopes from the pedestals. "Ladies first, as usual."

Quill broke the wax seal and lifted the flap before pulling out the card. The entire crowd was holding its breath.

"Kara Danvers." The words had not finished echoing around the square before a cry rang out.

" _No_!" Kara recognized Alex's voice. In a daze, Kara stepped out of the crowd to meet the pair of Sentinels that escorted her up to the stage. The only coherent thought that existed in her mind was _they know_. It bounced around her brain, louder and louder.

 _They know. They know they know_ they know.

For Kara hadn't entirely been the model citizen over the last couple years.

* * *

 _When she'd moved into the Danvers household, she'd met their extended family on occasion, including Jeremiah's niece, Carol. The two were the same age and were certainly friendly to one another, but both of them always seemed to be doing something that kept them busy._

 _On the occasions when Kara didn't have a full schedule, she'd see if Carol wanted to spend time together, but more often than not Carol would apologetically but strongly brush her off and cite "just a lot of stuff to do" as the reason._

 _So of course, Kara being the inquisitive (and a little affronted) thirteen-year-old, she followed Carol on such an occasion. Carol took a path that went near one of the huge hydroelectric dams and proceeded to slip under a loose section of the chain-link fence. Kara followed Carol into the woods for another mile, careful to stay far enough behind that her cousin wouldn't hear her, until Carol came to a little run-down shack. An unkempt man with green hair waited outside for her._

 _To Kara's amazement, the man appeared to be training Carol to fight. Kara watched for several minutes before slipping back into the woods. When she got home, she mulled over her new secret for quite some time._

 _Should she tell Carol that she knew? No, if Carol wanted her to know, she would have told her. The real question was: should she go back? Would the man train her too?_

 _There was only one way to find out. Kara spent the next week studying when Carol snuck away and when she was confident that she had her schedule down, she went to the house alone._

 _The man (Mar-Vell, she learned) was a little surprised that she'd sought him out, but not unwilling to teach her, especially once she'd explained how she found him._

 _Kara quickly picked up close-range fighting and found she was particularly skilled with a pair of long knives in her hands. She also turned out to be a pretty decent shot with a crossbow. Mar-Vell agreed not to tell Carol about her training unless she wanted her to know, and Kara was almost prepared to tell Carol- maybe even see if they could train together- when Carol volunteered for the Games and didn't come home._

 _Kara expected Mar-Vell to become resigned, to shut her out, to disappear even, but Mar-Vell just pushed her harder, and Kara had the sneaking suspicion that Carol wasn't the only student he'd lost over the years._

 _Before the Quarter Quell announcement had come out, Mar-Vell had told Kara that he didn't want her to volunteer. "I can see in your heart that you want to help those that are smaller than you," he'd said. "Even if you and Carol weren't related by blood, you shared that ideal. But let me give you the best chance you can- train with me until your last year, and then volunteer."_

* * *

Of course, the Quarter Quell specifications had come through and Kara couldn't have volunteered anyway, but none of that mattered now.

Kara was so lost in thought that she completely missed the boy's name. She scanned the boys' side of the crowd to find a dark head of hair bobbing through the sea of people. When he cleared the edge of the crowd, Kara saw the broad shoulders and sturdy build of-

 _Not him. Anyone but him._

Her cousin Clark was walking toward the stage. He climbed the stairs and met Kara's eyes without a trace of emotion on his face. Barnett motioned for them to shake hands, and they did, a firm, single shake.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your Quarter Quell tributes!" No one clapped. Peter Quill looked like he'd aged a decade in a few minutes, the weight of his choices hanging heavily on his shoulders. A pair of Sentinels took Kara and Clark by the shoulders and led them into the Justice Building. The doors boomed shut behind them and they were ushered to separate rooms.

"You'll have fifteen minutes for visitors," one said before shutting the door behind him.

And Kara was alone in the room with only her thoughts for company.

Had someone been watching her when she ran to the woods for training? Would they go after Mar-Vell for training all those tributes?

No…the tributes were his punishment. If they didn't volunteer, then they'd be picked. He would have to watch the children he'd bonded with be sent to the slaughter.

Kara was pulled from her depressing train of thought by the door bursting open. Alex, Eliza, and Jeremiah hurried inside, and Kara was buried in a Danvers family hug.

"You didn't deserve this," Alex whimpered through tears. "You didn't deserve any of this."

Kara squeezed her sister tightly. "Alex, I'll be alright, I promise." For a second, Kara was hesitant to tell her family why she at least had a fighting chance — who knew if there were bugs of some kind in the room — but if the Capitol already knew, there was no use being secretive. "I've been training," she whispered thickly, her nose beginning to run. "Carol did too. I've got a chance, I can hold my own."

Jeremiah pulled back from the hug. "I have no doubt you can," he said fondly, with a sad smile. He ruffled her hair. "Your parents would be proud of you for being so brave."

"I think they are," Kara said, looking between Eliza and Jeremiah. Fresh tears filled Eliza's eyes at the sentiment, and they pulled her into a hug once more. "Thank you both so much for the last few years," Kara said. "You've been wonderful to me. I can't imagine a more perfect family to join."

"I can't imagine a more perfect sister to have," Alex said. She sniffed and pointed at Kara's neck. "You've got the perfect token to bring, too."

Kara touched her necklace, and pulled Alex into one last hug as someone else entered the room behind her. She turned to find James and Winn hovering by the door.

"Shake their world, Kara," Jeremiah said as he and the Danverses left. He clapped a hand on each of the boys' shoulders as he passed.

Kara had yet another round of hugs before James grabbed her shoulders and held her at arm's length. "Kara, listen to me. You've never told me why you have such a personal vendetta against Clark, and he has no idea why your family hates him — he just knows they do. And I do. Not. Care. You two are going into the Avenger Games together. You and Clark are some of the strongest and smartest people I know. You _need_ to put aside any grudges you have for him, and you _need_ to work together to get out of this alive. I already chewed out Clark about this—"

"He did, it was pretty great," Winn interrupted.

"—and I know you're stubborn, but at least think about it, okay? I want to see at least one of you come home. I can't lose two of my best friends."

Kara just nodded, feeling new tears blossoming in her eyes.

The door opened again. The Sentinel stood there. "Time's up," he said shortly. James, Kara and Winn shared one last brief hug before the boys were escorted out, and Kara and Clark were led further down the hall towards the back of the Justice Building, where the sleek silver behemoth of a train was waiting.

A crowd was forming by the platform. Kara saw the Danverses in the front, as well as an older woman that she vaguely recognized as Clark's adoptive mother, Martha. Kara lifted a hand to all four as she was herded onto the train. If she was going to work things out with Clark, she had to start somewhere.

The doors closed behind her, and then the train was speeding off to the Capitol.


	9. Chapter 8: The Red Menace

**(A/N): Here we are, back with our Tuesday update! This one features a familiar writer to many of you, Silmarilz1701, who wrote Sinthea Schmidt in "In the End, You Always Kneel" (shameless plug to go read it because you won't regret it) as well as a new writer, Savy160, who is perfectly wonderful!**

 **Thank you to our writers who reviewed our District Five reaping chapter. We love hearing from readers and writers alike :D**

* * *

 **Chapter Eight - The Red Menace**

 **Written by Savy160 and Silmarilz1701**

* * *

 **Jason Todd of District Six**

 **Written by Savy160**

* * *

 _"I knew who I was this morning, but I've changed a few times since then." - Alice in Wonderland_

* * *

Bushmaster quietly walked along the elegant, carpeted hallway. Sweaty palms clenched and unclenched themselves as the gang leader came to stand before the spawn of Satan himself. Red Skull was seated in the plush leather chair at the mahogany desk with the flames of the fire dancing behind him from the fireplace. The embers practically reflected every ounce of evil off the skeleton's face as he glared at the intruder.

"What?" Red Skull snapped.

"Sir, the Reaping is tomorrow and—"

"I am quite aware, Quincy! What do you want!" the charred man snapped.

Bushmaster flinched at the man's outburst before replying, "I know who the Red Hood is."

"And?"

"His name is Jason Todd."

"And?"

Quincy just stood there for a moment. The Sentinels would have died for that bit of information. Red Skull remained indifferent. Shouldn't he show at least some surprise in learning of the fate of his former pupil?

Bushmaster mumbled, "I... I just thought you should know."

"Jason Todd is none of your concern. Remove every thought of that boy you have stored in your head before I take my dagger and remove them for you. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir... I just have one question."

"It had better be a good one."

"How did he escape you?"

Red Skull said nothing. The glass of brandy the man had been sipping on was suddenly hurled into the fireplace. The flames sparked and crackled in anger, illuminating the skeletal features to reveal something so inhumane and sinister looking.

"No one escapes me."

* * *

He was born in shit. He lived in shit. He'd die in shit.

Jason Peter Todd knew this. He knew there was no escape. The sixteen-year-old could only hope that his destiny to stay in shit would be foreseen for another year. After all, today was the Reaping. Today was the day that everyone would find out whether their lives would stay the same or change for one unlucky boy and girl.

Jason stretched his sore back until his muscles popped. Sleeping on an old mattress with the springs coming through and stuffing falling out everywhere really did a number on one's back. Jason's gaze roamed around the rat-infested, small room, complete with roaches, peeling paint, the stench of death, and his Outlaws.

A twenty-five-year-old man with the brain of a toddler snored loudly while cuddling an old stuffed animal. He'd earned the name Bizarro due to his mental handicap. No one really knew his story or where he came from. The man wasn't really a threat, but he could throw a mean temper tantrum. Standing roughly over seven feet tall and weighing a ton, Bizarro was the muscle of group.

Artemis wasn't much shorter. The only female and redhead of the group was a force to be reckoned with. A powerhouse with the brains to match. She would have been considered royalty in her district once. Not so much anymore. Her parents were once considered gods until they spoke out against the Capitol and their leaders. Needless to say, they were slaughtered, and Artemis was left to the slums of the district.

Artemis and Jason had met while trying to steal the same mode of transportation. The two joined forces while picking up Bizarro along the way. The three of them were behind the organization known as the Outlaws. No one really knew who the three thieves were until they were caught red-handed by a then eight-year-old.

Jason glanced over at the sleeping twelve-year-old beside him. Tim Drake seemed perfectly content to hog their only blanket as he drooled over the old mattress and used Jason's outstretched arm as a pillow. Like the other three, Tim didn't have the greatest backstory either. The kid was abandoned by his parents and left to die alone four years ago, but the kid seemed to be in the right place at the right time. Tim just so happened to have witnessed the Outlaws steal an enormous order of rations right out from underneath the Sentinel's noses. Having a soft spot for kids, Jason allowed Tim to join the makeshift family.

Jason, Artemis, and Bizarro knew how to get things done, but all three were spur-of-the-moment thinkers. Tim had the finesse and skill they were missing. Tim was a thinker. The kid knew how to use his brain to pull a heist with the proper skill and time management so that the Outlaws were rarely even seen. Tim was a great asset — even if he was a real pain in the ass.

The sixteen-year-old Jason was the fearless leader of his pack of unwanted gutter trash. Jason Peter Todd, also known as the Red Hood by the Sentinels, was the one giving orders. The teenager never really knew his father, and his mother had overdosed and literally choked to death on her own vomit. Jason made his way in the world by stealing different parts from the different modes of transportation, ration supplies, and other miscellaneous goods.

"Jay?"

Sharp and dark blue eyes flickered over to the scrawny midget. Soft baby-blue eyes met Jason's. The older of the two merely grunted in response.

"Do you ever have nightmares about getting Reaped?"

Jason sighed. "We've talked about this. We'll be fine. We both know that old skull face will probably pick someone better."

Tim cast his eyes down in shame as he mumbled another apology for what had happened a month prior.

* * *

 _Tim spread out the factory blueprints in front of the Outlaws. It was a risky move going up against the Serpent Squad, but they had things Jason needed._

 _Jason said, "Talk to me, Little Red."_

 _"The gang uses some of the same weapons as the Sentinels. I believe they keep them stashed in this old and abandoned factory. I think the weapons are tied to Bushmaster, but you know how hard it is to pin anything on him, since the Capitol loves him so much. Anyway, Artemis, you and Bizarro should go in through this access point. Jay, you can take the main entrance. I'll cause a distraction."_

 _Jason frowned before asking Tim if he was sure the boy had thought everything out. The older teen wasn't too keen on leaving the younger boy alone. Tim might be the brains of the operations, but he wasn't the best fighter._

 _"I am a genius," Tim scoffed._

 _In the beginning of their operation, everything had gone according to plan. Jason had moved through the factory with ease. It wasn't until he and Artemis had found the stashed weapons when everything went to hell. Upon finding the weapons, they'd found the entire gang, minus one snakelike leader._

 _Everything had turned into a bloodbath. The Outlaws had left a few members of the gang dead, but they didn't escape unscathed either. Stab wounds and taser burns had been inflicted on both gangs. Bizarro had even lost a finger. Needless to say, Tim hadn't thought of everything. He'd underestimated the gang._

 _The three returned to their run down and crumbling building of a hideout to find Bushmaster himself with Tim in his grasp. The leader of the Serpent Squad had one hand over Tim's mouth, while the other held a knife to the boy's throat. The Outlaws came to a complete stop and kept their eyes glued to their youngest member._

 _"I don't take to kindly to those who steal from me or even attempt to," the snake hissed. "I also don't like it when people kill those in my gang."_

 _Jason pushed down the fear he felt for Tim and bravely sneered, "Well, I don't like it when a serpent threatens my team."_

 _Quincy McIver snorted at the comment before looking over at Bizarro and Artemis. He ordered, "You two get out."_

 _The two looked over at their leader for confirmation. Jason gave a sharp nod without removing his eyes from Tim. Bizarro and Artemis begrudging left the room, leaving the teen alone with the dangerous man holding his surrogate little brother hostage._

 _Tim just stared at Jason with wide eyes full of fear and unshed tears that he'd bravely managed to push back. Jason grit his teeth in anger as Bushmaster removed the hand from Tim's mouth and ran his gloved hand through Tim's greasy, inky locks._

 _"So, you're the Red Hood. I thought you'd be older."_

 _"I thought you'd be crispier being stuck up Red Skull's ass the entire time. Then again, what else could I expect from someone living in their older brother's shadow?"_

 _"You have me confused with someone else," Quincy ground out between clenched teeth._

 _"Probably. All you assholes look the same."_

 _The snake smirked and continued petting Tim's hair before saying, "I saw you fight. You're relentless. You killed three of my best men and hurt a couple of others. No one's been able to catch you… until now. You know, weaknesses like this one'll get you killed."_

 _Jason took a step forward and hissed, "Stop hiding behind the kid and do what you came here to do."_

 _"Who trained you?" Bushmaster asked._

 _Completely caught off-guard, Jason spat out, "What?"_

 _"You heard me. Gutter trash like your friends and my gang don't fight like you do. Who trained you?"_

 _Jason momentarily locked eyes with Tim before he looked back up at the man and answered, "Let him go first."_

 _"Give me your weapons first."_

 _Jason exhaled slowly before complying with the gang leader's request. Well, partially complying anyway. No way in hell would the teenager give up every weapon. Jason then commanded Bushmaster to release Tim._

 _Tim yelped as Bushmaster yanked Tim's head back by his hair and pressed the tip of his blade against Tim's throat. A trickle of crimson dotted the blade as Bushmaster yelled, "Who trained you!"_

 _The Red Hood yelled, "Stop! Red Skull trained me, alright!"_

 _Tim was then shoved towards Jason a moment later. Tim clung to Jason as Jason continued to stare down the intruder. Other than draping an arm over Tim's shoulders and keeping him close, Jason didn't move._

 _Bushmaster blinked in surprise. How could Red Skull keep that from him? He was Red Skull's right-hand man, after all. Wasn't he? They had an alliance. Didn't they?_

 _Quincy was brought back to reality as Jason added, "Now what? You gonna kill us? Turn us over to the Sentinels? Make us join your petty gang?"_

 _"No. I have something better in mind."_

 _Jason didn't stick around to find out. Within seconds, the rotten flooring beneath Bushmaster had given way thanks to Bizarro's help of manipulating the boards from below. Jason was already lowering Tim out the window to Artemis before turning to crouch down beside the hole. Jason glared down at where Bushmaster lay coughing from the dust and debris in a broken heap._

 _Bushmaster threatened, "Red Skull will hear about this."_

 _"He already knows."_

* * *

Jason's eyes flickered to the tiny scar on Tim's throat from where Bushmaster's knife had cut him. It wasn't the kid's fault. If anything, it was Jason's. He should have just stabbed the man right there instead of risking his little brother's life. Yet he panicked, and it nearly cost him Tim's neck. Jason was determined not to let the twelve-year-old die.

"It wasn't your fault, Tim," Jason softly replied.

"Yes, it was. I got caught. He made me tell him where the hideout was. It's all my fault he knows who we are."

"We got a new hideout, we haven't been outed, and Sentinels haven't broken our door down yet. We're fine," Jason hissed. "Besides, he's the only one that knows who we are."

Tim remained silent for a moment before finally asking, "Why didn't you ever tell us about Red Skull, Jay?"

Jason's face hardened in displeasure. Red Skull was a touchy subject. Johann Schmidt was more of a monster than a man. The monster was the very definition of cruel and inhumane.

"I have my reasons. Don't ask again."

* * *

 _A Sentinel shouted, "Get back here, you little thief!"_

 _Jason completely ignored the man and kept running. He had no choice. Survive or die. Besides, he had a sick mother to look after. Jason didn't enjoy stealing, but he had no other choice._

 _The eleven-year-old sprinted into the old building and called out, "Mom!"_

 _Jason froze when he came face-to-face with his mother. The woman was sprawled out on the ground, eyes opened wide, with a trail of vomit beside her and plastered across her face. An empty syringe lay nearby. Jason dropped the stolen loaf of bread as he sank to his knees. He shook her shoulder and begged for her to wake up. She didn't. The boy was suddenly seized from behind by the Sentinel from earlier._

 _"Gotcha, brat!" the man exclaimed before noticing the woman. "Damn. Not another one."_

 _Less than an hour later, Jason's mother was buried, and the boy was delivered to the man he'd stolen the bread from: the Red Skull. Jason began to wonder about the desperation that possessed him to steal from the deadliest man in the district. Not that it mattered now. He was alone._

 _The man that had always been terrifying on screen was absolutely horrifying in real life. The charred man was so skeletal-like and terrifying that all Jason could do was stand there and stare as the Sentinel handed him over to the man to deal with Jason however he saw fit. No one would bat an eye at another street kid lying dead in the gutter._

 _However, Jason was prideful and refused to allow anyone see him cry. He was too grown up for that. The boy asked, "What are you gonna do with me?"_

 _Out of nowhere, the skeleton whipped out a knife and sliced the skin on Jason's right cheek open. Jason fell to a heap on the floor, clutching his face. Blood seeped through his fingers as little drops of crimson splattered onto the expensive carpet._

 _"This is the deal, boy. You do what I say when I say it. You do not speak unless I tell you to. From this point onward, you belong to me. I have big plans for you in a few years."_

* * *

A tiny squeak filled the apartment as an overgrown rat with flea-bitten fur darted out from a hole in the wall and headed straight for a small sack of grain. The parasite nearly made it but came to a stop as Jason threw a dagger with such precision that it decapitated the creature with the first strike.

"Always sleep with a weapon, Timbo. With the way the world is, you have to."

"You didn't have to do that," Tim mumbled.

"Do you wanna eat, brat?"

Tim gave Jason a disgusted look before rolling off their mattress. He stretched and yawned as Jason dragged an old washtub into the center of the room. Tim eyed the somewhat murky water with distaste before dipping a finger into it.

"Jay, it's cold," Tim whined.

"Does it look like I care?"

Jason moved over to the window and took a seat on the ledge. Placing a cigarette to his lips, Jason struck a match on the bottom of his boot before lighting the cancer stick. Smoke wafted towards the sky as he tried to calm his nerves. He glanced back over his shoulder to find Artemis trying to vigorously scrub Tim clean while the younger boy kept trying to push her away and insisted on doing it himself. Meanwhile, Bizarro poked the dead rat and petted its fur as he tried to reattach the creature's head.

The sixteen-year-old returned his attention to his view of the slums of their district. Street rats, urchins, and the poverty-stricken people of the district poured from their shelters and headed towards the center of their district. Two more victims would soon be announced, and then everyone else would continue with their daily lives. Well, almost everyone.

Glancing back over his shoulder, Jason found Tim padding over to him wrapped in a disheveled, motheaten blanket. Tim instantly reprimanded Jason on the dangers of smoking. Jason rolled his eyes before flicking the cigarette out the window.

"Maybe I'll get lucky and it'll kill me instead," he huffed.

* * *

"You should've cleaned up for this event," Artemis chided.

Jason snarled, "Sorry I didn't feel like dressing up to impress anyone. The Capitol ain't gonna care how nice you look. We all bleed the same color blood in the end."

Tim stiffened as he looked up at his "big brother" with accusing eyes. Artemis immediately reminded him that anyone could be chosen to compete. Bizarro merely looked lost with what was happening while Jason just looked guilty. Unable to keep looking at the disappointment on Tim's face, Jason crouched down and offered his back. Tim muttered something about being too old but climbed on anyway. Tim loosely locked his bony arms around Jason's neck while Jason adjusted his arms around Tim's legs before straightening back up.

Artemis raised an eyebrow while Jason shrugged her off. Let the kid have his moment. Jason started moving forward as the four of them moved to join the steady flow of people.

"You know, I think you're getting kind of big for this. The last time I think I carried you was when you sprained your ankle when we pulled that heist to steal those tires," Jason commented.

Tim said nothing in reply. He merely tightened his grip while Jason gently squeezed the kid's legs.

"It's gonna be fine, Little Red. Stop acting like I'm dying."

Tim murmured, "You might as well be with all that crap you smoke," as they approached the identification station.

Tim then slid off Jason's back as Artemis instructed him to stay with his age group. She and Bizarro would come and get him in case something happened. Bizarro and Artemis then separated from Tim and Jason. They were too old to compete, and they didn't have any connections anyway. Possible contenders poured into the area. Tim frowned when they came to the identification station.

"Don't worry. It doesn't hurt," Jason mumbled before prodding Tim forward.

Tim was quickly pricked at the finger. He looked over at Jason one last time before heading over with the other twelve-year-olds. Jason was then pricked before he joined his group. He ignored the other teens his age and chose to glare down anyone that chose to enter his line of vision.

The video of the announcement was shown. Jason barely paid attention but chose to scan the crowd to find his surrogate family instead.

"Welcome to the First Quarter Quell!" announced the escort for District Six, Darcy Lewis.

"What an annoying bitch," Jason huffed under his breath.

Darcy continued, "As per the order of our magnificent President Thanos, the victor will choose this year's tributes. Welcome Mr. Johann Schmidt!"

"Let's switch things up a bit. First the boys!" she smirked. "Mr. Schmidt?"

Red Skull came before the mike. The disfigured man practically commanded everyone's attention. The charred man was a force to be reckoned with. Jason knew this first-hand. Any time he thought about Red Skull, he thought about the long gash trailing down his face.

Red Skull's eyes seemed to find Jason's out in the vast crowds. A smirk briefly appeared on the man's face as he announced, "Jason Todd."

Jason couldn't say he was surprised. He'd known for six years what was coming. There was no escaping this terrible fate.

After climbing the stage in his old and grungy jeans, holey t-shirt, and old leather jacket, he sought out his surrogate family in the audience. Tim and Bizarro looked completely devastated, while Artemis just looked angry enough to kill someone right there. Jason couldn't even look at them without feeling guilty. He'd deliberately kept something from them; his past. He'd always knew this day would come.

"Girls' turn!" Darcy squealed like a hog.

Jason could barely contain his eye rolling as Red Skull announced his pick.

"Angela Hawkins the Third."

 _The third? How fancy. Rich, little, skinny bitch ain't gonna last long in this thing. They never do._

She smiled at Jason while gazing at him curiously. Jason just looked away. He wasn't there to make friends. He was there to kill. He was there to win.

Darcy told them to shake hands before addressing the crowd. "District Six! Your tributes!"

* * *

The room was nicer than anything Jason had ever been in. Dry white walls remained decorated with fancy gearing and interesting wires in golds, coppers, and silvers, reflecting the industry of District Six: transportation. The elegant chair Jason had been forced to sit in was far from home for him. The floors were even polished and waxed. Jason had only ever known flooring to be something that could give way easily.

Jason sighed and rubbed his sweaty and grubby palms over his torn and filthy jeans before looking up as the door creaked open. Tim burst into the room in record time, with Artemis and Bizarro trailing behind him. Tim's arms were soon locked around Jason's waist, and his head was buried against the older teen's chest. Jason hugged Tim back tightly before shifting the kid over in his lap.

"Jason be not dead," Bizarro spoke sadly before nearly crushing the contender with his death grip.

Jason replied, "I'll try, big guy," before looking over Artemis.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of them until you get back," she promised.

Jason nodded his thanks before finally looked down at Tim, who was trying his hardest to stop crying. Jason carded his fingers through Tim's hair and whispered, "Come on, Tim. Stop being a brat. I'm not dead yet… Look, everything will be fine. I promise. Those bitches won't know what hit them."

He was born in shit. He lived in shit. He was supposed to die in shit, but fate has a way of changing things.

* * *

 **Angela Hawkins III of District Six**

 **Written by Silmarilz1701**

* * *

 _"I think of my body as a side effect of my mind."_

 _Carrie Fisher_

 _"Fear breeds hatred, and hatred has the power to destroy everything in its path."_

 _Kevyn Aucoin_

* * *

The chill morning breeze shifted the layers of dirt and dust in the empty, deserted factory ruins. From a bygone era, some twenty years prior, the factory was now home to all sorts of vermin in District Six. Rats of unusual size, snakes and cockroaches, even children inhabited its empty halls and debris piles. It was in the middle of the slums of District Six, outside the pleasant middle-income houses of the rest of the district's center.

The building in question hugged several others just like it: tall, broken down, dilapidated structures that were composed mainly of steel and wood. But the wood was broken, the steel rusted, here in these dying refuges.

On this particular early morning, a fire was blazing brightly inside the ruined factory. Several small figures sat around the flames, their shadows dancing erratically along the floor and walls, stretching seemingly endlessly into the dark corners. A rat, small but full from his recent dinner, scurried and ducked in between shadows as he made his way back home. It was still dark outside, the clouds covering most of the sky ominously. Smoke from the fire filtered up through the broken rafters, curled around support beams, and ultimately made its way out into the open air.

A voice, decidedly male but also strangely high, spoke first, breaking the precious silence. "Crossbones, this is madness." A sigh followed his statement.

The largest of the crouching figures stood as if in response. As he circled the dancing fire, the light illuminated his features. They were set in a perpetual frown, and his dark hair was short but messy. Dirt filled in his few wrinkled features from long days in the factories.

"Madness?" He sneered at the younger boy who had spoken first. "Madness, LaSalle? I thought you were better than that."

"She's only fifteen!" The first boy, Emil LaSalle, answered timidly. " _You_ should be volunteering. You'll win!"

The two others murmured their agreement with apprehension. Few of this group agreed with Crossbones' decision to not petition the Red Skull for the male tribute spot this Quarter Quell. They all knew he was thirsty for vengeance over Sinthea Schmidt's death last year in the Games. Nevertheless, Crossbones terrified them. His voice was haunted by ghosts of his past, and he hissed every word with ferocious anger.

"I've made my decision, LaSalle. So shut the hell up." Crossbones glared at him and got closer. "She has already petitioned him, so that's final."

* * *

The soft sheets hugged Angela close as she slowly drifted into consciousness. Her dark hair, black according to most, starkly contrasted her ghostly pale skin, falling like cascading waves across her cheek. With a yawn, she opened her eyes.

 _Today's the day._

She sat up with a start. For a moment, she couldn't decide if she was excited or frightened. So many emotions rushed through her. She reminded herself not to be scared. For a moment, she wondered how Sinthea had felt the morning of her Reaping. Had she been confident in her choice to volunteer? Had the redhead from last year been nervous?

"Angela!" came a shout from down the hall. "I'm off to work. I'll be home long after your bedtime!"

 _As usual,_ she thought to herself bitterly.

Rolling out of bed was particularly challenging that morning. The air outside, chilly for recent weather, pulsed in through her open window like an unwanted draft. Her satin pajamas kept her reasonably warm, and for this she was thankful.

"What to wear today?" she muttered to herself. Her closet doors swung open, and she picked through her clothing. It was the day of the Reaping, which would happen that afternoon. So she had to look good.

Angela Hawkins III pulled on her black and green shirt, black pants, and black leather jacket. The last was a gift from her mother, who had long since moved to the other side of town after the divorce. She always remembered the anniversary of her parents' divorce… it fell on Reaping Day.

Neither her absent father nor her estranged mother had any idea of her involvement in the slum gangs, of course. She kept them very much in the dark. 'Improper', they would've called it. But for Angela, they were a second home, especially in the past year.

Everyone in Six, from the poorest vandal to the richest transportation specialist, knew about the two main gangs. In the northern slums, the Serpent Squad reigned, and in the south, the Wrecking Crew made their home. For decades, these gangs had run the Grey Quarter where the district's poorest citizens lived. But one person had upset the balance of power one year ago. Sin.

The female tribute of the previous year's Games, Sinthea Schmidt, estranged daughter of the sole victor, Johann Schmidt, had maintained herself as a strong member of the Serpent Squad despite her classification as a girl. Everyone who was anyone in the slums knew who Sinthea was. And talk got around at school, too, so even Angela knew. She acted as a nasty bully.

* * *

 _"Walk away, cockroach," called a girl with short red hair and a large number of freckles. "You're as worthless as the shit they pull out of the coal burners."_

 _Angela hid behind a trashcan and watched as the older girl smashed a young boy against a brick wall. She was the only witness to this abuse, and she had no intention of stopping her fellow school-mate. At ten, Sin was already the scourge of Transport Elementary. Teachers had tried to put a stop to her attacks on boys at the school, but they had been unsuccessful thus far and honestly didn't care that much._

 _Angela wondered why Sinthea only attacked boys. Not that she was complaining; she would've hated to be on the other side of Sin's fist. But it did seem rather odd._

* * *

Walking to the local market, Angela grabbed a bite to eat on her way to see her gang one last time before the Reaping. Almost one year ago, a sixteen-year-old named Brock Rumlow, or Crossbones as he was more commonly known, had witnessed the death of his very best friend. When Sinthea had died… he went off the deep end. He formed a gang in remembrance of her. He formed the Society of Sin.

She still remembered the day she watched Sin, her childhood hero, die.

* * *

 _Angela's eyes were glued to the TV as she watched the redheaded girl she had always admired claw her way up onto the side of the sewer system._

 _She whispered to herself, "Come on, Sinthea."_

 _She had never met the girl in question, but she had watched and admired her from afar. As a broken, fourteen year old girl whose destructive powers knew no bounds, Angela had aspired to be like Sin. But now she was watching as her hero faced the last few minutes of her life._

 _Around her, other classmates in her grade were watching with bated breath. As was usual, school stopped for important moments of the Games. They brought in a TV to force everyone to watch it._

 _Angela could see the fear in the eyes of her classmates. It made her happy. She liked it when others were scared. But then… then it happened._

 _A robot of immense size grabbed Sin by the neck. Angela could see the fear in Sin's eyes. And when the robot laughed, it sent chills down her spine._

 _At the crushing sound of Sin's neck breaking, Angela broke. Memories of all the times she had been alone flooded back into her. She might not have known this Sin, but Sin had become an integral part of her life ever since she was a broken seven year old girl._

 _She was alone again. Her hero had been extinguished. Her hope for her future was gone._

* * *

Angela watched as the endless stream of factory workers filed down the main avenue of District Six, Chain Street. Some men wore nice suits, owners and bosses in the transportation business. But the majority were middle class men and women whose jobs mostly centered around manual labor. Unlike the children of the district who had today off of school, the adults would work until noon. Bitterly, Angela realized her father, who had no idea she had petitioned to be selected for the Games, might not even show up for the Reaping. He was a very important man and took his work very seriously. That meant he was late far too often.

At the age of seven, her parents had gotten a divorce. Her father, convinced his wife was having multiple affairs, confronted her. She demanded he reveal his own concubines. In the end, nothing was resolved, so they split. Little did they realize who had actually been behind the entire problem. Angela herself caused the downfall of the Hawkins family.

* * *

 _Six year old Angela raced down the hallway of their almost-mansion with great speed. Her daddy had just arrived home from work, and she was eager to show him her schoolwork. They had sketched cogs and gears in class._

 _"Daddy!" cried little Angela with glee. "Daddy!"_

 _"Not now, Angie," her dad dismissed her immediately. "Where's Mom?"_

 _"Upstairs." Angela sighed. "But…"_

 _"I need to see her."_

 _Angela felt her blood boil. Her dad had always loved Mommy more than her. It wasn't fair. And that day, she decided to do something about it. She knew her dad was afraid he wasn't good enough. So she would_ make _him not good enough._

 _"Daddy wait," she demanded. "Daddy, why was Mr. Rumlow over today?"_

 _"What?" He halted in his tracks._

 _Angela nodded in fake innocence. "Yeah. Mr. Rumlow and Mommy spent a lot of time together, again!"_

 _Her father's face contorted in rage and fear. He turned from her, face flushed, and barreled up the stairs aggressively._

 _He shouted for his wife. "Angela!"_

 _Angela Hawkins the Third, smugly standing at the foot of the stairs, thenceforth never backed down from an opportunity to destroy her parents' lives. It brought her pleasure. She felt a high from it._

 _When asked later of she felt any remorse, she calmly answered 'no.'_

* * *

Finally, traveling deeper into the slums of the district, Angela caught sight of familiar faces. For after her parents' divorce, she began spending more and more time with the riffraff of District Six, almost all of which were located in the slums. She never joined any gangs, though, not until last year. She had merely watched and bided her time. Klaus Voorhees, member of the Serpent Squad gang of northern District Six, was busy wrestling a young boy to the ground over his lunch money. Angela merely chuckled and continued on her way. Klaus' gang, the Serpent Squad, had lost a lot of its power to the small but stout Society of Sin, her own family.

The dirt beneath her feet was grey, just like everything else in the district. Grey, black, and white. Those were the only colors one found around District Six. Angela wandered through the side paths of the Grey Quarter, and to her surprise, she spotted a little flower growing at the side of the dirt path. Angela smiled. How quaint it was.

So she stepped on it.

At last she reached The Factory. Inside, she found her gang mates and their ringleader, Crossbones. He nodded at her, though his perpetual frown was still in place.

"Shall we?" He walked forward and nodded to her before looking back at the other boys. "The Reaping awaits."

She readily agreed as she looked at the still dark sky for some indication of the time and found none. "Let's go."

When at last the gang reached the middle of Cog Lane Square and Crossbones stopped Angela, he gave her a long look. They had already said their goodbyes the night before.

* * *

 _"Don't question your decision not to volunteer this year, Crossbones," she said, shaking her head. "The gang needs stable leadership."_

 _"And I suppose you think you can win for us," the seventeen year old, broken boy sneered at Angela._

 _She glared. "I can do it. I will carry on Sin's legacy in the arena; you should carry on her legacy here."_

 _"You're a piece of shit, Angela," Crossbones smirked. "But you aren't stupid."_

 _Angela laughed lightly. She and Crossbones, sitting in Sinthea's old house, were discussing the pros and cons of who in their little gang would petition for the Games this year._ _Susan Scarbo, grandmother of Sinthea, had died several weeks after last year's Games. Her neighbors told the Sentinels she had died of a broken heart, but Crossbones liked to remind Angela that Susan Scarbo had smoked. A lot. As such, the house stood abandoned now._

 _"I managed to take down the Wrecking Crew recruits pretty handily," she reminded him. "I think I'm prepared for the arena."_

 _"Sin was prepared. And she still died," Crossbones reminded her darkly. "You need to be absolutely ruthless, Angela. Use your age to your advantage. Make allies, and then betray them."_

 _With a nod, Angela sat in silence. At fifteen, she was right in the middle of tribute ages. But Crossbones had trained her well. She could hold her own against those much stronger than her. And she of course could manipulate them._

 _"I won't fail. Sinthea will be avenged," Angela assured him quietly._

 _"Make them bleed," Crossbones said, his expression one of pent up anger and borderline insanity. "Tear them apart, limb from limb, person by person. Use their deepest fears against them."_

 _"I plan to."_

* * *

"Good luck." Brock nodded.

Without any other pomp and circumstance, the friends split. Angela walked up to the entry table. In contrast to the greys and blacks of the district, the bright colors of Marvel's Capitol pierced the dark day. After a finger prick to confirm her identity and record her presence, Angela found the other fifteen year old girls. She felt herself trembling.

But not from fear. Everyone around her was terrified, she could tell. It was less than previous years, however, as most people felt safe if they had no connections to Johann Schmidt, sole victor of District Six. But as the anthem played and the video for the Games was shown, fear intensified. It was so thick, Angela could taste it.

Footage from every Games was shown, briefly, especially footage from last year. The victory of Logan Howlett was trumpeted loudly this time around. The tape played back his final victory over Steve Rogers, who had killed his estranged ally, Kate Bishop. Angela remembered Kate. She remembered _all_ of them. They were a reflection of what she would be up against this year.

"Welcome to the First Quarter Quell!" announced the escort for District Six. Her name was Darcy Lewis. She was a snarky little rotten wench, according to all sources. "As per the order of our magnificent President Thanos, the victor will choose this year's tributes. Welcome, Mr. Johann Schmidt!"

 _She's just like any Capitolite,_ Angela supposed.

"Let's switch things up a bit. First the boys!" She smirked. "Mr. Schmidt?"

The man, his skull burnt and disfigured from his Games' events, stood at attention near the mic. His black leather outfit that he wore every Reaping Day seemed perfect on this dreary afternoon. He held his hands behind him and looked all over the crowd. A hush fell.

"Jason Todd."

The boy didn't look surprised as he stalked up to the stage through the crowd. Angela thought she'd glimpsed him once or twice at school. He was huge, muscular and tall, more man than boy. This 'Jason Todd' was certainly intimidating. She wasn't surprised the Red Skull had chosen him. The massive, deformed scar across the boy's face even added to his persona of toughness.

Darcy stood back towards the microphone after positioning Jason Todd wherever it was she wanted him for the cameras. She looked out over the crowd and ruffled her pretty blue outfit that was covered in glowing lights.

"Girls' turn!" Darcy smiled with feigned sweetness.

Angela felt herself trembling again in excitement as she felt the girls around her tense. The moment was approaching rapidly, like one of the trains they manufactured in the district.

 _Here it comes._

The Red Skull, appearance angry as always, leaned into the microphone once more. A hush fell once more. With a screech, the microphone protested how close the victor stood. Everyone covered their ears in self-preservation until it died down.

Angela tried to see if she could find a glimpse of her father or mother in the crowd. She couldn't. All she saw were the parents of her classmates and parents of other children. But she did make eye contact with the father of Sinthea Schmidt, and she smiled. He narrowed his eyes; their gazes met as if to say she better not screw up. His mouth formed the words carefully, and he enunciated pointedly.

"Angela Hawkins the Third."

She shivered at his cruel voice but proudly stepped forward. The other fifteen year old girls parted like she had some kind of disease. Walking swiftly but carefully to the colorful stage, Angela shot Jason a look of feigned sweetness, but with curiosity behind her glance. Her green outfit popped next to Jason's own clothing choice as she stood beside him on stage. Where she had added a pop of color to her outfit, he had gone with the colors of the district: grey, black, white.

The two tributes were pushed next to each other forcibly. As Angela looked out proudly over the crowd, she wondered what the other twenty-three tributes were thinking that day. She hoped they were terrified, as it would make her job easier. Somehow, she doubted Jason was scared.

Darcy told them to shake hands before addressing the crowd. "District Six! Your tributes!"

As Angela passed her new mentor, she smiled lightly at him, batting her eyelashes. Most of the district, she was sure, wondered why on earth Angela Hawkins III had been chosen to represent District Six. Everyone knew why Jason Todd had… he was big. But Angela was skinny and unimpressive. She was unassuming to those who didn't know her darker side.

* * *

 _Angela wandered up the path to the Victors' Village and noticed a sign hung on the metal gate. She looked at it skeptically._

 _"_ _ **No Entry Except On Games Business.**_ _"_

 _"Well it's a good thing I'm here for that exact purpose," she said aloud to no one in particular. It was a few days before Reaping Day, and she'd finally made up her mind to volunteer. There was only one problem; she had to make sure Johann Schmidt knew to pick her. She couldn't rely on herself._

 _She rung the door chime and was greeted with an angry voice over the speaker. "What do you want, child?"_

 _"I am here to petition for the Games." Angela stood up to her full height just in case he could see her. After all, he had called her 'child'._

 _"You?" he snorted. "Very well."_

 _With a buzz, the gate unlocked. Angela marched on through, letting the big wrought iron gate swing open and then closed behind her with an ominous noise. Was this a good idea? At the door of the Red Skull's mansion, she stood and waited. It was a huge black door in front of her, too big for her taste, and that was saying something. Schmidt sure did have a flare for the dramatics. Finally, it swung open, and before her stood the famed Red Skull, sole victor of District Six and the father of the deceased Sinthea._

 _"What is your name?" Johann snorted in skepticism as he saw her lithe frame._

 _She straightened up. "I am Angela Hawkins III, and I am the next victor of District Six."_

 _He raised an eyebrow and sneered. "Get in here. We shall make this quick."_

 _Angela padded forward into the mansion quickly after the victor. As she walked behind him, she smirked to herself as she looked around. Paintings of a woman with bright red hair hung on the walls, along with ancient firearms and swords. She knew what this man feared. It was too obvious. He lacked photographs or paintings of anything from the past decade at least._

 _"Why do you want to be in the Games, Hawkins?" he asked as he instructed her to sit in a chair in front of him. It was like an interrogation. "Life too miserable for you?"_

 _"No." She shook her head. "It's because I know I can win."_

Best to leave Sin out of this, _she decided silently._

 _Schmidt rolled his eyes. "And why is that? Stronger men than you have tried. What makes you think you, as a girl, can win this?"_

 _"Because I'm clever. Because I can tell what you most fear and I haven't even been in this house for more than five minutes." Angela stood out of the chair, refusing to be a plaything for this Avenger Games victor._

 _"And what, pray tell, do I fear?" the Red Skull demanded angrily._

 _"You fear the past will catch up with you."_

* * *

As she sat in the room Darcy had delivered her to, Angela looked around. It was very official looking. White walls remained decorated with fancy gearing and interesting wires in golds, coppers, and silvers, reflecting the industry of District Six: transportation. The chair she sat in was made of metal and felt cold to the touch. It smelled of antiseptic wipes, far too clean for her taste. Angela watched out the window as families hugged and thanked their lucky stars that their children hadn't been chosen. It was pathetic.

A squeaking noise lifted her from her thoughts. She looked back at the door and found her father, and to her surprise, her mother, standing there, stoic and solemn.

"Why?" Mr. Hawkins asked, plain and simple.

"I'm going to win," she smirked. "That's why."

"You can't win!" Her father barked at her, fear and anger deep in the wells of his eyes. "You're small and don't know anything about fighting."

Her mother remained silent, but a tear was in her eyes. She felt fear for her daughter.

Angela rose from her chair and clenched her fists. "You know nothing. You're a prisoner of your own mind. Your own small thinking holds you back. There are more ways to win that brawn."

"And why aren't you a prisoner of your mind?" He spat back at her in rising fear of his daughter's dark nature that was on display.

She sneered and turned her back. "I'm too clever. You have no idea what I am capable of."

Her father stormed out of the room, startled by the anger and hatred he saw in his daughter's bright blue eyes. He passed Darcy Lewis and shook his head. He felt it was madness.

Her mother remained behind for a moment. She had a horrified look on her pale face, tears frozen in her blue eyes. "It was you, wasn't it? All these years." Her voice cracked, its soft melody one of despair.

Angela merely smirked. Her mother was no longer afraid for her daughter but afraid of her daughter. And that change was enough to send her fleeing from the room.

The only other people to visit her that day were her gang. Emil LaSalle, Gargaux, and Otto Von Furth, led by Crossbones, came inside. The other boys' arms were folded in obvious displeasure at the decision to send Angela into the Games instead of Crossbones. But they knew better than to voice that sentiment around the volatile Brock Rumlow.

"Good luck, Angela," Emil frowned. "Take care."

Gargaux added his two cents. "Try to make friends. It should help."

"Focus on what you do best." Otto nodded.

Angela had never been particularly close to the other three members of her gang, but she appreciated the sentiment they were attempting to pass along. Crossbones, on the other hand, was like the big brother she never had. She was sorry to have to say goodbye, but she reminded herself that if she worked hard, she would return and see him again. The Games might be hard, but not impossible. Someone won every year. It would just have to be her this time around.

Crossbones stepped forward after she thanked the other three. He reached into his pocket and held out a small pin. It was a golden tracker jacker. Angela smirked.

"You've taken out boys many times your size," Brock stepped forward and pinned it on her collar. He looked at her long and hard, willing her to do well in the Games. "Tracker jackers do the same. They use fear and confusion to destroy their enemies."

With a nod, she smirked. "And so will I."


	10. Chapter 9: Spy-der

**(A/N): And we're back with our Friday update! We're particularly excited about this one, because it features an old friend from "In the End, You Always Kneel." Yes, that's right, ladies and gents. We're breaking up the continuing Reaping chapters to throw in another peek into the Tahiti world. It isn't _all_ murder squads and brainwashing, as you'll see shortly!**

 **Thank you of course to all our writers who reviewed. It's amazing to be part of a project like this with so much love and support to go around for everyone involved!**

* * *

 **Chapter Nine - Spy-der**

 **Secret SHIELD Facility**

 **Peter Parker, formerly of District Eight**

 **Written by abrokencastiel**

* * *

" _The report of my death was greatly exaggerated." - Mark Twain_

* * *

The lanky teenager dodged the fist flying at his gut and somersaulted behind his opponent, kicking out at the back of his knees. As usual, the old man easily sidestepped the move like he had seen it coming a mile away.

"Are you sure you're blind? Because I'm compiling a lot of evidence that says you're not." Peter matched the next few blows the man gave.

"Is that why you've been following me around?" Stick asked straight-faced, his milky eyes staring at something just over Peter's shoulder.

"Following you around?" Peter feigned left and slid right. "I don't know what you mean."

"The tone of your voice says differently," the other trainer, Matt Murdock, supplied from the other sparring mat where he was working with Kurt.

"No one asked you, Murdock. Shouldn't you be paying attention to your own fight?" Peter pouted.

A chuckle escaped from Kurt. "I think they're onto you." Peter shot a look at his friend, earning another laugh.

A sharp whack from Stick's staff against his ribs made the brunette boy wince. "Ow!"

"Take some of your own advice, kid. If you can't fight and talk, then stop talking." Stick swung at the young man again, though this time, Peter was able to bend over backward to avoid the staff. It whistled through the air and, on a whim, Peter grabbed onto it and twisted it out of the man's hands.

"Didn't see that coming, did you?" He grinned, twirling the staff overhead before striking a new stance. His fighting style changed into a more offensive one with the overconfidence the staff gave him.

"That was a terrible pun even by your standards." The old trainer easily matched all of Peter's strikes as he deflected the staff with his hands. "Good try, kid, but you're holding back. A real opponent won't give you an inch, even if you look like a weakling."

"Hey," Peter complained. "I'm not that weak. I lasted pretty long against—"

Kurt cleared his throat, a small warning to Peter to not give away too much about his identity. The whole point of working with blind trainers was to stay incognito, but the teen had a bad habit of talking. It was surprisingly easy to forget he was supposed to be dead. _That's probably why I can't go anywhere without the Elf,_ he mused with a smile.

"Not paying attention." Stick grabbed Peter's wrist and broke his hold on the staff easily. "And now you've lost what little advantage you had." This time, the old man didn't pull any punches, giving the teen a few new bruises with his attack. The staff swung at Peter's chest, and he bent back as he had before, only this time, Stick stopped early and tapped just hard enough to knock Peter completely off-balance and onto his back. Peter winced as he was pinned to the ground by a well-placed staff in the center of his chest. The man squatted beside the teen, not letting up the pressure. "Doing the same move twice in the same fight? Rookie mistake, kid." He stood back up and removed his staff. "We're finished for today."

Peter sighed and sat up, rubbing the sore spot on his chest with a frown. "How come I have to work with the cranky guy with a stick?" he asked Kurt as his friend came over to help him up.

"The cranky guy with a stick has really good hearing!" Stick called back as he and Matt left through the training room doors. "You should probably wait to talk bad about him until he's left the room or else he'll give you more to complain about tomorrow."

This time, Peter waited for the door to close before he spoke. "What are the chances he'll forget about that by tomorrow?"

"What's less than zero?" Kurt asked with a laugh.

The two left the training room through the opposite door as Stick and Matt and entered the locker room. The pristine area was deserted as usual, and Peter dramatically collapsed on one of the wooden benches. "Do you think if we switched they would notice?"

Kurt raised his eyebrows. "I think as soon as one of us said a thing they would notice, _mein Freund_."

"I can stay quiet! We can just have a very silent practice."

"In that case, they would definitely know something was up." Kurt laughed, grabbing a towel and heading for the showers.

"At least we're done with tours for a little while." Peter groaned as he peeled off his sweaty shirt. A few places throbbed where bruises were definitely developing. They were going to fit in nicely with the multitude of yellow, black, and blue along his arms and ribs from past training sessions. "I'm tired of smiling about my own death."

"I feel the same." Kurt sighed from the shower. "But don't forget we have to start training the newcomer today."

"Oh yeah!" A small frown creased the sixteen-year-old's features as he went into his own shower stall. "Any idea who it will be?"

The silence was only broken by the running water. Peter knew who they both wanted it to be. Kate Bishop was never far from either of their minds, but Peter suspected Kurt worried about her more. After almost a full year in the zombie program, they still didn't know if she was even alive. Peter had money on the fact that if Fury had decided he was good enough to bring back, then Kate definitely was deserving of the Tahiti program. He considered pointing this out to Kurt before deciding against it. Instead, he tried to pull the attention away from their missing friend. "Maybe it'll be Steve! We haven't seen him in a while, and we never did learn what he was doing."

"Could be," Kurt agreed. "He certainly has a good people-person quality. What about Tony?"

Peter snorted. "Could you imagine Tony as a tour guide? He'd either offend everyone or break the news about the whole dead tribute thing. Can you imagine it? 'Excuse me, sir, but you look a lot like that tribute from last year.' He wouldn't even hesitate. Just go, 'Yes, I am Tony Stark,'" Peter said in his best Tony impression. "That's probably why they have him secluded down in the lab. Before you ask, Bruce wouldn't be a good option either."

"Still mad at the world?"

"Not so much," Peter replied as he turned off the shower. "He's had a lot of practice controlling his anger while working with Tony," he joked as he wrapped a towel around his waist and twisted another around his hair in a way that always earned an eye-roll from Kurt. "He is super busy, though. I don't think they'd want to pull him away from his work."

"In that case, it must be Steve." Kurt pulled his shirt over his head. "Unless we're getting a newbie."

Peter raised his eyebrows. "Newbie? Like a newbie newbie? You really think so?"

"Why not?" Kurt vigorously rubbed his curly hair dry. "It would make sense. From what we've seen, everyone's already got a job. Why switch them to giving tours of old arenas?"

"Guess that makes sense." His head popped out of his own shirt, plastering his hair to his forehead. "Dang. I was hoping for some news from a different division." He ran his hand through his hair and into a mess on top of his head. "Ready for lunch?"

" _Ja_." Kurt grinned. "I heard a rumor they were going to have cherry pie."

"Let's see if it measures up to my Aunt May's." The ex-tribute led the way out of the locker room.

* * *

 _A red and black nightmare woke Peter from a fitful sleep. He sat in the dark, elbows on his knees and head hanging, as he tried to slow his heart rate and breathing. The bedside clock read '3:00 AM.' Too early to start the day, but since his alarm was set for five and he was already wide-awake, there was no point in going back to bed. Once his shaking had subsided, he slipped on his shoes and meandered out into the hallway, as was his custom on sleepless nights. He didn't bother changing out of his black sweats and t-shirt. There would only be a few SHIELD employees roaming the halls at this time, mostly guarding the super secret places he wasn't supposed to go._

 _It had been a little over two months since he'd been brought back. Over that time, he'd learned very little about_ why _he'd been resurrected and even less about_ how _. It was aggravating in more ways than one._ Could be worse, _he argued with himself._ At least I have Kurt. Without him, I'd probably have gone crazy by now.

 _He hesitated at an intersection of hallways. Usually, the door on the right emblazoned with "_ **RESTRICTED DO NOT ENTER"** _was shut tight, with a guard posted at all times. Tonight, however, security was suspiciously lax. The door was even slightly ajar. Peter glanced around the empty hallways before carefully easing the door open wide enough for him to slip through. He winced in anticipation of an alarm to warn the powers that be he was entering a restricted area, but nothing happened. Cautiously, he made his way down the new hallway, occasionally trying different doors that were all tightly locked. He reached the end of the hall, an uneasy feeling filling him when the stairwell door was unlocked._

" _Why do I feel like a mouse in a maze?" His dark eyes squinted up at the security camera monitoring the door. The red light above the lens stared back at him. "Well, which way?"_

 _The camera stayed still a moment before delicately pointing downward._

" _Yeah, that's not creepy at all," he mumbled under his breath as he started down the stairs. The first half dozen doors didn't budge, and a few more had silhouettes of burly security through the small landing windows._

 _Peter had just about given up when he noticed a light flickering over a door. He frowned, paused on the landing, and tentatively tried the handle. Locked. However, there was an air vent that looked a tad loose. The tall teen reached up and experimentally tested the grate. The bottom screws easily fell out, like someone had already been through to loosen them._

" _This is such a bad idea," he told himself as he gripped the edge of the opening and hauled himself into the small space. "Just wait until Kurt hears about this. He'll never let me out of his sight again."_

 _The vent was just big enough to fit him as he army-crawled through the darkness. A splash of light shone a little ways down, and he made his way towards it. As he neared, he thought he could hear arguing. He moved forward as quietly as he could, unable to make out the exact words the voices were saying._

No, _he corrected._ One voice. And it sounds sort of familiar.

 _He finally made it to the light source and peered through the slits into a large laboratory. A single young man was bent over a table with a deep frown on his face. Peter instantly recognized him despite the missing iron armor._

" _Come on, you stupid machine. Just do what I programmed you to do and we can all live happily ever after." Tony Stark practically threw a screwdriver onto the table._

 _A large grin overtook Peter's face. Seeing an alive Tony made crawling his way through a dusty vent worth it. "Tony," he called softly. "Tony."_

 _The young man froze at his workbench, his gaze darting back and forth in search of the source of the sound. "Who's there?"_

" _Tony, it's me. Your conscience," Peter continued._

 _Tony frowned. "I don't remember having one of those."_

" _It's about time I showed up, then." He stifled a giggle._

 _The black-haired youth rolled his eyes and stood up, the screwdriver in his hand. "Why show up now?"_

" _There is a very important thing you have to do."_

" _And what is that?"_

" _Unscrew the air vent." Peter tapped loud enough on the grate for Tony to hear. "It's really stuffy for a conscience to be stuck in here."_

 _Tony smirked. "I don't know if I want a conscience that spends its time sneaking around."_

" _Funny, I would think that's exactly the type of conscience you would want."_

" _Touche," Tony relented as he cautiously approached the grate. He was frowning like he could almost remember something. "You sound awfully familiar, Mr. Conscience. I hope you're not trying to trick me."_

" _Wouldn't dream of it."_

" _If you are, I have a few inventions that are in need of a test subject." Tony pulled over a chair to more easily reach the grate. Soon enough, Peter heard the clinking of screws hitting the ground, and the grate slid away to offer a full view of the room. "Come on out," Tony ordered. "But no funny business."_

 _Peter slid forward head first, gripping the edge so he could gracefully flip over to land feet first. "Ta-da!" He spread his arms lacklusterly._

" _I don't believe it," Tony said, blinking like he was seeing a ghost._

 _The excitement at finding another resurrected tribute dimmed to an uncertainty. The last time the two had seen each other wasn't exactly a happy memory._

 _Another beat passed before Tony spoke again. "Well, you certainly look better than the last time I saw you."_

 _Relief flooded Peter, and his smile returned. "You're looking a bit better yourself."_

" _I am in tip-top condition," Tony informed him. "Definitely better than you, Spider-Kid." He moved forward and reached behind Peter like he was giving him a hug, but pulled away when Peter tried to return it. "Not hugging, just turning off the tranquilizer gun aimed at your back."_

" _Oh." The brunette ran a hand across the back of his neck. "Right."_

" _Can't be too careful." Tony put down his screwdriver and heavily sat back at his table. "They dragged you back, too, huh?"_

" _Yep." Peter sighed as he sat on the opposite side of the table. "Jury's still out on why." He looked over the blueprints and notes on the table. "Looks like they're putting you to work."_

 _It was Tony's turn to sigh. "What can I say? They couldn't let this genius go. What do they have you doing? Spider farming?"_

" _That would certainly be more interesting. They have us giving tours of the arena." He picked up Tony's device and examined it. "Do you mind?"_

" _Be my guest. Can't get the thing to work anyhow. I doubt you'll make it any worse."_

 _Peter grabbed a soldering iron and made a few adjustments to the circuit board._

" _Who'd they stick you with?"_

" _Hmm?" Peter didn't look up from his new project, excited to be doing tech work after months of barely any electronics._

" _You said 'us' earlier."_

" _Oh! Right, sorry. I'm with Kurt." He frowned at his work and reached for a few of the other components that Tony had piled to the side._

" _They paired me with Banner. He'll probably be showing up soon. We have the same sleep schedule."_

" _Insomnia?"_

" _I prefer to say it's because my creative genius is so great that I can't suppress it for more than a few hours." Tony leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head._

 _Peter laughed and screwed together the last few pieces. He pressed the switch on the side and proudly watched the small helicopter-type device hover a couple feet above the table._

" _Well, would you look at that. The kid knows a bit about engineering." Tony retrieved the invention and examined it. "Not bad, Parker."_

 _The younger teen grinned and rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. "Thanks. I used to mess around with that sort of thing back in Eight."_

" _Interesting." Tony rubbed his sparse goatee. "You know, I could use some help in the lab. If you want to work here on the side, that is."_

" _I would love that!" Peter said, unable to contain his excitement. A thought gave him pause. "Do you think they'll actually let me?"_

 _Tony raised his eyebrows. "I'm pretty sure Coulson already let you in."_

" _Guess that's true." Peter smirked and glanced back at the open air-vent. "There were quite a few coincidences that got me here."_

" _I was hoping Coulson would send me some competent help," Tony continued. "Banner's usually doing his own thing and makes me do all my work on my own. Not a help at all."_

" _No," a voice said from the doorway. "I do the work we're_ supposed _to be doing while you do your own silly pet projects."_

" _Brucie!" Tony spread his arms and grinned. "Look at who came back from the dead to visit us."_

" _Hello, Peter." Bruce nodded with a smile in greeting. "I hope Tony isn't being too annoying."_

" _Hey! I have feelings, too." Tony frowned, a hand going to his heart. "I've been a great host. As a matter of fact, I was just inviting our friend to join us as an honorary science bro whenever he's free."_

" _Is that so? Well, I'd be happy to have someone else around to distract Tony," Bruce stage-whispered. "Maybe then I can finally get some work done."_

" _Feelings, Bruce. Feelings."_

 _Peter smiled broadly, already feeling at home._

* * *

Peter and Kurt waited in a break room for their new contact to join them. A large book of arena maps was open on the coffee table with an equally thick book entitled _A History of the Games: The Journey of a Victor,_ which contained all the Capitol-approved details of the past Games. They planned to go over whichever year the tribute had been in, but, as usual, the SHIELD agents were being incredibly secretive. All they had told them was that the new member of their squad was a bit of a loudmouth and they would have to teach him how to be more covert.

That was the whole point of the tours, after all. What better way to dismiss the idea of undead tributes than to put them on display and say they're actors? Kurt and Peter became Max Szardos and Ben Reilly, actors that made the tours of the arenas seem that much more realistic by personifying the tributes that had lived them. More than once, an attendee had questioned how they managed to look so much like the tributes. Either of the boys would then lean in conspiratorially, pointing out non-existent scars and commenting on how good the plastic surgeons were getting nowadays. They even had business cards to pass out if the Capitolite wanted to look like their own tribute.

Across the table, the TV quietly played the Reapings while Peter sat upside down on the couch, his long legs hanging over the headrest and his head dangling off the cushion. They had debated whether or not to even turn them on, but the possibility of seeing their loved ones back in the districts outweighed the stomach-churning awfulness the Reapings were. District Six was just starting, the Red Skull looking as apathetic as ever. Peter bounced a ball against the far wall and caught it over and over again to pass the time.

Kurt perched on top of the couch, watching the ball intently. As it began to make a return bounce, a well-aimed paper ball from Kurt knocked it just enough off target to be out of Peter's reach. He shot a withering look at the grinning Elf as the door opened, and a brunette teenager stepped into the room. Peter twisted his head to get a better look at the newcomer, expecting to easily identify him, but there was no recognition.

"Welcome." Kurt greeted the stranger, hopping down from his perch as Peter rolled off the couch and to his feet. "I'm Kurt, and this is—"

"AS I LIVE AND BREATHE, IT'S PETER BENJAMIN PARKER!" The teen crossed the room quickly and pulled the skinnier teenager into a hug that squeezed the breath right out of him. "I'm a big fan, really. I watched all of the last Games to catch up on everything I missed after my early departure and, let me tell you, you spoke to me. All that self-sacrifice, goody-two-shoes-ing, and _jokes_." He pressed Peter's head to his chest and rested his chin over the top of his head. "Oh, Mr. Spider, the jokes gave me _life._ You … you alone inspired me to be a better person. Not that you weren't inspiring, too," the stranger said to Kurt with a reassuring wink. "But you barely even killed a person. Petey … Petey here was so good, he killed the same guy twice. Like he had a real archenemy. How cool is that?"

"Um, thanks. I think." Peter finally managed to extract himself from the strong hug and pleadingly looked to the amused Kurt for help. His friend gave a little wave, but offered nothing more.

"You are so welcome, Petey-Poo." The brunette went to pull Peter back into a hug, but Peter managed to dodge out of the way.

 _Something about this guy does seem familiar._ "Not to sound rude, but have we met?"

The guy gave an exaggerated gasp, his hands clapping onto both of his cheeks. "You don't recognize your panda? I know we didn't get to talk much, but I thought we had a greater connection than that."

"Panda?" Kurt frowned at Peter.

The District Eight native felt his eyes widen. "Wade? Wade Wilson?"

"You do remember!" Wade Wilson's brown eyes looked like he was ready to cry, and he clasped his hands in front of his mouth.

" _Verrückt_." Kurt shook his head slowly.

Peter frowned and looked Wade up and down. "What happened to you? I mean, you used to look... different."

He gave a dashing smile and struck a pose. "Am I making you blush, Spider-Man? Do I make you tingle?"

 _This is going to be a long day._ Peter shook his head. "I just mean that you don't look like a fried pickle anymore."

"Ouch, that hurt me right in my heart box, Petey-Pie. If you're going to be like that, maybe I'll have to make a new best friend." He went over and draped an arm around Kurt's shoulders. "Kurt will definitely appreciate my resurrected beauty. He has good taste, don'tcha, Blueberry Stud Muffin?"

"Yeah, I'm sure he would." Peter grinned evilly at his friend.

Kurt rolled with the turn of events and smirked. "Don't worry, Wade. He's just really insecure."

"I can see why," Wade stage-whispered as he gave Peter a quick once over.

With an eyeroll, Peter went back over to the couch. "We should start going over tour information. You have a lot to learn," he said, desperate to change the subject.

"Ooh, tours! What are we giving tours of?" Wade plopped down on the couch and peered at the books.

"Arena tours. We take Capitolites to the past arenas and walk them through all the highlights. Didn't they tell you that?" Kurt asked, strategically placing himself on the opposite side of the table from Wade.

"Maybe they did, maybe they didn't. Ever since the mean nasty lady tried to touch me in my special place—" He tapped the side of his head. "—things have been a little meta."

Peter and Kurt's eyes met, and they wordlessly agreed that tour training could wait. Peter palmed the ball he'd been playing with and pressed the secret button. It was one of the devices he'd helped Tony develop as a side project that would knock out any listening devices in a room. Peter had swiped one of the later prototypes for himself. He never knew when it might come in handy.

"What mean lady?" Kurt questioned once Peter gave him a small nod.

"Oh, a dark and scary lady with severe control issues. Like, seriously. You should see her. One toe out of line, and she wants to send you to the brain doctor. Her little flying monkey was a piece of work, too. His name is Kevin. He doesn't go by that; he made up his own stupid cool name. At least, he thinks it's cool. But I just call him Kevin. He hates it." Wade giggled gleefully. "Scary lady also has this dude named Francis. Worse name than Kevin. Terrible halitosis. Rivals that of Victor Creed."

The names flew fast, and Peter struggled to remember all of them as Wade rambled.

"When did you meet her?" Kurt pressed.

Wade frowned and tapped his chin. "Pretty soon after I woke up. She only really wanted us for one thing. You know. Your mama warned you about women like that. I'm sure. Or she should have." Wade let out a whimsical sigh and put his chin in both hands. "So about these tours, do I just give them for our little arena or all of them? Because, I'm not gonna lie, this is a lot of sugar honey iced tea."

Peter ignored his question. "What were you doing for her?"

The brunette gave him an odd look. "Well, what do you _think_ we were doing? Killing people, of course. Outside of the Chippendales club, what else would I be good for? Can you believe this guy?" he asked Kurt. "What did she want us to do," he chuckled. "You really are funny, Petey-kinz. Our job was cleaning up her little hit list of people who stole her bubblegum. And since we're already dead, it doesn't matter if we die again. Now that I think about it, I might have died again. A couple of times. My snookums was not. Happy." He turned toward Kurt with a suddenly enlightened expression. "We were practically a suicide squad of undead kids."

Peter's mouth had gone dry. He figured something like that was going on outside of their neck of the undead woods, where they weren't allowed to go, but he'd been hoping he was wrong. The fact that he could only trust Kurt was becoming more apparent every day.

Kurt was the one who asked the important question: "Who else worked with you?"

"Let's see, I can't quite remember." Wade leaned back, propping his feet on the coffee table and books. "They tried to make me forget. Tried to wipe all the info, but Lady Death and I have a special connection." Wade's look turned dreamy. "She knows me better than I know myself. Really watches out for me. Do you two have a girl to watch out for you guys? If you don't, you need to get one."

"Focus, Wade," Peter urged.

"Right, right. Well, I know there were girls _and_ boys. But a coed slumber party it was not. Sadly. Couple redheads were there. They didn't have to visit Kevin like the rest of us did. They did what they were told. At least, they never complained like I did, and they didn't have that dead look in their eyes like the other two. The mind-melded ones are never fun. They're all business in the front and blank slates in the back."

"Redheads?"

"Sin? Pepper? Natasha? Maybe..." Peter gulped. "Maybe Cletus?"

"Yeah! Alliance buddies! Well, Sin and Natasha. Not the other two. Though I'm sure you'd like a crack at round three with your archnemesis, right, Pete?" Wade punched the smaller boy in the shoulder, and Peter forced a small half-smile.

Kurt kept them on track. "Who were the other two?"

Wade rubbed the back of his neck and screwed up his face. "You know, I can almost see them. I'm getting a good-guy feel from one and cupid from another. Phew!" He wiped a hand across his brow. "That was a mental workout! You guys ever try to remember things you were forced to forget? Gives you a headache." He stood and stretched. "I'm going to go get a coffee. You guys want anything? Water? Beer? Wait, it was the other guy that liked to drink. The angry shorty." Wade was out the door before either could give an answer, his voice trailing behind him.

Peter and Kurt sat in silence for a moment until Peter hesitantly spoke. "Not too sure on the good guy, but cupid makes me think of one of two people."

The curly-haired teen nodded, biting his lip. "Yeah."

They had both asked about her for months after waking up but hadn't ever gotten an answer. The list of everyone who'd been revived was classified. It had been luck (and likely, Coulson) that they'd found Steve, Bruce, and Tony. At least, it _seemed_ like luck with Steve. _I doubt Fury lets anything happen by pure luck_ , Peter thought wryly.

"Even if it is her," Kurt said quietly, frowning at his hands. "It sounds like there's some sort of brainwashing going on."

Peter leaned back on the couch with a sigh. "Whatever's going on, we're going to figure it out. If it is Kate, we're going to get her back."

Kurt chewed his lip and nodded. Peter could practically see him already developing a plan to get more information. "We will."

"Besides," Peter said, glancing up as Wade re-entered the room. "We've got a secret weapon now."

"They were all out of coffee," Wade said as he settled next to Peter and passed out glasses of some sort of pink drink. "So I had to improvise. I hope you like cherry, lime, and whatever the prescription bottle was filled with. I've narrowed it down to tranquilizers or heart pills." He glanced at the other two. "Why do I get the feeling you two are up to something?"

Kurt just smiled while Peter scooted the drink out of the way and clicked the button again on his device to let the secret microphones listen in on their conversations again. "Alright, Wade, let's start going over the true story of the Games, or at least how the Capitol sees it."

The trio reviewed what Wade remembered about their round of Games. He already had a reasonably good grasp on the happenings, having picked up most of his information from watching the Capitol-edited reruns. Kurt and Peter supplemented additional information when it was important and pointed out things he shouldn't mention when on the tours.

"Most people don't like to hear about the pain or the suffering. They want to hear about how inspiring the hero was or how cunningly the villain killed. Don't make it too personal," Kurt explained.

"We do get the people who want the gory details," Peter said with a small grimace. "It's best to shut them down early and tell them that they can pick up a special edition movie compilation from the gift shop if they want to get the full experience. It shows the best angles and has Taneleer giving detailed play-by-play of each death."

Wade nodded and squinted between Kurt and Peter. "What do you say when they look at you two and realize you're you?"

Kurt snorted. "They usually don't. There's enough people trying to be lookalikes of the more famous tributes that we tend to blend right in. You won't have any trouble at all, considering the whole Capitol remembers you with the mask."

"You will need to pick a new name," Peter pointed out. "Kurt's Max Szardos, and I'm Ben Reilly."

"Really?" Wade cocked his head with a frown. "I always pictured you more as a Garfield. Or maybe a Holland. Possibly a Tobey, though there's a possibility that one could get a little weird."

"I'm going to stick with Ben."

"Suit yourself. I'm going to go with a much more dashing name. Ryan Reynolds. Has a ring to it that fits."

Kurt nodded. "That'll work fine. Nice to have you on the team, Ryan."

"Aw, you guys. We are going to be the best team family." Wade pulled everyone into an awkward group hug that lasted a bit too long. "You smell so good," he mumbled, but before either teen could be too taken aback, Wade spoke again. "Hey, isn't that the grumpy guy who won? Part of the old Scooby gang?"

The old friends both jerked their heads to look at the television. Logan was glaring out of the screen playing the Reapings, a look that Peter knew well.

"This is going to go about as well as I think, isn't it?" Peter grimaced.

"I expect so," Kurt agreed as the District Seven Reaping began.

The group fell into silence, giving Peter a moment to collect his thoughts before the new tributes were announced. Something was definitely up. Why put motormouth Wade on the tour team? SHIELD worked in mysterious ways, but never without a purpose.

Not to mention this super secret team that Wade had been kicked off of. A murder team by the looks of it. A group of people that were skilled enough to take out hits on people. Sin, Natasha, Wade, and two mystery members. _Cupid_. _Arrows and love._ He didn't want to get Kurt's hopes up until he was sure, but he hoped a one-on-one conversation with Wade might help the strange teen remember if the third person was Kate. His gut feeling told him it was.

The final question, which made Peter's stomach churn, was exactly who the murder squad was being ordered to take out.


	11. Chapter 10: Knightfall

**(A/N): We're back with our Tuesday update! And also, a happy Fourth of July to any of our American readers ;) After taking a quick break to check in on the goings-on in the Tahiti side of things, we're back with the Reapings, this time with two familiar writers from our previous fic: Miran Anders (the fabulous woman who wrote Bruce Banner last time) and robbiepoo2341 (who wrote Kate Bishop).**

 **Thank you to all of our writers who reviewed; it's so fun to see everyone in a state of nostalgia over our darling Peter Parker and the rest of the Tahiti crew; we promise it's just going to get more fun as the story goes on! Thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for his review; we too are loving the teamup of Kurt and Peter as well as the introduction of Wade ;)**

* * *

 **Chapter 10 - Knightfall**

 **Written by Miran Anders and robbiepoo2341**

* * *

 **Helena Wayne of District Seven**

 **Written by Miran Anders**

* * *

 _"Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment._

 _There is no why."_

 _-Kurt Vonnegut_

* * *

A tall, dark-haired young woman was walking thoughtfully down the orchard path in the east garden when a subtle movement high above caught her attention. _Specifically_ because it was subtle. She glanced upwards suspiciously.

"If you are considering dropping out of that tree to scare me, I _will_ put you on the ground."

Helena Wayne watched with a critical eye as the young man swung around a lower branch and ended up hanging by his knees, his bright smile upside down in front of her. "How'd you know it was me?"

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she evaluated his stability on the branch. The bark was smooth, the fabric of his pants had no texture – and he was leaning just a hair to the right. With a lightning-fast move, she shoved his left shoulder, nearly knocking him from his perch.

 _Nearly_.

He turned the shove into just enough impetus to swing out and around and off the branch, sticking the landing, as usual, with an open-armed flourish. It was difficult to hold back a smile even as she rolled her eyes.

 _Damn. I must have telegraphed that._ She shook her head at herself _. I guess I'm more tense than I thought._

"Show off."

His blue eyes, a mirror of her own, sparkled. "Have you ever known me to be anything else?"

Quite against her will, one corner of Helena's mouth began to curl upwards. "One of these days, Dick…"

"You'll what, push me again?"

There was a moment of frozen silence as they stared at each other. Then, her eyes flashed, and she leapt forward, tackling her brother outright, to a brief bark of laughter.

They weren't _technically_ brother and sister. Or perhaps the better word was _biologically_.

* * *

People in the district knew that Helena was the daughter of the famous Bruce Wayne – although there were certainly stories to tell there – and knew that he had adopted Dick Grayson, the orphaned circus performer, when the boy was only nine… but evidently, it was so _delicious_ for them to speculate about it.

 _The boy and girl, they look like siblings. Both with the dark hair, and those sparkling blue eyes. Both so athletic. Both so close in age… could they be secret twins? Could there be more to this story?_

Oh, how people loved to talk. To gossip about the rich and famous.

But eight-year-old Helena found herself wondering, too, when her father adopted Dick. And it hurt her to wonder _why._ Why her father clearly hated to talk about her mother, because he always changed the subject. Why Helena wasn't good enough… why she was such a disappointment that her father needed to adopt someone better. A boy, more like him, less like _she_ had been...

The tussling had begun soon after Dick moved into the mansion, and any child psychologist would have said it was a mechanism for them to find their way as siblings. They rarely did it in public, but unfortunately, it hadn't been Bruce or Alfred who caught them at it the first time.

It was another woman of high society, who was _quite_ interested in their father.

* * *

 _"Stop! Stop right now. What do you two ruffians think you're doing?"_

 _In the way of eight- and nine-year-olds everywhere, they stopped at the adult voice but glared at each other from a distance._

 _"Honestly, haven't the two of you given your poor father enough grief already?"_

 _Dick, new to the grounds, looked like he was going to cry but turned and ran instead. Helena gave the woman a searing look far more adult than her years. She received a royal dismissal in return._

 _"Go! And for God's sake, leave each other alone!"_

 _Helena had dashed off into the orchard garden behind the mansion, but curiosity had her creeping back stealthily. In less than two minutes, she was close enough to hear the woman's hissed conversation with a drunken friend._

 _"Those brats. I don't know how Bruce stands it!"_

 _The friend, more discreet, could only be heard to say through her laughter, "Jez! You're wicked."_

 _"Oh, I don't think so. The fact that her mother trapped him into marrying her was bad enough, but then_ — _"_

* * *

She shook her thoughts back into the present, not wanting to replay the memory of that particular story yet again. With an experienced motion, she tweaked the shoulders of her dress into place _. Nothing like getting all dressed up to see if this is the year I'm supposed to die,_ she thought grimly. Still, as _Waynes_ , they had to look good. Look the part. She stepped back from the mirror and couldn't help but give herself an approving grin. She really did look good.

The dress was deep aubergine and hugged her like it was afraid to lose her. A curved inset of pale, silvery gray swept high across her chest down to her shoulders, and a second strip dropped from her neck, making her look even taller than her recently reached five ten. Knowing her aversion to dressing up in general, her dressmaker had attempted to insert the girl's favorite hobby as subtly as possible. Looking at it that way, she was an armed crossbow nearly six feet tall.

She let herself smile, until she heard a knock on the door.

"Helena?"

She turned and saw her father standing there. "I'm almost ready. You know Dick's the one who takes forever—"

"I know. I just wanted…" He stepped closer, looking at her intently.

"It's okay, Dad. You don't have to—"

As if he hadn't heard, he reached over and touched her hair, shaking his head. "You look so much like—" He stopped, his jaw tight.

If she didn't know better, she would have sworn his eyes were watering. "Dad? You okay?"

He dropped his gaze and his hand, and when he looked up again, the stoic expression he normally wore was back in place. Abruptly, he reached inside his suit coat, fumbled with something in the pocket... but then shook his head, dropping his arms with a sigh. "You look lovely, Helena." She felt oddly embarrassed under his intent gaze. He seemed to notice and relented slightly as he reached into another pocket. "Since it's your last Reaping, I'd like you to have this."

He drew out a black velvet box and placed it in her hand. Helena's eyebrows lifted as she looked from it to him. "Go ahead," he said with a melancholy smile.

Gently, almost cautiously, she opened it.

Inside, an oval pendant of cat's eye glowed up at her, the amber color cradled in silvery art nouveau vines. She stared at it, speechless. "I gave it to your mother a long time ago. I think she would want you to have it."

"Dad… I…" He lifted the pendant from its box and fastened it around her neck. It hung beautifully at the point where the lines on her dress crossed. Her eyes watered as she looked down at it. "She used to wear this all the time. I remember."

For the first time in a long time, and to her shock, he wrapped her tightly in his arms. "Be careful, kitten."

She blinked at him. "I will. I promise. It'll be okay, Dad."

"I hope so." He reached out once more to squeeze her shoulder and then left the room. Helena looked after him, a thoughtful expression on her face as she glanced back at her mirror. _My mother's necklace..._

She took a few deep breaths to center her thinking once more and turned to leave her room to get Dick, her fingers caressing the pendant that felt strangely, pleasantly warm. _I wish Dick could have known her. She would have loved him, too…_

As pleased as she was by the gift, her father's demeanor still puzzled her. She knew her father loved her, but warm and fuzzy was not how she would ever describe Bruce Wayne. "Yeah, that was strange..." _But then, it's Reaping Day. Anything can happen on Reaping Day._

Which led her thoughts back, almost instantly, to one Reaping Day in particular.

* * *

Helena was freshly nine, and Dick had only moved in a couple weeks before. Their relationship was currently that of an uneasy truce, officiated by her father — yes, _very_ specifically to this nine-year-old, _her_ father — and of course by Alfred, who did his best to mediate. But this particular day was Reaping Day, and that changed things.

 _Reaping Day._ As ominous as it sounded, it was always an adventure. Even before she and Dick were eligible to be taken, the day always seemed to be fraught with excitement, with the possibility of something amazing happening. Schools had the day off, as did private tutors. Young Helena took advantage of the time to go and practice her archery, and she was sure she saw Dick heading toward the woods deep within the garden wall. The boy was always climbing.

She had started with the bow when she was six — barely old enough to pull properly, although she managed well enough for a beginner. Even her father said she was a natural and that her marksmanship was excellent. Of course, with her mother gone, she knew that just meant that she should keep practicing, to get to whatever was _beyond_ excellent.

But after Helena practiced for half an hour with the longbow, and then with the small crossbow her father had made for her just this year, she found to her surprise that she was getting bored. She decided take a walk. Not to find that _boy_ , mind you. Just to walk, get a little fresh air.

Oddly enough, she found herself beginning to feel a bit lonely when he wasn't around these days, even if he was the most frustrating, annoying thing in her life.

Helena carefully put her weapons away and set out, vaguely in the direction of the woods where Dick was probably climbing.

After half an hour of wandering around and not _accidentally_ finding him, she walked to her favorite spot on the wall and climbed easily up a tree that grew next to it. With a few graceful moves, she was sitting on the broad stone wall, looking out toward the town. A few twelve year old boys, feeling full of themselves before their first Reaping, saw her and headed over.

"Hey, lookit that, it's the little rich girl."

"She looks more like a monkey up there."

"Ha! Yeah, she looks like a monkey anywhere!"

Helena didn't even look at them. She was accustomed to dealing with the town bullies, and the best way to do that was to ignore them. But then one of them went just a bit too far.

"I think her mother was a monkey, too. My dad said the old guy just felt sorry for her 'cause she was so ugly, and that's the only reason—"

Helena shoved herself off the wall before he finished the sentence. In her sudden anger, she hit the ground badly, and her left ankle turned painfully. She glared at them furiously, holding back tears and beginning to question the wisdom of getting into a fight with three boys who were all half a foot taller than her.

"Oooh, lookit. She's gonna fight. You wanna fight, little girl?"

There was a quiet thud as something landed on the ground next to her. Dick Grayson had somersaulted off the wall, landed on his feet, and was at her side all in one balletic movement.

"Oh, now the little bitch has a bodyguar-"

He didn't get to finish the sentence. Dick swung one fist into the boy's stomach, and then the other into his face, yelling forcefully. "Don't call her that! Leave her alone!"

The bully's nose was bleeding as he held his face. "You little—"

Abruptly, a Sentinel's whistle sounded, and the three boys yelled to each other and scattered. Getting in trouble on Reaping Day was a _really_ bad idea. Dick looked at Helena and made a stirrup of his hands. "Come on."

It took only a second for her to understand, but she frowned. "Hurt my ankle."

"I know. Hop up. You can do it."

With barely a hesitation, she put a hand on his shoulder and hopped her right foot into his hands. He practically threw her, getting her high enough to grab the top of the wall. Then he climbed up after her quickly, taking her outstretched hand when he got close enough. Once up top, they flattened themselves and waited for any sound of a chase.

Peeking over the edge, they saw the Sentinel had walked back to the wall and stood there for a long minute. Dick peeked over and mouthed at Helena, _'it's Mac'_ , and gave her a thumbs up. Her brow furrowed. She had no idea who 'Mac' was, but she kept her head down. Eventually, the man cleared his throat and spoke to the world at large.

"Well, I don't know who these kids think they are, but it's about time someone stood up to them. I just hope that if they ever give anyone trouble again, that person tells me about it." Then he dusted off his hands and headed back to the center of town.

Five minutes later, when it was clear no one was after them, they slipped down the tree on the other side, back onto the grounds. Helena looked at him. "I could have taken them, you know."

He stood and stared at her, like she was a wild animal that might attack any minute. "Okay." They looked at the ground for a minute as she leaned hard against a tree. "You need help getting back to the house?"

"No." She tried to take a step, gasped, and fell against the tree again.

Dick steadied his nerves and stepped closer, grabbing her arm and pulling it over his shoulder. "Yeah, you're fine. But just in case — don't strangle me." She could tell from his tone he was kidding, just to make her feel better. More at ease.

And that was strange. She never had a brother to do that before, and it never occurred to her before that very moment that a brother could be a _nice_ thing to have. They started toward the house with her limping next to him.

After a few staggering moments, she sighed out a breath. "So. Anyway. Thanks."

He shrugged. "Like you said, you could've taken them."

"I could!"

They walked a few more steps, and Dick started to giggle. In spite of herself, Helena couldn't help but join him.

They never told anyone what actually happened that day. It was _their_ secret.

* * *

Checking her reflection once more, she realized she was wearing the same melancholy smile she had seen on her father's face. With a sigh, she went out in the hall and encouraged Dick to stop admiring himself and get a move on.

They were walking down the road toward the district center, where crowds were gathering. _Crowds. People are watching._ They glanced at each other and took a mutual breath.

She took his arm and, as they had a hundred times before, effortlessly fell into the roles of being the sophisticated debutante and her charming brother.

Helena managed not to sigh again as they headed toward the stage that grew closer far too soon. She could feel the tension coming from her brother and tapped twice, quickly, on the back of his hand with her index finger. He responded quietly without looking, smiling and nodding instead toward various people he recognized as they gathered in the square. Especially toward a pert little redhead who happened to be the Head Sentinel's daughter. "Hey, Babs! Lookin' good!" The girl gave him a grin and a wave before she turned back to her friends, and Dick spoke quietly to Helena.

"Nervous?" he said quietly as he continued to smile for the crowds. "Nervous as Hel?"

Helena grinned tightly at the nickname. She was always smart as Hel, tough as Hel, vicious as Hel. The boy just couldn't help himself. "No, you idiot. But _you_ are." She could always tell.

"Me? Nervous? Never. Just enjoying the landscape…"

A nervous susurration behind them made her turn. Stalking down the path between the groups was Creed, a customary snarl on his face. She looked away but felt him walking behind her. "Last chance, girlie." His breath on her neck almost made her gag.

Helena glanced back at him as if he was something scraped from a shoe. "Shouldn't you be up on stage, sharing your vileness with everyone?"

He growled something under his breath as he moved on, and they kept walking as if nothing had happened.

When they got to the square, Dick gave her arm a squeeze before stepping back from her rather formally and nodding, all show for the crowds. She tipped her head in return, giving him a private wink as she turned to join the girls.

 _Girls_. Some of these 'girls' already had children. As if it would keep them from being reaped. In general, it just meant they had to take out more tesserae to provide for infants they weren't prepared to care for. She took a deep breath and walked calmly, almost regally, to where the rest of the seventeen-year-old potential victims stood.

Up on stage, the show was moving along. Moira MacTaggert — whose accent Helena could mimic perfectly, although Dick and Alfred were the only ones who knew — was giving the standard speeches, showing the usual movie. The cruel, oppressive traditions made Helena's blood boil when she thought about them any other time of the year, but during the Reaping... she just felt numb. Like her feelings were trapped in amber. A movement caught her attention once more, as the former victors of their district took over on stage.

 _Ah, Creed. He's picking? How lovely_. Visions of slitting the misogynist bastard's throat danced across her mind, but she tucked them delicately away. She'd seen him, heard him, at too many victors' parties to have any illusions about what the creature was. And last year, he had the gall to start making passes at her, his hand sliding down her back as he whispered in her ear, knowing she wouldn't make a scene at a victor's party.

Luckily for all, Dick wasn't far away and saw the dangerous expression in her eyes. He had hurried over and swept her away on the pretense of introducing her to some dignitary… so unfortunately, she didn't get the chance to break Creed's nose. _Someday_.

It was difficult for her to believe that someone less than ten years older could be that revolting. Some people said the Games did it, but she knew better. His attitude had always disgusted her. Besides, her mother hadn't liked that family either.

The beast was standing at the microphone, nearly slavering with delight. She watched as his eyes scanned the crowd, searching... possibly for potential victims. To Creed's left was Groot, towering over Creed even from a more-than-polite-distance.

Helena felt more relaxed seeing the older victor and grinned in spite of herself. She liked Groot.

* * *

She was fifteen, at yet another victor's party.

After being lectured yet _again_ by one Jezebel Jet about her responsibilities to society, and what a burden she was to her poor father, Helena had snuck out into the gardens to get away, trying to turn her imminent tears into anger. Or perhaps vice-versa. Fifteen was a difficult age for dealing with emotions, even for someone as mature as Helena.

Stopping to take a few deep breaths, she heard a soft noise and saw him, sitting on a stone bench like a statue, leaning contentedly against a tree. Blending into the environment almost invisibly in the evening light. He smiled gently when he saw her and patted the bench at his side. The girl was reluctant to let anyone see her in her emotional state, but there was something oddly calming about the former victor's presence. Something peaceful, natural.

With a sigh, Helena sat on the bench nearby, and they rested in companionable silence as she calmed down. The distant music and laughter seemed unreal compared to the sparkling mumble of the fountains and soft whispering of the trees in the green twilight of the garden. That is, it _was_ , until the infamous Ms. Jet came out onto the stone balcony off the back of the house, her irritating voice carrying in the still night.

"Didn't you know? That Kyle girl got herself pregnant and then blackmailed Bruce into marrying her! _Blackmailed_! Can you imagine? And that's not as bad as when they found out what she _really_ was!"

The weary female voice of her current 'best friend' answered her. "Jezebel, she's long gone. Let her rest in peace. It doesn't matter—"

"It most certainly does. She was all of seventeen when he met her on the streets."

"On the _streets_? Good Lord, Jez, you make it sound like she was a—"

"Oh, no, not _that_. At least not that anyone _knew_ of. She was a common thief, that's all!"

There was, at least, an exasperated sigh from the friend that the soft breeze carried out to the orchard. The tall victor looked over at Helena, whose eyes had grown wide and angry.

"And everyone said she was _reformed_. Ha! Then why did that Sentinel catch her? Trying to blame that poor soldier for _doing his job_! _Those_ kind never change, it's always excuses. Always someone else's fault, when it's in their _blood_. And I'm _sure_ that girl of hers is just as bad, no matter how hard Bruce tries…"

Helena's hands were clenched tightly into fists as she leapt to her feet, whispering angrily through her teeth. "I'll kill her. I'll—"

She was startled by how quickly the victor sitting beside her rose and just how _tall_ he was when he stood. She looked up at him and saw a strangely wooden expression on his face that she could only interpret as anger. He looked away from the distant conversation, down to her and shook his head slowly. Then, with a smoothly deliberate movement, he reached down and picked up a fair-sized rock, regarding it seriously for a moment as he tossed it up and down.

"I tell you, she simply doesn't know _how_ to behave, the little b-"

Groot pulled his arm back and flung the stone in a high arc toward the house. Helena watched, wide-eyed, waiting for the sound of breaking glass, but instead she heard—

"And Lord _knows_ I've tried to — OH!"

"Good heavens. Are you alright? Jez? Jezebel?"

The tall victor turned to Helena, and a broad smile crinkled his weathered skin. She covered her mouth, trying not to laugh, and they both turned and ran farther into the gardens.

By the time they stopped, deep in the orchards, they were both out of breath from keeping it in. She turned to the victor and held out her hand. "Thank you. I'm Helena."

The tall victor took her hand with a smile. "I am Groot."

* * *

Helena blinked to herself and looked back at the stage. She hadn't seen him since then — not really, certainly not to sit in the orchard with — but there he was, looking every bit as quietly angry as he had that day in the gardens.

On Creed's other side, the new victor, Logan, was standing with his arms crossed, looking very much like she felt. Numb and angry. She gave the short, muscular young man an appraising look. While she'd watched him in the Games, she hadn't seen him in person since she was a kid — except, of course, briefly at the victor party required by the Wayne's society standing after the boy won last year.

The Howletts and the Waynes had known each other back in the day, but clearly, this boy had taken his own path. He had been short and scrawny back then, but now he looked like — well, like a _victor_ , even at his size.

She had watched his fighting style during the Games and admired his success. He was raw, violent… and efficient. Clearly, surviving the Games had aged him, probably emotionally as well as physically. She nodded in unconscious approval as he edged a small step farther from the microphone and the monster using it.

 _One of these days, someone is going to have to put Creed in his place. Preferably, underground_.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Creed spoke, slowly and deliberately, naming the first sacrifice to the Games.

 _"Helena Wayne."_

Her first instinct was to frown, although the actual expression on her face barely changed. The wave of girls in front of her turned almost in unison, varying expressions of relief and angst on their faces. She commanded her legs to move.

Walking toward the stage, she felt every eye on her, but she stared straight ahead. Years of society and physical training gave her the grace to rise to the occasion, to not let the beast at the microphone see her flinch in the slightest. But once she strode up the steps and turned out to the crowd, it became more difficult. From here, she could see all the faces, including Dick — and her father.

She kept her back straight and stood tall as the monster chuckled quietly. He leaned slightly toward her, and spoke in a drooling tone that only she could hear. "I could change my mind…"

Helena blinked once, hearing the leering suggestion in his voice, and knowing, moreover, that it was far too late to change anything. Her response was swift and without question. "I'd rather die."

He snorted, angry, and looked out into the crowd again.

 _"Richard Grayson."_

Her eyebrows lifted slightly as she looked in Dick's direction. For a moment, she saw him glance toward their father, but then he, too, lifted his chin and walked calmly and proudly to the stage.

As he stepped up next to her, she turned and extended her hand. With practiced formality, he took it in a firm grasp, and they tapped each other's wrists in an age-old practice as blue eyes met.

 _Both or neither._

It was an ancient promise, a child-like vow. But they both felt a little relieved that now, when the unthinkable had actually happened, at least they were in it together. The formalities passed, they walked to the Justice Building, arm in arm once more.

Dick whispered without turning his head. "Well, this is a hell of a thing."

She nodded imperceptibly and whispered in return, "He tried again."

"Just now? Ass." He looked at her frown. "You don't think that's why he picked me?"

"Don't know. Do you think?"

Her brother shrugged uneasily, but gave a smoothly glib response. "Doubt it. He probably just wants to break down the royal family." She rolled her eyes at the town nickname, and he blinked innocently. "C'mon, Hel. Can't let a psychopath make you feel guilty about _anything_." They grinned at each other, and he did a quick double-take. "Nice necklace."

He _would_ notice. He was _so_ good with detail, not to mention his skill at changing the subject. "It was Mom's."

His eyebrows lifted, but they didn't have much time to discuss how she got it, since Alfred Pennyworth was in the room almost as soon as they were.

He looked at them, his eyes shining with unshed tears, unable to speak. Then he shook his head and stepped forward, his arms outstretched, hugging them both to himself. "I'm so sorry, children. So sorry." They stood that way for a long minute before he released them, taking off his glasses and wiping them with the handkerchief from his pocket. "So sorry. It isn't fair. It isn't right..."

Dick glanced at Helena, then back to Alfred, giving him a crooked grin. "We're gonna be okay, Alfred. Really. I mean, what's the worst—"

Helena put a hand on her brother's arm, stopping him. "Alfred." The butler looked up at her, replacing his glasses and trying to compose himself. "Thank you." She took a step toward him and leaned to kiss his cheek. "For everything."

He was always the one there for them, especially when her father — prone to distraction and outside projects as he was — wasn't. She remembered, so very well. And one time stood out boldly at this moment, as she struggled internally to organize her thoughts.

* * *

 _She was thirteen, and struggling with everything, it seemed. Alfred came to one of her English lessons and left a bookmarked volume on her desk. He appeared to have a way of_ knowing _people, who they really were, behind any mask they chose to wear. And he certainly seemed to know her affinity for the moon, for Artemis, for Diana… although she didn't remember actually discussing it with him, beyond the connections to archery. Almost angry at the intrusion to her teenage misery, she opened the book and read._

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,

Now the sun is laid to sleep,

Seated in thy silver chair

State in wonted manner keep:

Hesperus entreats thy light,

Goddess excellently bright.

Earth, let not thy envious shade

Dare itself to interpose;

Cynthia's shining orb was made

Heaven to clear when day did close:

Bless us then with wished sight,

Goddess excellently bright.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart

And thy crystal-shining quiver;

Give unto the flying hart

Space to breathe, how short soever:

Thou that mak'st a day of night,

Goddess excellently bright.

-Ben Jonson

 _She stared at it, read it again._ Queen and Huntress. _Somehow, it sang within her soul. She might never be a queen, but with a crossbow in her hand…_ a Huntress…

 _Hours later, she had found Alfred in the kitchen and hugged him impulsively, leaving again before any discussion could happen. He didn't comment, but she saw the subtle smile as he watched her leave._ Such a good man. _And Helena wondered if he knew that every night since then, when she stood out on the balcony under the moon, she felt stronger._

* * *

And here he was, here, with them again, at the beginning and end of everything.

Alfred nodded, opened his mouth, closed it again. Squaring his shoulders, he folded his hands behind his back and turned to the door. When his hand was on the knob, he looked back over his shoulder. "You're both very precious to me." With that, he was gone.

Helena and Dick blinked at each other. "That was—" But the door opened again, and this time, it was their father.

Though his eyes appeared empty, he spoke to them quietly, practically. Reassured them that they were smart, well-trained, capable. He seemed to peter out toward the end, and Dick, knowing that his adoptive father wasn't particularly emotional, left to give him a chance to say goodbye to his daughter. Helena, in turn, watched as Bruce tried to say something meaningful to Dick... but her brother left before her father had managed to break through his own walls.

 _Way to go, Dad._ She shook her head, feeling anger at her father's lack of expression now, of all times. But when he turned back to her, his cheeks were wet, and she blinked. _What the_ — _I haven't seen him actually cry in..._

For the second time that day, her father stepped forward and enfolded her in his arms. "I'm sorry."

Her voice was muffled against his shoulder and tinged with genuine shock. "For what?"

He exhaled a shuddering breath against her hair. "This is my fault." Without letting her go, he spoke even more quietly. "Be careful, sweetheart." She felt him push a folded paper into her hand as he turned but stopped at the door and looked into her eyes. "One other thing you need to know. I loved your mother very much. And I love you." And then he was gone.

Before the Sentinels could come back to get her, she tucked the note into the neckline of her dress and held her hand over her mother's pendant that guarded it thoughtfully. A stern voice at the door told her it was time to go.

 _I have a feeling I'll want some time to read this._ Drawing herself up regally, she left to face whatever was left of her future.

* * *

 **Richard "Dick" Grayson of District Seven**

 **Written by robbiepoo2341**

* * *

" _There is no such thing as a 'broken family.' Family is family, and is not determined by marriage certificates, divorce papers, and adoption documents. Families are made in the heart…. If you cut those ties, those people are not your family. If you make those ties, those people are your family." - C. Joybell C._

* * *

"If you are considering dropping out of that tree to scare me, I will put you on the ground."

Dick grinned to himself and shook his head as, instead of dropping like he'd planned, he just slipped a little sideways, his knees hooked around one of the branches of the sturdy oak as he flipped upside-down out of the tree, just at Helena's eye level, his hair flopping and blue eyes twinkling with laughter. "How'd you know it was me?" he teased — as if there was anyone else in the lonely Wayne estate that would have been trying to sneak up on her.

She tipped her head his way, her own blue eyes bright with a _look_ that he couldn't possibly misunderstand, which would have been answer enough on its own — but then she reached out and pushed him in the shoulder, nearly toppling him from his perch.

He grinned widely all the way through the flip that followed as, instead of allowing her to topple him, he moved with the moment, swinging out and tucking in his knees to throw in a twist that was partly for the performance and partly to annoy her that she hadn't managed to knock him down properly. She was such a perfectionist.

She was all tense muscles and frowns, but that morning, he was just enjoying the chance to be in the trees and practice a few tricks so he didn't get rusty. And, _of course,_ he still had it. He more than had it. About a decade ago, that kind of move would have brought down thunderous applause — but he wasn't with the circus anymore.

* * *

" _Ladies and gentlemen, the Flying Graysons!"_

 _Dick and his parents waved to the small crowd that had gathered in District Nine, one of the last stops on their tour before winter set in_ — _and likely one of the last stops for the circus itself, at least as things stood now._

 _The Capitol had been clamping down on travel between districts lately, but there were still exceptions, like Haly's Circus. Still, Dick had overheard Haly talking with his parents about what, exactly, they would do when the Capitol finally worked out which district the traveling troupe belonged to. Everyone was worried that they would be split up, assigned to the districts where they had been born, or even assigned to separate districts simply because they were some of the last to settle into the rigid district systems, and visibly so._

" _There could be real retribution if we're seen to be defying the Capitol," Haly said._

" _By doing what? Traveling?" Mary Grayson shook her head. "None of us have a home to go to — they can't possibly fault us for that."_

" _You're assuming the Capitol will be logical about this," Haly said, and a dark shadow passed over his expression. "That hasn't been my experience — not with the goons I've dealt with just to get the travel papers legalized this year."_

" _We'll see what happens when spring hits," John Grayson suggested, and the three adults shared grim expressions for a moment longer before all three checked to see if they had been followed or overheard and then dispersed, not noticing the little boy in the netting above them._

 _They didn't think Dick understood what was happening, because of his age, but he was a bright boy, quick enough to pick up even the most complicated maneuvers — he could figure out a few whispered fears easily enough. More than likely, he and his family would be sent to Seven, since that's where he'd been born._

 _It had happened during a circus stop. Mary had insisted that John perform with a net for the last three months of her pregnancy, even though part of their act was the element of danger to draw in the crowds. No Grayson had ever fallen from the trapeze, no Grayson had ever needed a net, but still — Mary had insisted, and it was a good thing, since John had nearly lost his grip when she let out that first surprised shout in the middle of his performance as she went into labor. Dick had heard the story enough times to have it memorized._

 _Dick pushed the thoughts of District Seven aside, though, as he beamed and waved at the crowd in Nine. He didn't_ want _to go to Seven. He liked traveling, and he liked Haly and all the friends he'd made at the circus. Maybe Haly would let him hide with the elephants if the Capitol came to break up their troupe. He knew how to handle the animals almost as well as their trainer, Miranda, did, and Peaches, the gorilla, was almost like his best friend anyway. He'd hate to be separated from her and the others…._

 _But for now, that didn't matter—what did matter was focusing on his act._

 _Dick and his family were always able to draw in the crowds. Part of that might have been Dick's age — he was young enough, and hadn't hit a growth spurt yet, that there was always a low rippling of whispers across the circus tent as Haly announced that the act would be performed without a net._

 _And then, after the whispers, there was always the silence of awe as the Flying Graysons actually started up with their act. They were like birds soaring through the air. The height was nothing to them — it had never bothered Dick in the least — and Dick had known how to somersault since before he could even walk properly. The complicated flips and twists in mid-air were well-practiced, graceful, as a triple backflip ended when his father caught him by both feet above the floor of the circus tent._

 _The crowd burst into applause as little Dick Grayson waved with both hands at the people below, placed back on the high perch by his father as both of his parents swung out to meet each other. When they did, Dick turned his attention from the audience to watch his parents, every bit as amazed as the people below him. His parents were older, taller, and their moves were more intricate, more dangerous than anything he knew how to do (yet). No matter how many times he watched them perform, he was always simply_ awed.

 _His mother came swinging his way, and his hands found their grip on her wrist as, once again, his feet left the safety of the high perch. There was nothing quite like that feeling of weightlessness, of being tossed from one parent to the next so far above the ground that it was hard to see individual faces in the gathered crowd. When he'd first started performing, he would laugh through every second of a good swing, tickled by the sensation. Now, he was older, and he schooled the laughter into a wide grin instead that he willingly shared with the audience when the performance was through._

 _He loved this — making people laugh, making them smile, making them gasp with anticipation from the moment his feet left the safety of the high perch._

 _And the best part was still coming._

 _After the performance, the members of the troupe always made it a point to stick around for a day or so in the district itself. The visits were getting longer as it was harder and harder to get permits to move on to the next district, but Dick didn't mind that at all. After all, his favorite part of traveling was getting to meet new people._

 _Across all the districts, no matter where they went, the crowd of post-performance visitors was almost always the same. Adults who wanted to see if some of the acts were real, who wanted to see the secrets behind the magic tricks. And on the other hand — kids who still believed in the magic of the performance and simply wanted to meet the players._

 _Dick waved to a little boy who looked like he was a few years younger than Dick. Dark-haired and grinning, the kid had managed to find his way to the weapons master, completely entranced with the swords. Dick had to grin to himself as he watched his friends explain their trade to the wide-eyed little boy. He knew that, for them, this was the best part of being in Haly's Circus. The adoration. The pure joy._

 _Dick couldn't imagine doing anything else for the rest of his life._

* * *

His feet hit the ground out of the flip, and he straightened up with a crooked grin and a performer's salute Helena's way as she shoved him in the shoulder, rolling her eyes. "Show off," she accused him.

He opened his arms out wider still. "Have you ever known me to be anything else?" he asked, coaxing a smile out of the corner of her mouth.

"One of these days, Dick…"

"You'll, what, push me again?" he couldn't help but tease. It was impossible _not_ to tease her when she was in one of her more contemplative moods, so much like her father, locked away inside their own heads more often than not.

She raised an eyebrow his way and turned toward him — and then he saw the change as she switched from an annoyed sort of look into something much more mischievous, much more like the little girl he remembered from when Bruce had first adopted him into his household, the one who shoved him in foot races to beat him, the one who stomped her feet when he beat her in climbing.

It was exactly the kind of reaction he'd been hoping to provoke from her, and he grinned all the way through the tackle as she took him down, pinning him to the ground in one swift movement with his arm pulled behind him. "Give up yet?" she crowed triumphantly, and he just laughed.

He swept his legs underneath her even as he shifted the weight of his shoulders, reversing the pin as he moved to do the same to her in return, but she managed to put her arms up before he could quite there. Instead of the elegant pin that Bruce had taught them both, he just ended up kneeling on her for a moment before she turned to continue their wrestling match — and it wasn't long before both of them were rolling in the grass of the Wayne lawn, trying to get the upper hand on each other.

It was a common sight at Wayne Manor to see the two of them wrestling, racing, fighting — they honestly got along better when they were competing, and that had been the case ever since Bruce adopted Dick into the household.

It had taken a little getting used to, having a sister. He had been an only child until then — and not only that, he had been the only kid at Haly's. He was used to attention, to a huge, loving family. The switch to not only sharing Bruce's attention but also learning to deal with the more aloof, distant Waynes had been a challenge, but one that he'd gladly risen to. Now, he relished the chance to get Helena to smile, and sometimes, if he played his cards right, to get a rare, genuine laugh.

In the ten years Dick had lived with the Waynes, he had perfected the art of not only goading his sister into fighting or playing with him but also of coaxing the quiet half-smile on Bruce's face that meant it was a genuine one. Anything more than that was fake and reserved for Bruce's business dealings.

And as for Helena — after the rough patch at the beginning, it was almost like having a twin sister. Three months separated their ages, and with dark hair and blue eyes, anyone who didn't know better honestly thought that Dick had been born into the family. He looked like the Waynes. Bruce made sure he dressed like them. He just… didn't act like them.

And — he was more flexible.

He grinned as he managed to twist his body so that he hooked his legs around Helena's shoulders, bringing her to the ground once more, this time with Dick all but sitting on her chest. "Give yet?" he teased her.

"Never," she replied in what was almost an automatic response at that point. She jammed her elbow into his inner thigh, and he gasped in surprise and hurt long enough for her to get out from underneath him and tackle him into the grass once more.

"Fighting dirty! No fair!" he gasped out as she pinned him, though he was unable to stop grinning, knowing he had managed to throw her off if she was pulling dirty tricks. She was usually refined and controlled — unless she thought she'd lose.

" _Me_? You were sitting on my—"

"Miss Helena! Master Richard!"

Both of them stopped their romp when they heard the scandalized tone coming from the back door. It was Alfred Pennyworth — the Wayne family butler — and he was just about the only person in all of Seven who could get the two of them to do as they were told with a simple look.

Dick and Helena shared a glance before they climbed to their feet, wiping grass and dirt off of their clothes as Alfred gave both of them the kind of once-over that only a butler could give, the kind that caught the way their clothes were wrinkled and the stains they had already accumulated.

"I assume you both know what day it is," Alfred said at last in a tired sort of tone.

Dick glanced at Helena, who didn't look nearly as perturbed as he did. Maybe it was just the fact that she'd grown up with a huge house, with a butler, with all of this coming second-nature to her — but she just always seemed to be unflappable even when Alfred had that 'I'm disappointed' look that turned Dick into a puddle of shame.

When Helena didn't seem to be bothered to answer, Dick just turned Alfred's way and gave him a little shrug along with the kind of crooked smile that he'd been _trying_ to use to get out of trouble since before he even moved in with the Waynes. It didn't work at Haly's Circus either, but he tried all the same. "Don't worry so much, Alfred. The Reaping's not until later — we've got time."

Alfred gave them another critical glance, his gaze sweeping over their clothes. "I assume you know it would be incredibly detrimental to the Wayne name if you two were to show up to such a public event looking the way you do."

"Yes, Alfred," Helena said, in a weary but respectful tone.

The aged butler looked between them both for a long moment before he sighed and shook his head. "Shall I even bother with a request that the two of you act your age?"

"I try not to do that. Ever," Dick pointed out with that same crooked grin still in place, and the grin only widened when he saw the corners of Helena's mouth curving up as well.

The response from the butler, of course, was a long and drawn-out sigh as he looked both of them over and then motioned for them to follow him back inside the house. "Your Reaping clothes have been set out in your room. And I will need those clothes before the grass stains set in," he told them matter-of-factly, gesturing at their current outfits.

The two of them split ways when they hit the long hallway, at the end of which was the master bedroom where Bruce slept. Helena was in the room down the hall and to the left of her father, and Dick was at the far end on the right, with a view of the best climbing tree on the manor.

Dick sighed when he saw the neatly pressed suit laid out for him on the bed. He thought he would eventually get used to this aspect of being adopted by one of the most powerful families in District Seven, but no — he hadn't. He wasn't used to the suits that cost about what the entire circus made in a night's performance or the mansion that had taken him weeks to fully explore when he'd first moved in.

There was a different suit every year, and since this was his last Reaping, it didn't escape Dick's notice that the suit was nicer than all the ones before. Helena could probably tell him what brand it was if he asked her, though he made it a point not to ask her questions like that.

He slipped into the suit quickly, ready for this whole thing to be over with, though as he adjusted the sleeves of the jacket, he glanced in the mirror and had to nod his approval. He hadn't noticed it when he first put the suit on, but there was a light blue lining around the edges. It was small, but it was something to differentiate this one from the usual boring suits, and he knew Alfred had likely picked it out for him. The old butler was a secret softie — though that was probably the worst-kept secret in Wayne Manor.

It didn't take him as long to change as it took Helena, but he was the last one out of his room, and Helena wasn't going to let that pass without comment, of course.

"Admiring your reflection again?' she teased.

"Not my fault I look this good," he replied with a grin and a shrug before he offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

She rolled her eyes at him but took his arm with studied elegance as the two Wayne children headed deeper into the district to where all of Seven was gathered for the Reaping.

Dick honestly wasn't _too_ concerned. If anything, he was relieved that his last Reaping was the Quarter Quell, especially after the Capitol had announced the rules for this year. This wouldn't be a chance drawing — no, this year's tributes would be specifically picked. And he seriously doubted that the victors from Seven would come for a couple of rich kids who didn't have anything to do with them except during the mandated celebrations surrounding the Games.

That was the only worrying thing — the fact that they were at least _on_ the victors' radar. Bruce had hosted several parties, the kind that the Capitol insisted every district had to have during the victory tours and the Games, regardless of which district the victor was from, so people like Groot and Victor Creed were, unfortunately, familiar faces. And that fact had occupied Dick's attention for the better part of the last month — though he would never, _ever_ admit it out loud, especially not to Helena, whose grace and poise were nothing short of awe-inspiring, even after all these years together. She didn't _get_ nervous, so he'd keep his nerves to himself.

This last year's parties actually hadn't been too horrible, though. Last year's Games victor, Logan, was a hundred times easier to deal with than Creed was — and what's more, Dick actually knew the guy from before the Games had turned him into a victor.

He doubted Logan remembered him, though. He had been about nine years old at the time, stuck in Seven's crumbling orphanage while he waited for the papers to go through on Bruce's adoption. But to a barely-nine-year-old who had just seen his own parents die, being placed there, alone — even for just a few days — had been a nightmare. He'd cried for days — not only for his parents, for the image forever seared in his mind of their broken bodies, fallen from the trees, killed by a height that had never once claimed a Grayson before… but for the sense of total abandonment that came with the overcrowded orphanage.

Logan had been probably nine or ten when he found Dick crying in the woods and offered to beat up whoever had made the scrawny little ex-acrobat cry. It was a little thing, and of course Dick hadn't taken him up on it, but it was the kind of thing that stuck with a scared little kid.

But Logan probably didn't remember him, or if he did, he didn't recognize Dick as the same crying kid from nearly ten years ago.

Instead, Logan had been re-introduced to the Wayne family after his victory in last year's Games as the grandson of Old Man Howlett. (Dick had never liked the old man, but he had money and power, so Alfred insisted he had to be nice to the guy for appearances' sake if nothing else. But that didn't change the fact that Dick was very, very bad at being nice to the old man.) Bruce and Helena had both shared their fond memories of Logan's father — or at least, the man he'd grown up with — as well as their memories of the young James Howlett at the time, though Logan had looked a little uncomfortable with the whole thing.

Dick didn't have any memories like that, though. By the time he'd been adopted into the Wayne household, Logan had been kicked out of the Howlett house. Dick had introduced himself politely, of course, but he just didn't have anything to add to that conversation about "old times," so he'd wandered off as soon as he could to go find someone else to talk to.

Now, if they'd talked about something more interesting — acrobatics, martial arts, the feeling of accomplishment when you get to the top of the trees in Seven that you can't see the top of from the ground….

Dick was shaken out of his thoughts when Helena tapped a finger on the back of his hand, and he responded almost automatically with the same gesture. _Good old Hel. She always knows when I'm getting too caught up in overthinking things._ He straightened up and put the smile back in place — he really would get mistaken for a Wayne with the contemplative look he had just been wearing anyway — and even managed to tease Helena out of the corner of his mouth as he waved to a few kids his age that he knew from around the district.

She was the picture of sophistication beside him, though — all the way up until she paused and turned his way in the moments before they had to split. "Don't get picked," she whispered to him.

 _Don't get picked_. She had been whispering that same words to him since he was twelve years old and going off to his first Reaping, without her. He knew what the phrase really meant, now that he was older. He grinned at her and bumped against her shoulder. "Love ya too," he said, and she looked seriously at him before they broke off, the boys on one side and the girls on the other.

Dick stood in the back with the other boys who had turned eighteen that year — the tall, broad lumberjacks who were already working jobs that were almost as dangerous as the Games anyway; the Native boys who stood stoic and separate from the rowdy lumberjack boys; the boys who worked in processing who didn't seem to belong to either group. And then there was Dick, in a suit that cost as much as a year's salary for some of them, feeling suddenly self-conscious about the whole thing. He didn't have Helena's confidence, standing straight-backed in her purple dress as if she already owned the district. Instead, he stood with his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he, like the other older boys, waited for the last Reaping.

There was a different sort of energy with this age group than in all the other years. They all knew that they just had to get through one last Reaping, one final year, before they could move on. Already, Dick could hear some of the boys talking about their plans. Marriage, jobs, families, futures — they were ready to clear this one last hurdle to get there.

Usually, there would be more talk about how many times their names had been put into the drawing, but this year, the discussion had shifted to focus on the victors, on youthful infractions and indiscretions and _terror_ as every one of them had a story to tell for at least one of the victors up on the stage.

"Think Groot remembers that time we chased a wolf cub into his garden and trampled his flowers?"

"I accidentally spilled something on Creed once in a bar. I thought he was going to kill me then — do you think he remembers it?"

"Do you think Logan knows Smitty had to beat us back from taking his stuff after he got Reaped?"

There was even one kid, a tall and lanky brunette from the orphanage, who was standing right by the aisle at the end of the sixteen-year-olds looking like he already knew he was going to be called and was just waiting for his cue to walk up there. Dick had no idea what this kid had done to get on the victors' radar, but the look of quiet resignation was almost worse than the looks of barely restrained desperation from the others.

Every kid was dealing with it differently, and the mutterings still hadn't stopped even when all of the district was accounted for.

Dick just shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and stared straight ahead, but even he couldn't help but get wrapped up in the speculation. Was there anything he'd done to get on any of the victors' bad sides? He didn't think he had. He didn't exactly make it a point to talk to them when they came to Wayne Manor beyond what Alfred insisted was polite and proper, and he'd never been stupid enough to take up the dares that the other kids came up with for each other to sneak into the Victors' Village to get up to trouble… even if some of them _did_ sound like fun.

No, he couldn't really think of anything, so he was pretty sure he was in the clear as Moira MacTaggert, the escort for Seven, started up her introduction — longer than usual this year as she explained the historical significance of the Quarter Quell and all that it entailed.

Moira had a thick Capitol accent, harder to understand than most, and already, Dick could see most of the kids around him spacing out. They'd heard most of the speech a dozen times over already, and even the new parts were hard to listen to when they were all but unintelligible at points. So by the time the usual Capitol propaganda video played, already, the crowd of kids was restless and ready for the whole thing to be over with.

But when the video ended — that was where this year deviated from what was usual as Moira cleared her throat. "Yer victors," she said, making a sweeping gesture to the three men on the stage. Instead of Moira calling out the names, the victors were expected to announce their pick, and in the silence that followed Victor Creed shouldering his way to the mic, Dick could actually feel the air hum with a crowd of kids all holding their breath.

No one in the district liked Creed — so it wasn't a giveaway when the man's lips curled back in a sneer as he looked out at the gathered district. He could have been sneering at anyone, really, and no one breathed as his mitt-like hands gripped the microphone to bring it closer to him, his huge, seven-foot frame too tall for the stand.

He was smiling cruelly, clearly enjoying the attention as the whole district was riveted to him. He held two lives in his hands, and he paused, licking his lips as he must have been drinking in the terror in the gazes locked onto him.

"Helena Wayne," Creed said at last, slowly and clearly, and Dick felt all of the blood drain from his face.

 _Helena?_

A murmur had already rippled through the crowd at the Wayne family name, but Dick hadn't moved, not even to glance her way, rooted to the spot as he simply couldn't believe what he was hearing. There was no reason — _no reason_ at all for him to pick her. She was the life of every party; she could find a way to sweet talk anyone. She blended in; she was a perfect hostess. Dick couldn't think of a single time that she had insulted…

 _No, wait._

His mouth went dry; he remembered now, the party that Bruce had hosted on the first night of the victory tour, when the district was getting ready to send Logan off to the Capitol to celebrate his win.

* * *

 _Dick was getting used to these parties by now, the way they worked, the people that were honest and easy to talk to as opposed to the ones that had to be lied to. He wasn't nearly as good at it as Helena_ — _she was good at_ everything _. But he felt like he was getting the hang of it all the same._

 _Which was good, because the older he got, the more the people at the parties actually seemed to pay attention to what he said, and he was surprised to find that he had somehow found his way into a deep conversation with the mayor and a few Sentinels, of all people._

 _He was still trying to figure out how that happened, actually, but he'd run with it for the time being. After all, the Head Sentinel's daughter was across the room. She was a year older and absolutely stunning, and there was just something about her that made Dick want to impress her. And, by extension, her father._

" _I'm just glad we've got another victor from Seven," one of the Sentinels said. "It's about time."_

" _You're just happy about the overtime pay," said the Head Sentinel, Jim Gordon, and the Sentinel just shrugged in response._

" _Maybe."_

" _What about you, Beaubier?" one of them asked the mayor. "I heard the Capitol's been giving you a hard time — district full of dangerous types that you can't control."_

" _I thought that was your job, Bullock," Beaubier shot back without missing a beat, and the other Sentinels chuckled at the annoyed expression on Bullock's face._

" _I'm just saying," Bullock muttered. "Both of your victors—"_

" _There are three now," Beaubier corrected the Sentinel, to more snickers from his friends._

" _Groot doesn't count," Bullock said._

" _No, no, he's right," Dick said, and he was surprised as he found himself the focus of the conversation. But he'd always been chatty — it was part of his charm — and before he really thought about it, the words were out of his mouth. "But he's wrong about who not to count."_

" _What, you got a problem with the new kid?" one of the Sentinels challenged him._

 _Dick shook his head. "No, he's fine. So's Groot." He shrugged both shoulders up to his ears. "I just thought we shouldn't count the Frankenstein's monster as a victor. I know_ I _don't want to claim him for Seven. Can't we just say the Capitol cooked him up in a lab to scare small children and be done with it?" he offered, grinning as he saw the laugher starting to pull at Gordon's moustache._

 _The group as a whole stared at Dick for a moment before the chortling started up, and the conversation moved on, though he was paying less attention to that then he was to the fact that Barbara Gordon across the room was trying and failing to hide her laughter behind her hand._

 _He excused himself from the conversation as politely as he could, but by the time he made his way over to where Barbara had been, she'd already been caught up in a dance in Bruce's big ballroom._

 _Maybe next time._

* * *

At the time, Dick hadn't thought anything of the Creed comment — besides, he'd gotten the mayor to laugh. He hadn't really paid much attention to the fact that Bullock in particular, along with a few other Sentinels, had gotten progressively drunker that night, but now it seemed important.

Now, it seemed _really_ important.

He had honestly forgotten what he'd said by halfway through the night. He couldn't keep his mouth shut half the time, and offhand comments weren't uncommon for him. He made maybe a dozen a day.

And the fact that the rumor was spreading around the district that Victor Creed was a Capitol mutt… he hadn't really thought it had anything to do with him. Bullock and the other Sentinels were _really_ the ones who got that going, coming up with more and more ridiculous stories about the test tube creation that was Creed.

But maybe… maybe Creed had traced it back. Had gotten tired of kids snickering at the 'mutt' in the streets (always at a safe distance, of course). Maybe Creed knew, somehow, that the whole thing had started at the party in Wayne Manor.

 _But it wasn't Helena's fault_ , Dick thought.

There wasn't a thing he could do, though, no way to argue it — he couldn't even volunteer to honor the pact that he and Helena had made, the promise that they would go into the Games together if it ever happened. _Together or not at all_ — that was the deal since she had turned twelve and joined him every Reaping Day with a determination like fire that he envied every year.

He stared after her and wasn't surprised to see that she looked as confident as ever striding up the stairs to stand beside Moira. She didn't come anywhere close to Creed, but Dick recognized the look in her eyes as she passed him.

But Creed wasn't done — he still had hold of the microphone. He wasn't stepping aside for anyone.

It was suddenly clear as Dick glanced at the other two victors that they had nothing to do with this decision, both of them standing there with looks of pure disgust, their arms crossed and eyes narrowed. They couldn't have looked more different on any other day — Groot tall and lanky; Logan short and sturdy — but in that moment, they looked exactly alike.

But that meant that Creed was the one calling the shots.

 _Great._

As Helena hit the stage, the seven-foot monster had his gaze beyond the crowd of kids to where Bruce was, and Dick turned to see that his adoptive father looked more livid than Dick had ever seen. Usually, Bruce could keep his temper — in public _especially_ — but here, he was openly glaring, not even bothering to hide it.

And then Creed called his name — "Richard Grayson" — and because Dick had been facing that way, he saw the moment, the very short moment, when the expression on Bruce's face turned to agony.

It passed quickly enough, and Bruce was back to being furious, but it was enough that it had Dick's heart in his throat. Bruce… didn't do that.

But when he hit the stage, when he got up there with Helena, it was almost a breath of relief. Together or not at all, just like they'd promised each other when they were kids. They'd look out for each other, and one of them would win. That was just how it was going to be.

Moira stepped up to the microphone as Creed stepped back from it looking incredibly pleased with himself and smug, and Helena and Dick grasped hands to shake them. Helena seized his forearm with her other hand and met his gaze, and they didn't need to speak in front of anyone else to communicate the pact.

"Now," Moira told them both with a little smile as she put a hand on both of their shoulders to lead them back from the stage when the pageantry was all over. "If ye'll jus' follow me, lass… ye'll go tae the right, an'—"

"No," Helena said, cutting her off, and Moira stopped and turned her way with a small frown.

"Ye'll want tae say goodbye tae yer family an'—"

"He is my _brother_ ," Helena said. Her voice was firm, and her tone left absolutely no room for argument as she seized Dick and pulled him to the Justice Building, arm in arm — though by the time they reached where they were supposed to be, she had the full-on Wayne strut, head high, shoulders back.

"You know, it's really fine, he's _your_ dad—"

"I swear, Grayson. You deny you're one of us _one_ more time, and I'll make you regret it." Her eyes flashed with what would have been, if she was speaking to anyone else, real danger.

He had to smirk her way. "Yeah, love ya too," he said, though that just earned him another look with her eyes narrowed.

They waited until Moira was out of earshot before Helena leaned in to tell him what Creed had done, what he'd tried to pull, and Dick was torn between wanting to tear the guy to shreds and wanting to trying to cheer her up — so he did the latter and promised himself he'd get to Creed in due time as he commented on her new necklace… and then stopped entirely when he saw _Alfred_ standing there waiting for them.

It looked like he had run there, abandoning the usual propriety of his position that he maintained to perfection in even the direst of times. A butler, Alfred maintained, never ran. He _hurried_. But this time, Alfred had definitely run, and as Dick met the old man's gaze, he realized that Alfred was a step away from crying — and that, more than anything else, hammered home just how much trouble he and Helena were in. He had _never_ seen Alfred cry.

The aging butler swept them both into a hug that smelled like peppermint tea, and the moment he started to murmur how sorry he was, Dick's composure finally slipped, and he found himself clutching Alfred back just as hard.

* * *

 _It was the night of Dick's tenth birthday when Alfred found him hidden in one of the dozens of closets in a guest room on the farthest hallway he could find from Bruce's master bedroom. He was dirty and bruised, both of the knees scraped out of his pants where he'd fallen climbing over the wall of Wayne Manor to sneak out, and when he did return, sometime after he hoped Bruce and everyone else would be asleep, it had been too dark for him to see the chink in the wall that caught him just below the ear, so he had a long scratch along his neck to top it all off._

 _So when Alfred opened the door to the closet to find Dick with his skinned knees pulled up to his chin, Dick was sure he was going to get in trouble. He was always getting in trouble. He hated it, hated that he had to change everything he knew, hated the wall around the Wayne estate that felt like a barrier between him and his old life, hated the clothes that never sat right on him, hated the stupid parties where everyone was older than him, hated Bruce, hated Helena, hated_ Alfred.

 _The elderly butler took in the scene for a moment, unmoving, before he finally crouched to Dick's eye level. "And just how long do you intend to stay there, Master Richard?" he asked quietly._

 _The question caught him by surprise. He didn't… actually know. He just knew he didn't want to have to spend his birthday in this crummy, stuffy mansion. A year ago, he would have gone out with his parents to somewhere new. Always somewhere new, every year. When they could travel through the districts with Haly, the birthday locales had been more spectacular, but even last year, they made a point to take him hiking up the mountains so they could still go somewhere different._

 _But he didn't know how to communicate nine years of family trips to the butler who scolded him for wearing out his socks on the newly polished floors of a mansion that he probably hadn't left since before the formation of Marvel itself._

" _Well," Alfred said when Dick didn't respond to him for several long minutes. "I am too old to kneel down here. Do you mind if I find a better seat?"_

 _Dick just watched in disbelief as Alfred pulled a chair from the ornate desk in the guest room, found a book_ — _though he didn't seem to care particularly what book it was_ — _and sat down, leaving the closet door open but otherwise content to let the little boy inside it stay there as long as he liked._

 _Finally, Dick started to come uncurled, curiosity fueling him more than anything else. "How'd you find me, anyway?" he asked._

 _Alfred raised a single eyebrow but didn't look up from the book he was reading about modern fishing techniques. "I have cleaned every inch of this house, Master Richard. If you believe for a second that I do not know precisely where a person of your height and stature might hide…" He looked up from the book at last as a smile started to crease his mouth. "... you have not heard the headaches Master Bruce used to give me at your age."_

 _Dick's eyes widened, and he couldn't help the little laugh. "No way."_

" _It's not my policy to lie, Master Richard," Alfred said, and though his tone was completely serious, he was honestly smiling now. He set the book aside and stood up to cross the room to the closet and offer Dick a hand to his feet. "Now, I'm certain you haven't had a decent meal all day. There should be leftovers from today's meal downstairs, and perhaps we'll tell Master Bruce that you haven't run away after you've been properly educated in some of his escapades, shall we?"_

 _Dick stared at the hand. It_ sounded _like a good offer, but he couldn't help being suspicious of it. "And what if I did?" he challenged stubbornly. "What if I ran away to go climb trees and live in the woods with the cutters?"_

 _Alfred let out a long sigh and dropped his hand. Once more, he crouched to Dick's eye level, and he studied the young man with an open expression that Dick just wasn't used to seeing from him. "You have not been home all day," Alfred said. "Master Bruce has been sick with worry, never five steps from the phone, and even your sister spent the morning searching every tree on the grounds." He cleared his throat, and Dick saw that the butler looked tired. "This house is no stranger to loss, Master Richard. It will keep functioning if you leave us, but I'd ask you not to_ — _that is, if you can stand to stay here in this crummy, stuffy mansion."_

 _Dick's head came up at that, and he saw the little twinkle just behind Alfred's eyes a second before he flung himself into a hug that shocked them both_ — _especially when Alfred returned it with surprising strength as he patted the boy's hair and soothed him quietly._

* * *

When Alfred left the room in the Justice Building, of course, he was back to his straight posture, his usual stoic expression. But that didn't mean Dick and Helena were any less affected by the old man's tender-hearted goodbye, and both of them seemed to have lost any sense of what to do next as they stared after Alfred's retreat.

But the mood quickly shifted when Bruce arrived next, that same thunderous look still on his face as he kicked the door shut behind him, though it softened the slightest bit once the door was closed and he looked over both of them. There was a long, protracted silence as Bruce took a seat across from both of them, and for a moment, Dick saw that same expression there, the fleeting one he had seen when Creed called his name.

When Bruce finally did speak, though, it wasn't emotional. He never had been that kind of parent anyway. He just very slowly nodded to himself as he looked them over. "Get your hands on a bow, or a crossbow," he told Helena, who nodded. "And Dick — staves." He took in a breath. "Put something together if you have to. You both know how to fight. I'm not worried about that, but once you get in the arena, _watch your backs_."

"Won't have to. That's the whole point of having a partner — to watch my six," Dick replied, bumping Helena's shoulder with his, but Bruce frowned his way.

"I'm serious, Dick," he said. "Don't get complacent. You won't be the only ones who can hold your own."

 _I've never seen him this worried_ , Dick thought as he actually dropped his attempt to lighten the mood and simply nodded along to every word Bruce said, the reminders he'd heard since he was a kid. He had them practically memorized anyway, and the real change wasn't the words themselves but the open expression… Bruce had never looked like that before.

"We're not gonna die," Dick said, though of course, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew how stupid they sounded, and he got the double Wayne glare for that one. The two of them in stereo were a sight to behold.

But Bruce had said his piece, and he had never been one for sentimentality. Dick wasn't sure if it was just that he wasn't capable of it or what, but he knew this wasn't going to end in hugs and tears. He got to his feet to head for the door, but before he could shoulder past the Sentinels, he felt a hand on his arm and turned to see that Bruce had followed him there.

They stood there for a moment, neither of them speaking, before Dick just nodded. "Yeah, I know. I'll look out for her," he said.

"Dick, that's not what I…" Bruce shook his head as he trailed off, but just what it was that he _did_ mean, Dick didn't find out. Bruce didn't say.

That was typical, though, and Dick wasn't surprised.

"Meet you at the train," he called over his shoulder to Helena, figuring he'd let her say goodbye to Bruce in her own time.

With Helena behind him and with his hands in his pockets, Dick boarded the train. The first thing he spotted was a bowl of fruit, and he grabbed one of the apples to toss it in the air and catch it again as he sat down and waited for Helena. The three victors boarded as well, and so did Moira — and Helena joined them a few minutes later.

He tossed her the apple, and she caught it with a practiced ease. "Saved you a seat," he called out, and she smirked as she moved to join him.

But that was when Creed stepped into her path, and Helena stopped, the frown obvious even as Dick got to his feet, Helena's words to him after the Reaping ringing in his ears.

Creed sneered Helena's way and then Dick's as he reached out to shove Helena into one of the seats. She sidestepped, and Dick moved toward her on instinct, though when Creed saw the familiar protective move, he just turned Dick's way to grab a handful of his suit jacket — probably annoyed with Dick for trying to step in _again_. Creed slid his hand down, tearing off the blue-lined pocket over Dick's chest as he picked him up off his feet and simply tossed him against the side of the train. Hard.

Creed shook his hand, and the fabric of Dick's pocket slipped out of his fingers. "'Bout time someone took you rich Wayne snobs down a peg," he sneered Dick's way before he turned toward Helena — who looked like she was ready to kill him on the spot as he stepped in with a predatory smile. Dick could already see as he picked himself up with a wince that the way she had positioned herself… her body weight forward… One more step and Creed was going to get it.

 _He deserves it_ , Dick thought, rubbing the back of his head.

But Creed didn't get far before Logan met him and all but shoved Creed out of the train car, his eyes narrowed. "You picked 'em, so you can stay the hell away from 'em," he growled out as the door closed, with Creed on the other side.

For a moment, there was silence in the train car.

Helena glared after Creed until he was gone, and Dick could tell that their new mentor was watching her carefully. Finally, she caught Dick's gaze, relaxed, and tossed the apple back to him. "You alright?"

"Fine," he said, taking a bite out of it to give her a crooked smile to prove it. "He messed up my new suit."

She relaxed a little more and minutely shook her head. "I saw that. Alfred will be pissed."

He grinned at her and went back to the fruit bowl to toss her an orange this time, and as she started to peel it, he leaned back. "I'd return the favor, but I'm pretty sure that's what started this whole mess," he admitted with a little frown. Helena's Creed problems aside, he was still sure that this was more than just a jilted creeper kind of thing. He took in a deep breath. "I think I screwed up," he said her way, but before Helena could argue — and she certainly looked like she was going to, her hand at her neckline as she opened her mouth — the newest victor from Seven sat down heavily by the two of them.

"Not a thing you could've done to deserve what he's tryin' to pull," Logan said, shaking his head.

"It doesn't matter," Helena said, her gaze on Dick before he felt her hand find his under the table and tap his wrist twice.

He returned the motion without looking away from Logan, but he could feel himself relaxing all the same. Helena would get them both through this, he was sure. It was just his job to make sure nobody stabbed her in the back while she worked.

Dick just nodded. "Yeah. One of us is going to win," he said, motioning between himself and Helena. He smirked Helena's way as he added, "And then she'll toss that creep out a window or something."

"Take a number; that one's mine to take out," Logan told them. "No damn reason to pick you two. Just a mean-spirited sack of crap ..." Logan half-muttered to himself through gritted teeth.

Dick and Helena glanced at each other and then, moving together, both leaned forward. "We'll draw straws when it comes up," Dick said with a wide grin. "Depending on which one of us wins."

"I'll have to show you how to throw someone that big and ugly without hurting yourself."

"Helena already can," Dick said with a lazy grin his sister's way.

His sister gave a rather unladylike snort. "Don't sell yourself short. We could both pound him."

Logan looked between the two of them with raised interest. "Alright," he said, leaning forward with his hands on the table in front of him as the train gave a little lurch departing from the district. "Tell me what you two wonder twins can do."


	12. Chapter 11: A Divine Comedy

**(A/N): Here we are, back with our Friday update! This one features a couple of familiar faces to those of you that read ITEYAK: Canucklehead Cowgirl, who wrote Wade Wilson and Logan (aka Wolverine, the victor of the previous Games), and abrokencastiel, who wrote Peter Parker (also of District Eight!)**

 **Thanks to our authors who reviewed the D7 Reaping! We're trucking along nicely here, and we really do have an amazing cast to show off for you guys :D**

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven - A Divine Comedy**

 **Written by Canucklehead Cowgirl and abrokencastiel**

* * *

 **Harleen Quinzel of District Eight**

 **Written by Canucklehead Cowgirl**

* * *

" _One ought to hold on to one's heart; for if one lets it go, one soon loses control of the head too." ― Friedrich Nietzsche_

* * *

Harleen spun slowly on her bar stool the morning of the Reaping, her hands gripping the sides of it as one toe propelled her motion. It had been a long, rough, transformative year for her, and though she'd tried to avoid it, she couldn't help but think about where she was last year just before the Reapings. She finished her orange juice and hopped down from the chair when she saw the time on the clock in her parents' kitchen. Time to put her face on. She sang to herself as she danced up the stairs to her room, only pausing to pick up the fluffy cat at the top of the stairs.

Just last year, she'd been one of Eight's best and brightest — a real shining star at the school in all the advanced classes, top of her class … back then, her only problem had been the fact that the boy she liked had no idea she even existed.

Harleen had followed him around between classes with her books clutched to her chest, just hoping for an opportunity to say hello, but those moments were few and far between, and she almost always lost her nerve when he'd look at her — only to break into a nervous grin and blush furiously before she turned and hid her face from him.

But then she'd lost her chance forever when he was drawn to compete in the Avenger Games, and for the entirety of last year's Games, Harleen was positively riveted to the screen. She'd told anyone nearby whenever Peter Parker was on-screen that he was going to win it. He was going to come back. "Petey has to win," she'd said time and time again, nodding to herself. "He's just too smart, an' sweet. And he's just _gotta_."

At first, Gwen Stacy had taken her enthusiasm as solidarity, and the two girls had even spent some time together watching as Peter was rescued from the spiders and joined up with his little team, but as time went on, Harleen distanced herself. She'd gotten what she'd wanted after all — access to the Stacy household, and once, she'd even gone along to meet Aunt May.

 _That_ was amazing. Just standing in the house. Peter's jacket still hung at the door, and his aunt treated them like they were family — right down to offering the girls cookies and cocoa while they visited and giving them both warm hugs on their way out the door. It was better than anything Harleen had gotten at home. But more important than all of the attention and warmth was the _pictures_. So many pictures. She couldn't help but take some home with her every time she visited.

She took them from the walls and photo albums — pictures of Peter. Pictures of Peter and Gwen … and a few with Osborn's son in the mix as well. Snapshots and portraits and self-portraits …. all of them starring Peter Parker.

By the end of the first week of the Games, she'd constructed a sort of shrine to him — with a baseball hat standing at the center as her most treasured item. But around it were all of the pictures. Pictures that she'd painstakingly cut Gwen's face out of and glued in her own so she could have sweet, sweet memories of her darling little spider — in a reality where she'd gotten up the nerve to say hello.

Every night, after the footage showed him safely asleep, she'd lay on her bed with a few candles lit near her Spidey's photos — her favorite snapshot of him at her bedside stand — messy hair and goofy smile. "You're gonna make it, Petey," she said forlornly. "You just _gotta._ And when you do …. you an' me... We're gonna paint the town, Webs."

Every day, she fell deeper and deeper into her delusion, and every day, she'd go out of her way to add something to her shrine, blissfully unaware of anything but her preferred version of reality.

But when Peter Parker _died_ ….

She was simply struck dumb for a little while. He wasn't supposed to _do that._ She pushed by the girl watching with her and rushed from the room, tears in her eyes. She ran blindly, bashing into those that didn't get out of her way — until she stumbled and fell in an alley far from the television where Tanaleer Tivan was joyfully going back over Peter's death again — even if he was right, and he'd been incredibly brave sacrificing himself for the others … "Oh, Webs …. _Why'd ya haveta do that?_ "

Harleen hadn't seen where she had gone, crying and hyperventilating, until finally, she'd tripped over a crack in the alley she'd blindly run down and fell, scraping her knees on the ground, though that really just added insult to injury.

She just sat there for a few moments, upset that she'd managed to _hurt_ herself on top of everything else that had gone wrong. She cried herself out, and after she'd finally managed to catch her breath, she got to her feet and started to head home, her toes dragging on the ground as she winced with each step, still sniffling from time to time.

She'd only gone a few blocks before she realized that she wasn't entirely sure where she was. She slowed her pace, looking for a familiar landmark, but …. Nothing looked familiar. The spray-painted-on tags of **Ha ha ha ha!** and crudely-drawn clown faces on the brick walls, dumpsters and sidewalks were not only odd — but completely foreign.

"Hey blondie, what are you doin' out so late … all alone?" a slurring voice asked from behind her. She startled and took a few quick steps backward as she turned to face him.

"Just waiting for a friend," Harleen replied with a falsely bright smile as she tried to hide the fact that she'd been crying. "Just running a little late, that's all. Oughta be here any second." She was backing away from them — she could see three of them in sharp contrast with the dimly glowing streetlights behind them now that they'd melted out of the shadows … but they were picking up their pace. She stumbled over some trash on the sidewalk as she turned away from them and barely got herself upright properly when the three men broke into a run after her.

The chase was short, and for as small as she was, it wasn't very hard for them to simply drag her — kicking and screaming — into the nearest dark alley with whispered threats on what was going to happen next to such a pretty little thing.

She was pressed up against the brick wall, crying and screaming for help, when she heard a growling that was most definitely not from one of her attackers — and moments later, she realized that a _dog_ had begun to rip into the three men.

One of them had run when he'd seen the dog, but the one that had been tearing at Harleen's dress was the one the dog went for, latching on to his leg and viciously pulling at him until the little blonde had crumpled to the ground in shock, trembling, watching through her tears as the dog — and its master — chased off the three creeps.

She didn't catch all of what was said from the ringing in her ears, still crying and in shock from the ordeal of it all. But then the dog returned — not growling and snarling as it had been doing before but nudging her arm with its nose.

At first, she ignored it, and when she did, it growled her way until she just let out a little laugh and ran both hands over the dog's head, ignoring the growls as they intensified for a moment — though the dog stopped once she pet him a bit more and started to scratch a spot on his chest.

"Ace," the young man half shouted. "C'mere." The dog whined a bit and dropped its ears before it left Harleen, tail between his legs in favor of his master.

And when the tall, pale young man and his dog came back her way, she was stricken on seeing him. To her, in that moment, her savior looked like some kind of knight in shining purple armor. No one had ever helped her before. Not for anything small, let alone something so … chivalrous as protecting her honor like that.

"Thanks," she nearly breathed out, and for an instant, he turned her way, almost as if noticing her for the first time.

"Get lost," he barked out in a harsh tone. "You don't belong here, Toots."

She looked hurt, but only for an instant …

From that day forward, she made a point to find out all she could about the clown prince of crime, as he was known on that side of town. He had a gang — though they quickly found out that it wasn't a good idea to manhandle her — and she was vindicated when Mistah J made sure to punish them thoroughly even the first time they tried to throw her out.

That wasn't their call to make. And she was elated that her Puddin' was so protective of her.

* * *

It was the morning of Reaping Day. And for Harley, that meant it was a day to dress her best, and go find Mistah J so the two of them could go down with the big gathering of suckers and chumps to laugh at whatever unlucky mook got picked.

She checked her pigtails and touched up her lipstick with an exaggerated pop of her lips once she'd gotten the blood red color into place and grinned at her reflection. "Lookin' good, Harl," she said to herself with one eyebrow arched. She bit her bottom lip and tucked her lipstick into her front pocket and shimmied a bit — pleased with how her makeup had come out.

She checked her outfit one last time — diamond-patterned top and a tight black skirt that covered her red and black tights — before she bounced out of her room blowing a massive pink bubble.

Long gone was the shy little girl from a year ago that was afraid to say hello to her crush, and here to stay was a sassy, fearless young woman that seemed to have no limits.

And while most of the district had taken to trying to fall into Jessica Drew and Norman Osborn's good favor, Harley had simply gone about her business, causing trouble all over the district and cheerfully beating down anyone who tried to get in her way. No one was exempt, regardless of who they were, or what their reputation was.

When Flash Thompson tried to give her a hard time just the week before — well. Flash better hope he wasn't called to go to the Games, because Harley had put him in the hospital with his own baseball bat.

It was hard to say what exactly had started that altercation — at least, no one involved was willing to fess up, and Harley's approximation that 'the big jerk was askin' for it' didn't hold water with anyone, really.

What they _did_ know was that Flash had been a bit forward with Miss Quinzel, and one moment it had seemed fine. She was giggling and joking and more or less leading him on with a broad smile, letting him lean in close — and the next, she'd taken his baseball bat from him and had viciously beat on him, breaking everything she could. She'd pounded on him as the crowd gathered — and continued to do so until Norman Osborn himself had managed to pull the bat from her hands when she'd drawn back to hit him again. She was out of breath and clearly slowing down by that point anyhow, so she just didn't let it bother her much as she spat at Flash and took a few steps away from him.

"What is the meaning of this?" Osborn asked, just as wide-eyed and upset as the rest of the gathered crowd.

But instead of a heated reply or an impassioned response, all he got from Harley was a simple shrug of her shoulder before she blew the loose strands of hair out of her face and turned his way. "The big lump was askin' for it. So I gave it to 'im." She had one hand on her cocked out hip and was examining the nails on her other hand before she suddenly stiffened, then took a couple of quick steps forward and kicked Flash in the ribs. "You made me break a nail, you chump!" she shouted at him before Osborn took her by the arms and pulled her back.

"Hey! Get your hands off me!" she shouted. "Let GO!" Though she stopped abruptly when she saw the look on Norman's face.

"Young lady," he said low. "You need to come to my office — _right now_ — where we can discuss your actions further."

She pulled her arm out of his hand and gave him a clear once over with a frown. "Why? So you can kick me outta that stupid school? Go on. See if I care." She let her voice drop to that of nearly a whisper. "Just give me more time to be with my Puddin'."

She didn't know it, but Osborn had been … impressed with the way she'd been so unapologetic about the ordeal, and had it not been so close to the Reaping, she would have definitely been in trouble. But instead, he simply asked her name and sent her on her way.

"Thanks, Normy," she called out with a little wave. "Hey, I just gotta tell ya, I've seen lotsa crazy things — heard lotsa crazy voices — but that melon of yours is truly _un-natural_. I mean … it is _grotesque_!" She broke down into a near fit of giggles as she shrugged her shoulders up to her ears, arms widespread. "But I just can't look away!"

Osborn looked irritated as she blew a kiss his way but didn't comment as the bouncy blonde disappeared spinning on her toes, leaving Flash Thompson behind in a heap for the medics to try to piece back together.

* * *

Harl had met up with Mistah J and proudly walked with him grinning all the way to the check in, and though she didn't have the gaggle of guards around her like he did — the girls knew to give her some space even when she wasn't with him.

She had been humming to herself as the whole production started. "Do you believe we gotta listen to this crap every year?" she asked to a girl to her left that clearly looked as though she'd rather be anywhere but next to Harley as the blonde just giggled and seemed to answer herself. "It's ridiculous. _Waste of resources_." She was nodding to herself and turned to look at the girl, only now seeming to realize that she was standing there. "You wanna piece of gum?" she offered, though naturally, the girl shook her head and took another step away. "No? Fine. More for me."

When that broad Drew stepped up to the microphone, Harley began to shush everyone around her, both hands waving in a 'settle down' cue, and the girls just became more convinced of how cracked she was until Drew called for Mistah J. But instead of panicking as she'd done when Peter Parker's name was called, she cheered raucously and whistled with her finger and thumb pinched between her lips — joyfully celebrating his eventual win: " _Go get 'em Mistah J!"_

She grinned and bit her lip, twirling her hair with one hand when he gave her a little wink for her efforts. And then, very suddenly, as Harley was still celebrating and cheering with a broad grin, it came to be Osborn's turn …

"Harleen Quinzel," Osborn said — clearly and evenly — and Harley simply grinned that much wider as the squeal slipped from her lips and she bounced excitedly in place.

"Excuse me," she said shortly as she regained her poise, straightened up, and held her hands at shoulder level, her index finger and thumb together as she baby stepped around the other girls. "Excuse me — comin' through — _hey. Move it or lose it, lady!_ " She bumped the last girl out of her way before she stopped in the aisle and straightened up her pigtails. She started up toward the steps, blinking rapidly and grinning broadly, though she only made it a few steps before she skipped the rest of the way up.

When she got on the stage, she excitedly made her way to Mistah J and tried to take his arm. But that only lasted an instant before she was pleasantly surprised when the clown prince of crime swept her into a kiss that had her head spinning. Harley's smile was gone — shocked at his display, though she sure wasn't complaining, less so as he pulled her tightly to his side. It took her a moment before she seemed to remember where she was and went right back to playing it up for the crowd, even posing for the cameras — with one arm draped around Mistah J's back, her other hand on her hip.

As the officials wrapped up the ceremony, Harley cheerfully waved and blew kisses from the stage before she was ushered out, giggling and baby stepping most of the way — until he all but spun her away from him.

She turned to see where her Puddin' was going without her — but between the Sentinels and her new mentor forcibly dragging her elsewhere, she really didn't have time to consider what was happening. She leaned far out, her pigtails dangling as she tried to see where he was going, but the Sentinel taking her to her send-off room just picked her up with a little squeak out of her while she was distracted and carried her bodily to where she was supposed to be.

Harley looked around the room as the door closed, her good cheer gone for a moment now that she was alone and away from anyone that might be watching. She wasn't scared — not of the Games anyhow. She took her time looking around the room in wide-eyed awe, a bit shrunken in on herself. She was confident that no one was coming to see her off, and no one surprised her in that right. Her parents probably had no idea and likely wouldn't until they got home from keeping up appearances with their work friends — but chances were, even then — it wouldn't make much of an impact to them. "Get it togethah, Harl," she chided herself.

She perched on the edge of the sprawling couch, her knees and ankles locked tightly to each other and her hands folded in her lap as she subconsciously made herself smaller, totally silent while she was alone in a strange place.

After a few minutes, she heard someone approaching and sprang to her feet suddenly to pull her lipstick out of her pocket and rush to the mirror on the far side of the room. She leaned toward the mirror, carefully reapplying her lipstick as the Sentinel entered. "What took ya so long?" she asked. "I been waitin' here all _lonely._ " She took a few steps toward him and grinned widely. "You here ta take me away, mistah big bad Sentinel?"

The man's expression was nearly unreadable, save for the amused smirk on his lips. "Yeah, honey. Time to go." She narrowed her eyes at him for just a second before she all but darted past him into the hall to catch up to Joker — where his gang was being restrained from following him.

"Pu-ddin'," she said with a smile as she bounced up next to him, her hands clasped near her chin as she fell into step beside him.

The duo boarded the train, with more pandering to the crowd from Harley as they did so, but when Osborn met up with her to talk, pulling her away from Joker, she suddenly lost a bit of her flash and looked a little wide-eyed.

She peeked over her shoulder to where the Joker had disappeared before she leaned in closer to Osborn, a completely open expression on her face. "Is this because I beat up your golden boy?" she asked in an almost childlike tone that had Osborn completely off-guard.

"No," he replied with a little frown as he draped his arm across her shoulders and led her further from where her district partner had disappeared. "It's because I think you've got the qualities you need to win."

"Me?" she asked, both hands over her heart and wide-eyed — totally in disbelief of what he was saying, before she very suddenly just started to laugh, half holding his shoulder for support as she all but melted with the release. "Oh. You got it all wrong, Normy." She patted him on the chest before she just started nodding and making his tie crooked, her eyebrows raised high. " _You_ should be helpin' Mistah J. He's gonna win this thing." She looked so sincere and honest about it that Osborn found himself taken off track. He pulled her hands off of his tie and fixed her with his most serious expression.

"No, he's not," Osborn insisted. "If District Eight is going to have a winner this year, it's going to be you. You've got it all, blondie. Brains, the know how to play a crowd, and a viciousness that I just haven't seen out of our district in years. You … _you_ , Miss Quinzel, have the makings of a victor."

She stared at him for a moment before she broke out into laughter again and skipped over to a chair. "That's a good one, Normy," she laughed. "You keep that up. Oh man. If Mistah J could hear you now." She fell apart in a fit of giggles and draped herself sideways across the chair, her head dangling over one arm and her feet over the other.

* * *

 **Jack Hamill of District Eight**

 **Written by abrokencastiel**

* * *

 _"Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence– whether much that is glorious– whether all that is profound– does not spring from disease of thought– from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect."_

― _Edgar Allan Poe_

* * *

The white greasepaint slid smoothly along the sickly-colored skin as it was applied across the forehead and down the prominent nose. Long fingers retrieved more from the pot and generously dabbed over the scars that littered the area around the mouth and across the cheeks. With careful attention, the paint was smoothed to hide the ridges as best as possible. Once every exposed inch of skin was covered along his head and neck, a layer of white powder prevented smudging. The final addition was red dye applied to the lips. It had taken years to perfect his look, but after much trial and error, he'd developed a way to keep his makeup from rubbing off during his many _activities_. The teenager slicked back his green-dyed hair with a wide smile at his reflection in the broken mirror

"Now _there's_ the face of the Joker."

Jack cackled as he shrugged his ratty purple overcoat on over his dingy white shirt and slipped on black gloves. He opened the door to his room and slid down the banister to the main level with a loud "Ta-da!" His entrance caught the attention of the members of his gang, the aptly named Jokerz, who gave wolf-whistles and applause.

"Hello, boys!" he called gleefully to the cheer of his clowns. He spread his arms and basked in the praise.

The abandoned house the Jokerz had taken over at the outskirts of the district was well away from prying eyes. A few bare bulbs and broken windows illuminated the dilapidated interior and grimy walls decorated with clown faces and 'HA! HA! HA!' graffiti. There wasn't much furniture, but that didn't put a damper on the party. His clowns were more than content to camp on the floor as long as they got to be in their leader's presence. It really was home sweet home. A place for all the misfits of the district to live the way they pleased. At least, as long as they were useful.

"Has anyone had the chance to check on our guest? I would simply hate for him to go without breakfast."

"We left him for you, boss. Figured you'd want to be the first one to have a crack at 'im."

"How thoughtful." Jack strode over to the basement door and hollered into the darkness. "Oh Harry, are you awake?"

Nothing answered him from the depths.

The dark chuckle that escaped Jack's smiling lips caused the closest of the clowns to take a step back. "It looks like he needs a wake-up call." The tall teen clattered down the steps and pulled on the light string. The sudden, harsh light flooded the concrete room. "Wakey, wakey, Harry dear!"

The naked man huddled in the corner was motionless. Dried blood from the last visit Jack had paid stuck along his shoulder and down his back.

"Sleeping sound as a little babe, isn't he?" the gang leader asked the one goon who'd accompanied him.

"I'll give 'im a little shake." The clown went over and shoved their prisoner to the ground. The man's head cracked on the concrete floor, but the action didn't elicit a response.

"Oh, dear. Is he dead?" Jack stuck out his lower lip a bit in disappointment. "I expected at least a few more days of fun from the great Harry Pizer, leader of the Brotherhood gang," he mocked.

"Naw, not dead yet, boss. I can still feel some breath," the clown said from his position crouching next to the unconscious man.

"Hmm, let's get him some water then?"

"Water or _water_?"

Jack rolled his eyes and sighed. "We need him awake before we dunk him again. Otherwise it's pointless."

"Good thinking, boss."

"Honestly, sometimes I think I'm the only one with a brain around here," he mumbled to himself.

Robbed of his main entertainment, the Joker returned to the main floor and collapsed into his throne of a recliner. His guard dog, Ace, grumbled from its location behind the chair. "Someone tell me there's something to do today."

"Um, besides the Reaping?"

"What?" Jack frowned at the younger man who had spoken up.

The youth's eyes widened in fear at the undivided attention he was receiving. "W-well, today's, uh, today's the Reaping, boss. Sir." He averted his gaze and stood stock still.

"It's already been a year since that pipsqueak and wanna-be tough-girl kicked the bucket? My, my, how time flies when you're having fun." The young man nodded enthusiastically and offered a smile in response to Jack's cheshire grin. "I suppose that will provide me with a bit of a diversion. At least until our guest is back in working order." Now all he had to do was pass a few hours until it was time to watch the show unfold.

* * *

Long, black-gloved fingers impatiently shuffled a stack of old playing cards on the chair's tattered armrest. No doubt Harley would soon appear to accompany him to the Reaping, but for the moment, Jack was bored out of his mind. The clowns of his gang could barely entertain him for longer than a few minutes nowadays, and having to wait for the Reaping to start had put quite a damper on his mood.

"Hey, boss, when are we—" The lackey's words were cut short by the angry growl emitting from next to Jack's chair. The guy winced back to a safer distance. "I was just saying we need to get going pretty soon if we're going to make it to the Reaping on time." When Jack didn't spare a look at him, the goon cleared his throat again. "You know, boss, this is your last year."

"I'm well aware," the teen sighed. "One last hurrah for old Jack-a-boy." He stretched as he stood, his lanky six-foot-five-inch frame seeming to unfold from where he'd been slouched. His mutt of a dog stood with him, rattling the chain that tethered it to his chair. "Sit," he ordered with a kick to its ribs. The animal whined and slunk back to its spot.

"Mistah Jaaaaaaaaaaaaay!" The sing-song voice echoed around the house as the blonde girl entered. She skipped her way around the clutter of the room to Jack's side. "Are you ready for the big day?"

"You're late, Harley." Jack turned to a floor length mirror and considered his image, slipping the pack of cards into his breast pocket. "What have I told you about being tardy?" Something stuck in his teeth caught his attention, and he leaned forward to pick it out.

"Sorry Mista J. I just wanted to make sure I looked perfect for my Puddin'." She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Ain't we such a cute couple?"

The gang leader forcibly pushed her away. "You're wrinkling my coat."

"Oops! Sorry, Mistah J." She quickly helped to smooth out the shoulders.

"Fine, fine." Jack moved away from her hand and strode toward the exit. Behind him, he heard the girl messing around with the damned dog. "Harl!" He barked without even turning around.

"Comin'!" She quickly joined him and latched onto his right arm, bouncing with every step she took.

A well-aimed kick knocked an older member of the gang out of his chair as the couple passed. "I want a good dinner made by the time I get back. I don't care what bucher you have to rob. And I'd like our guest to join us."

"Yes sir," the man promised.

The young man popped his collar at the door. "Show time, my boys."

As the Joker and the teenage members of his crew began their journey to the town square, Jack took pride in the downward gaze of those they passed. Even the few Sentinels that lined the streets averted their eyes. For years, the incompetent Roman Cavallo had been the Head Sentinel. All it took was a little something lining his pocket for him to turn a blind eye to the district happenings. Under Cavallo's reign, the Jokerz had flourished. Unfortunately, there had been a recent change in the hierarchy, and the new Head Sentinel, a woman named Renee Montoya, wasn't as understanding of the little arrangement. She was determined to whip the force back into shape and, if she had taken control a few years ago, she might have succeeded. But between the Sentinels that were already on Jack's payroll and the blackmail he had on the mayor, he doubted she would get very far.

 _This is going to be the year of the Joker._ The thought made Jack just giddy. "You know, Pumpkin, you and I are gonna run this town someday."

The girl beamed up at him. "Oh, Puddin'! I love it when you talk like that."

Jack's eyeroll went unnoticed, but he patted her hand anyway as they moved through the streets. The crowd gave them a wide berth, and the long line of possible tributes parted to allow them priority access to the sign-in table.

"Name?" The woman asked without looking up. The Sentinels on either side of her were well-aware of who had just approached.

Jack's smile flipped to a frown of disappointment in an instant. "It seems I'm not even worthy of a glance. Isn't that a pity, Harl?"

"Sure is, Mistah J. Maybe we should remind her who ya are." Harley popped her gum loudly for emphasis.

The Sentinels tensed, their hands going to their weapons. The woman's head shot up with wide eyes.

Jack raised his hands to calm their nerves. "Now, I wouldn't try any of that, boys. You wouldn't want the Capitol to tune in and see a bloodbath. At least, not when there aren't more camera angles." He erupted into laughter that doubled him over. "Besides," he said as he regained his composure. "I don't want to cause any trouble. I'm sure she didn't mean any harm. Did you?"

"No, of course not," the woman squeaked. "My apologies. I just need to prick your finger." She hesitantly motioned to the device.

"Of course." Jack slowly removed one of his gloves, revealing the sickly, grey, scarred skin. He kept his grin and maintained eye contact with the flustered woman as he pricked his finger.

"You are officially checked in, Mr. . . ." She frowned and tapped on the machine's screen a few times. "I'm sorry, there's an issue. The system seems to have mixed up three different files. I'm getting Jack Napier, Jerome Valeska, and Joseph Kerr. Would you mind telling me which of those is correct?"

Jack slowly slipped his glove back on as he mused. "I'm not really feeling any of those today, toots. Let's go with Jack Hamill."

The woman hesitated, but decided against arguing. "Of course, Mr. Hamill. I'll have that fixed right away."

"I'd expect nothing less." Jack disentangled himself from Harley and headed for his age group at the back of the throng of children.

"I'll see ya after the Reapin', Mistah J!" Harley called. "Hey! Be gentle there, missy."

Her cries were drowned out as Jack moved toward the middle of his row. A couple rows ahead, he could see the bandaged head of the jock that had gotten on the wrong side of Harley. They'd apparently brought him over in a wheelchair. Didn't matter if you couldn't walk; they made sure you got to the Reaping on time. _And once he's out of the hospital, I'll make sure to give him another reminder not to mess with my girl_ , Jack frowned to himself.

The other members of the Jokerz mingled into the assembly. The ones in Jack's year pushed and shoved their way to form a protective circle around him. The clown prince stood with an easy confidence that few could pull off. His height alone would have made him stand out, and with his unique look, he was unmissable. The fact that his gang members had started painting themselves like their leader only served to cement the hold he was taking over the district. Over the past few years, he'd managed to take out, or at least severely cripple, the other organizations. The past year had been especially fruitful, and there were very few who didn't know him on sight now. Another year, and he expected to be in complete control.

The crowd's noise diminished as the special Quarter Quell video was played. Fairly boring still, but at least the music was a tad more exciting. _Our dear president really needs to work on his entertainment factor._

"Sentinels are actin' extra jumpy today, boss," one of the goons mumbled. "Like they're expectin' a real riot."

"Hmm," Jack mused.

Mayor Hayes stepped up to the microphone and tapped it lightly to get the crowd's attention. "Welcome, District Eight, to the twenty-fifth Reaping. I know that all of you are as excited as I am to get to the decisions. Without further ado, I will introduce Miss Betty Brant."

"Thank you, Mayor Hayes." The Capitolite practically pranced up to the microphone in her high heels. This year, she was sporting an obnoxiously yellow dress. "I am so excited to be with you all on this, the very first Quarter Quell!" She paused for the expected applause but was only greeted by a quiet smattering. "Before we begin, I just wanted to review the tenets laid out by our glorious president and the Gamemakers. Your distinguished victors, Norman Osborn and Jessica Drew, will have the privilege of choosing the best tributes this district has to offer, so no volunteering this year! I know it's disappointing, but we just can't allow it. I do believe we should go ladies first, yes? Miss Drew?" She clapped excitedly as the quiet victor took her place at the front of the stage.

"My tribute for this year is Jack Hamill," the brunette announced smoothly. Her eyes locked onto Jack's bright green ones instantly in the sea of boys. There was no hesitation in her voice.

The tense silence that pervaded the crowd was broken by the raucous laughter that escaped the tall teen.

"Don't worry, boss, we'll break ya out before they can take ya," the closest clown muttered.

"Don't be stupid." Jack shot a deadly look that made the goon pale under his chalky make-up. A whole group of Sentinels was beginning to approach Jack's spot, but the eighteen-year-old raised his hands in surrender. "No need, boys. I'm going without a fight." He stole a younger boy's tie as he passed and tied it in a loose bow around his neck. "If I'd known I was going to be on television, I would have dressed nicer," he explained to the closest Sentinel.

His long stride carried him quickly to the stage, where he elegantly jumped up beside the victor. He gave an exaggerated bow to the crowd with his signature wide-grin. Loud whistling and cheering from Harley earned her a wink of approval.

"I must say, Miss Drew, you've surprised us! No doubt everyone was expecting you to pick a girl. Already an exciting year." Betty pushed herself in front of Jessica to get to the microphone. The escort's make-up was almost as pale as Jack's. "Now for you, Mr. Osborn."

Jack and Jessica stepped to the side as the older man approached. Jessica kept her eyes glued to her tribute, like she expected him to pull some kind of stunt. Little did she know that she'd just made his day.

Osborn made it practically Christmas when he announced Harley as his partner. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself as his little vixen skipped up to the stage. _They're even providing me with my right hand man. How glorious._

Harley tried to take hold of his arm, but he stopped her. Instead, he bent her backwards into a sweeping kiss. Loud wolf-whistles and cheers erupted from the Jokerz. Even some of the regular crowd applauded the show. Jack spun Harley back up and hugged her tightly to his side as Betty tried to calm the crowd and wrap up the ceremony.

As soon as they were ushered off stage, Jack dropped his hold on Harley and strode quickly for his room. The faster they got the required farewell time over with, the sooner they could be on their way to the real show.

Surprisingly, his door opened almost as soon as he closed it. One of his head goons entered in with a quick nod of submission. Jack gave a slight smirk and motioned for the man to follow him to the couch. The piece of furniture wasn't long enough to handle the full length of the Joker's sprawled out frame, and his legs hung off the far armrest. His clown knelt next to him and nervously removed his hat.

"Seriously, boss, you say the word, and I'll get the boys to come get ya. They'd give up on findin' ya pretty fast, and we could just get one of the younger kids to pose as you. No problem."

The look on Jack's face quickly made the man backtrack.

"I mean, not that anyone could replace you, boss. No way, no how. But those Capitol people don't know nothin'. They wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

Jack raised an eyebrow, considering the older man. "Of course. I understand what you're saying my dear. . . What's your name?"

"Uh, Bob, sir." The goon wrung his hat in his hands.

"Well, Bob, you—" Jack swung his legs to the ground and sat up. He pointed a finger at Bob as he leaned forward. "—You are my number one guy. You make sure to keep this place running while I'm gone. Keep 'em on their toes. Don't let 'em forget who's really in control." He patted Bob's head for emphasis. "If Mayor Hayes or Montoya gives you any trouble, just call up our buddy Marcus Wise on the force. He has all the connections and dirt to get any of you out of trouble."

"I won't let you down, boss." A hopeful smile spread across the goon's face.

The Joker's lips twitched. "You better not. Now go. No doubt the T's are already trying to make their move on our territory."

Bob started to leave but paused and turned back."What about our guest?"

"Who?"

"The guy in the basement. You know, Harry. From the Brotherhood."

Jack's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "I don't care, just take care of him."

"Sure thing, boss, sure thing. Of course." Bob quickly backed out the door, knowing better than to ask any more questions.

The teen patted his breast pocket, assuring himself his cards were still in place. He reclined back on the couch and let his eyes slide shut, the picture of ease while he waited for the Sentinels to retrieve him.

* * *

The Jokerz cheering on their leader was like music to Jack's ears as they boarded the train. Osborn pulled Harley aside as soon as they entered, and Jack took the opportunity to explore on his own. He wandered through a few cars, ending in a sitting room-type area as the train began to pull away.

In his not-so-humble opinion, the interior decorating was lacking. They were always being told of the splendor and richness of the Capitol, and the train car left much to be desired if it was to represent the best there was to offer. Even the crystal vase sitting on a coffee table looked cheap. With a single finger, he tipped the the vase sideways and let it crash to the floor.

"We haven't even left the district and you've already destroyed something more valuable than your life." Jessica Drew stood in the entry to the train car.

"Quite the pep-talk. Sure you don't want to save it for training?" The teenager sat on a sofa and propped his feet on the coffee table.

The brunette crossed the floor and knocked Jack's feet back to the ground. "Don't act so pompous. You're not going to last long enough to cause any trouble."

"I'm beginning to get the feeling you don't like me, Spider-Gal." A hard glint took hold in the teen's lime-green eyes as he examined her up and down. "If you think you're intimidating me, you're going to be very disappointed."

"I could say the same to you." Jessica crossed her arms and glared down at him.

He rolled his eyes. "Did you just come in here to trade one-liners, or do you have some sort of wisdom to share?"

"I may have picked you, but don't expect advice. You won't be getting any help from me. Everything I do in front of the Capitol cameras is just for show. Once we're behind closed doors, I don't want to even see you. I needed to make this clear from the beginning."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "If this is the way you've treated your tributes in the past, it's no wonder they all died terribly gruesome deaths. I mean, your girl from last year didn't even make it past the first showing. Even the brat from Eleven survived the bloodbath, and she was blind," he jibed with an innocent smile.

Her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched. "I'm not going to play your games. I'm not someone you can manipulate, like the brainwashed girl Osborn chose. I'm the one in charge. You're nothing but a brat kid. Be a good little boy, or I will take you down before you even get to the arena. Got it?"

For a moment, the pair stared at each other in tense silence. Neither wanted to be the first to break eye contact. The victor eventually turned to leave, her point made, but Jack shot to his feet before she could even take a step.

In one swift motion, he grabbed her arm and spun her back to face him. Her free hand instinctively went to punch him in the face, but he caught her fist in his palm. "Ah ah ah. Don't want to have your tribute showing up to the Capital already beaten up, do you? What would Thanos think?"

The tall teenager loomed over the older woman. His smile stayed plastered to his face despite the iciness of his tone. "Now, you listen to me, _sweetheart_. I know exactly what you're up to. You and Montoya probably planned this whole thing. You think that by getting me out of the picture, you'll stop what's happening. That you'll somehow save this district from me. What you don't realize is that I _am_ destiny." Jessica tried to pull away, but the Joker's grip only tightened. "Can't you see? I'm doing more for this district than the Capitol ever did. They don't keep the higher-ups in check. They let them do whatever they want. I disrupt that order, introduce a little anarchy and, suddenly, the whole world seems a little more fair. So you can try to get me killed off in these little Games, but I'm going to win despite your best efforts. And when I do. . ." His words died off as he started snickering. He released his hold on Jessica's arm, and he moved his grip to her shoulders in support as his laughter grew. The raucous sound was amplified by the small room and seemed to come from all directions. Despite her hard expression, Jack was sure he could see doubt flickering in her dark green eyes.

His manic laughter stopped abruptly, and he leaned in toward his mentor with a wide grin. So close their noses were almost touching. "Well, I just can't wait."

A sudden jab to his gut made the air rush out of his lungs. He gave a slight _oof_ as he double over from the swift punch Jessica had given him.

"Don't ever touch me again." She glared at him with her hand still in a fist. "The Capitol can't see all the bruises I can give you."

A perplexed frown crossed Jack's features as his mentor left. He rubbed his sore stomach and sat back down with a groan. "Stronger than she looks," he mumbled thoughtfully.

After a moment of consideration, the Joker gave a slight chuckle and let his head fall back on the top of the sofa. A small smile began to work its way across his red lips. "Oh, yes, this is going to be fun."


	13. Chapter 12: Head Games

**(A/N): And we're back with our Tuesday update! Again, we've got some familiar faces this time, with Silmarilz1701 (who wrote Sin last time and, if you remember, is also one of our District Six writers this year) and NicKenny (who wrote T'Challa last time and ran the first fic and did all the behind-the-scenes-ing and Capitol chapters). We think their writing pretty much speaks for itself, so we'll get right to it!**

 **Thanks, as always, to the writers who reviewed, as well as to Zeldronicai and Slim Summers2002 for their reviews. We're glad to see that you're enjoying the ride and already rooting for these amazing characters!**

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve - Head Games**

 **Written by Silmarilz1701 and NicKenny**

* * *

 **Rachel Roth of District Nine**

 **Written by Silmarilz1701**

* * *

 _"Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'"_

— _Edgar Allan Poe_

* * *

She started by opening her eyes. Big, blue, piercing marbles, her eyes were certainly her most distinctive feature. As she opened them, she looked up at the wooden beams across her ceiling. Each had distinctive patterns of knots and ruts. Between the thick beams of mahogany, the pale tan ceiling lay. The door, to her left and in front of her, was made of a thick wood as well. It was propped slightly ajar. She figured this was likely because the woman she lived with now had come in to check on her.

Next, she sniffled her nose, trying to clear out the wheat dust that floated perpetually in the air, everywhere. District Nine's industry of wheat production was not one she enjoyed. On the contrary, she preferred to sell apples at her stall as opposed to gathering wheat. Raven was too slight to be much use in the field anyways. Nevertheless, wheat was a part of her daily life, through the air and through the food.

Following her loud sniffling, Raven proceeded to sit up in her bed. It was a sparse bed, one with basic white linen sheets and an almost flat pillow. The bed was made of wood that liked to creak at night. As she moved in the bed, that was all she could hear. _Creak, crack._ Not pleasant sounds at all.

"Raven," came a soft voice from the door.

This was a pleasant sound. She was comfortable with this sound. It was the sound of Azar, her caretaker and only real friend.

"Raven!" Azar's voice was more agitated than previously. "Raven, get up."

Raven nodded to her, getting up without much dramatics. "Yes, ma'am."

Azar opened the door and nodded at her. Her white hair flowed down to her chest and looked full, though the woman was old. Azar had taken Raven in a year ago after the death of her mother and the imprisonment of her father.

"It is time you prepared. You still need to tend to the stall this morning." Azar looked at her, seriousness plastered on her face.

"I will get ready now." Raven nodded. "Give me ten minutes."

Azar agreed that ten minutes was reasonable and she left her surrogate daughter to prepare for the day. Raven went to her window and opened the simple curtains. Her window faced east. This morning, like all mornings, the sun was just starting to peep over the horizon as she got ready for the day. Most mornings passed like this. Azar would come make sure Raven was awake. Raven would nod yes and ask for ten more minutes. Azar would give it to her. But today, though it passed the same, was different. Today was Reaping Day.

For thirteen year old Raven, this was only her second Reaping. She tried to block out most Reaping Days, but as she grew older, they stuck more in her mind each year. Last year's had been an especially traumatic Reaping. The boy, Kurt Wagner, was familiar to her. Her friends, Stefan and Amanda, had lost their big brother to the Reaping one year ago. And that Reaping Day had come soon after her mother's death.

* * *

 _Angela Arella Roth had married Trigon for money. A rich owner of a wheat processing plant, Angela had looked up to him in awe and, as soon as he divorced his previous wife, began pursuing him. They married and had one child. They named her Rachel. Rachel was a happy child, a girl with rich, permanently straight, black hair and deep blue eyes. But then the beatings started._

 _Rachel looked at the broken, bleeding body of her mother Angela. She and her mother, never particularly close because that would've been too vulnerable, shared more in common than people would've believed. The majority of the district knew. She was sure they knew. They knew that Trigon beat his wife._

 _But they didn't know he beat his daughter._

 _Rachel continued to watch as the scarlet rivers of blood spewed forth from the back of Angela's head. Her broken skull, cracked and severed like what happens when a porcelain doll is dropped, was eerily still. For the twelve year old Rachel Roth, it was like she had been hit herself, a sensation she was all too familiar with. She couldn't heal her mother this time. She couldn't take her pain._

 _Her mother was gone. And Trigon was going to pay for it._

 _All this happened in a split second. Soon, she broke out of her stupor and stared up at the demonic hell spawn that was her father. He looked surprised at the death of his wife, but not unhappy. Their eyes met. Rachel felt all her emotions coming to the surface, but namely a very pure emotion. Hatred._

 _Trigon smiled. He knew what she was feeling. He readied himself for whatever this weak, pathetic twelve-year-old was going to throw at him. But instead, he was caught off-guard when she ran from the house. She couldn't do anything about Trigon, but the Sentinels could._

 _As she ran, she looked up, her dark hair bouncing around her face and getting in her eyes. But she saw there a bird. Black, huge. A raven._

* * *

That day, she had become someone else. The Sentinels came and locked Trigon up, taking away Angela Arella's body to the cemetery. Azar, a family friend, took Rachel, now Raven, into her household. Raven did odd jobs for Azar, but her main task was to run the apple stall at the market place before and after their short school days. Of course, today they had the day off of school for the Reaping. And because it was the Reaping, she decided to pull on her nicest purple dress with a black belt. Her shoes were downstairs.

Raven walked down the stairs carefully, registering how her bare feet felt on the wooden planks. The wood was cool to the touch, and it had little ruts that changed the experience with each step. When she had counted all fourteen steps, she found herself at the very bottom. Here, she found her worn, black mary jane shoes, and she slipped them on.

Azar met her at the bottom, holding a sack full of apples. "The rest are in the wagon waiting for you outside."

"Thank you," Raven nodded to her caretaker.

Opening the door, she walked out into the mostly dark morning. The sun was beginning to rise and display its warm, yellow light across the sky, banishing the darkness. Raven found the big, red, wooden wagon sitting out front. It was stacked with apples, red, green, yellow, and every manner of combinations of these. The petite thirteen year old girl was dwarfed by the large wagon, but somehow, she managed to pull it.

Golden grain fields appeared on her left as she walked closer to town. Azar's house was a little removed from the marketplace, outside the main town line. The walk was a pleasant one, as each morning, when the sun rose, the wheat and grain fields seemed to positively glow. Azar, as the sole apple farmer in the entire district, made decent money for the amount of work that was done. Fruit wasn't too common in the grain district.

She found her wooden stall in the marketplace and began to display the apples. Raven put the red apples together in the front. Those were the most popular of all their wares. By the time she had finished, the sun was up, and customers began filling the marketplace. Buyers came and went from her stall, some purchasing apples, others scoffing at her wares.

Suddenly, an angry voice was heard. "Look, it's the little bird!"

Three large, ugly boys stood before her stall. They had red hair, just like their father. Trigon had sired several sons before marrying Angela. These were Jesse, James, and Jared. The worst of the worst.

"Hello, Jesse." Raven nodded, growing angry as she felt the anger radiating off the older boys before her.

"How's it going, peewee?" James asked. "I can't believe you're still alive! Shoulda killed yourself long ago."

Raven narrowed her eyes but took a deep breath. She had to control her anger and hatred. If she let go, Trigon would've won.

"Did you hear?" Jared added. "Dad's getting released today. No thanks to you."

"What?" Raven's eyes went wide. "Trigon?"

"Yep," Jesse nodded. "The Sentinels say he was perfect the whole time, so they're letting him out early. Last time I was there, he said something about wanting to see this Reaping."

"Hey idiots!" came a new voice. "Leave her alone!"

Raven looked the slightest bit relieved as she caught sight of fifteen year old Kitty Pryde. The girl had her brown hair pulled back in a curled ponytail, and her dress was yellow. Raven and Kitty knew each other, but neither one was particularly good friends with the other.

"What are you going to do, pussycat?" Jared sneered. "This is our sister, after all."

"You are no relative of mine," Raven growled angrily. "Trigon is a monster. I will never associate with him — or his hell spawns."

Jared barred his teeth and made a fist as if to hit her. Kitty immediately threw herself in front of him and caught the punch.

"You're not going through me." Kitty looked angrily at the boys. "Raven is my friend, and my friends don't get hurt."

"What about that Wagner boy? He got hurt," Jesse teased.

Raven felt her blood boil, as she was sure Kitty felt as well. Raven looked calm and collected on the outside, but inside, she wanted to kill Jesse for that comment. Kitty rarely looked angry, but she must've looked so mad at that comment that the boys decided to leave them alone.

"Thanks, Kitty," Raven nodded. "I apologize for how they act."

Kitty put on a small smile as she turned to look at the apple stall. "It isn't your fault. They're just jealous of you. After all, they got their father's looks, which isn't a compliment."

Raven nodded, no smile on her lips. At this point, Raven was sure Kitty was used to the perpetual serious face she put on in contrast to the other girl's consistent smile.

"I'll take this apple." Kitty smiled after Raven's acknowledgement, holding out a large, red apple. They exchanged money for the apple, and Kitty bid her farewell. "If those creeps start bothering you again, let me know."

Raven nodded as Kitty walked away, eating the delicious red apple she'd just purchased. The black-haired girl turned back to her stand and quietly began to rearrange her wares. She was glad Kitty had stepped in when the boys went to hit her, for she hated violence. Azar, a pacifist, had trained her in that manner. Raven knew she risked becoming a monster like Trigon her father, so she did her best to abide by the pacifism and meditation of her caretaker.

She loved meditating. In her meditations, she had created a realm where everything was peaceful. Azarath, she called it, named for Azar, who had inspired it. Azarath was filled with emerald green fields of grass, white buildings, and pacifistic people. It helped her concentrate and turned her mind from pain and anger. When Raven looked up again, she found herself staring at a young girl with blonde pigtails.

Raven cocked her head. "You're up early, Melvin." It was barely eight o'clock.

The ten year old girl shrugged. "I wanted to wish you luck! If you get chosen, I'll keep Bobby safe."

"Bobby isn't real, Melvin." Raven sighed. "But thank you. I won't get chosen, though."

Melvin crossed her arms. "Good. You better not."

Melvin was a girl who loved apples. She also loved pretending, and in that, liked to pretend that Raven's old imaginary friend, Bobby, was real. Raven had stopped believing in Bobby the giant teddy bear long ago, but Melvin remembered it, somehow.

Raven bid farewell to Melvin, letting her have a small green apple for free when no one was looking. By herself again, she began to have more customers come by. Some she knew; some were all but strangers. Pietro Maximoff came by and bought an apple. He said something about his sister Wanda wanting one last year.

Raven felt the pain and anguish and anger deep inside the speedy boy. He had lost his twin the previous year in the Games and now had to watch as it happened all over again to someone else. She couldn't imagine how he felt. It made her feel sick when he looked in her eyes. She wanted to make him feel better.

"Pietro," Raven sighed. "Wanda is with you, inside you. I lost my mother last year, just like you lost your sister."

Pietro looked angry, but it began to contort into regret and sadness. He shook his head. "She's gone."

"Only if you think like that." She placed a hand on his hand. "That warmth inside you, that's Wanda with you. Your blood is her blood."

Pietro nodded sadly and left in a hurry with the apple he had bought. Raven didn't know if she'd helped him in his healing process at all, but she hoped she had. She really didn't know how to handle situations like the one she had just experienced. She didn't relate to people very well. Though she was only thirteen, Raven was wiser than most; she just lacked social skills. After all, it's hard to relate to someone when you bury all your emotions down inside you.

Now, on most days, Raven would only stay at her stall until nine in the morning. After that, Azar would take over so Raven could attend the limited schooling offered in District Nine. In Nine, you were taught reading, basic math, farming techniques — and the smartest learned how to manage grain processors. Raven was only now learning advanced reading. In two more years, she'd be out of school.

But today was not like most days. On Reaping Day, no one was at school. Everyone in the fields worked the morning before the ceremony, but school was cancelled. As such, she remained to sell apples for many hours.

After a while, Raven looked at the sky. It was nearing the time of the Reaping. She began to pack up her stall, placing the remaining apples in the wagon gently so as not to bruise them. She placed the money and rations she had earned into her sack. Raven began the slow but steady trek back to her house. The apples rolled, but she did her best to control it. Finally, her house was in view. Outside stood Azar, watching for her.

"Come on, Raven. It's time!" Azar beckoned to her. "Come, come!"

Raven walked behind her and brought the apple cart around back to their storehouse among the apple trees. Azar called for her to come inside, and she obeyed.

"Brush your hair," Azar told her.

Raven nodded and sarcastically replied, "Because looking nice will stop me from being picked if they want me."

"Oh shush. Don't talk back." She took the hairbrush from Raven and began to brush the girl's hair. When all was done, Azar spoke again. "Amanda and Stefan will be waiting for you at your regular place." She looked sadly at Raven. "They are going to need your strength today."

Raven nodded. She knew this to be true. Amanda and Stefan seemed to like her because she controlled her emotions. It was something they found difficult to do.

Raven and Azar wandered down to the center of town. Her caretaker bid her goodbye to stand with the parents while Raven walked toward the street corner. She found two children standing there, as expected.

"Good morning, Stefan, Amanda." Raven nodded, forcing a tiny smile on her lips.

"Hi Raven," Amanda said, also forcing a sweet look onto her face. "Ready?"

Raven could see she was trembling. Taking her hand, she looked deep into the blonde girl's eyes. "You'll be fine today, Amanda. You too, Stefan."

"I miss Kurt." Amanda choked as Stefan stepped up to comfort his twin.

Raven knew she did. "And I miss my mom. But we have to move forward. It's what they would want."

Stefan agreed with her. "Thanks, Raven. But we should get going."

Together, the three thirteen-year-olds walked to the blood booth. Here, their fingers were pricked amidst the bright colors of Marvel. Raven felt herself growing angry at the colors, but she managed to push it down with all her other emotions. Getting angry would do nothing.

She shuffled into line with Stefan and Amanda. They merged into the crowd of thirteen-year-olds, with Stefan soon separating to join the boys. Tall children, lithe children, children of all ages stood in their assigned spots, waiting anxiously for the verdict to be called. Which helpless children would be forced to fight to the death for the amusement of the Capitol?

The ceremonial video played. She saw the faces of her district's tributes flash briefly by, Wanda and Kurt. It made her too sad, and she felt the thick fear around her so intensely that she nearly blacked out.

Their district's escort walked up to the microphone. He had a light Captolite accent, not nearly as thick as some people's. His green hair wasn't too bright but stood out among the brown or dark hair of District Nine. This was Robert Kelly.

"What a splendid video!" He clapped his hands together dramatically before turning to the victors. "Now. Shall we get on with it? Girls first?"

Erik Lensherr walked up to the microphone, a serious and unwavering expression on his face. As he opened his mouth, Raven felt the girls tense even more. She noted that his eyes met with someone's in the crowd of adults, but she didn't see who.

"Rachel Roth."

All Raven felt was shock. Unending shock. She looked around. Why were they staring at her? Shock consumed her. She barely registered Amanda letting out a small cry.

Then, slowly, as she made her way towards the stage with her ever-calm expression in her face, fear began to creep in. She was so deep inside her mind, she barely registered when one of the mentors — she wasn't sure which — called out the boy's name.

"Jervis Tetch."

He was small for a sixteen year old boy. He had shaggy brown hair and bright green eyes. Raven recognized him as the orphan who always wore the top hat. And here he was again in a tattered coat and old top hat.

As they shook hands and were ushered away, Raven searched the crowd for Amanda and Stefan. They were nowhere to be seen. She supposed they had fled to scene, too much in shock and too upset to come see her. She didn't blame them at all.

Raven was still in shock as she sat in the waiting room. It was a small room, with a worn couch, a desk, and a chair. She elected to take the couch, as it looked comfier than the wooden chair. How had she been singled out? Why had she been chosen? A knock came at the door.

The person who walked in was not who she'd expected and in fact was her most hated foe. For now, Trigon stood before her, wearing his red shirt and black pants, which accentuated his scarlet red hair.

"Surprise!" Trigon laughed. "The look on your face when they announced your name! Priceless."

"Get out," Raven seethed, losing all control of her anger. "Sentinels!"

"Just remember there's a little bit of me inside you," he shouted as they restrained him. "It'll save your life!"

Raven picked up a glass vase and threw it out the door. Her eyes flashed in fury, and her face was bright red, red as an apple. A Sentinel shouted back a harsh warning as he closed the door. Raven closed her eyes, letting herself drift into Azarath. She was interrupted from her meditations by a woman's voice. It was Azar.

"Do not let them turn you into a monster, Raven," her caretaker said quietly, a twinge of sadness in her voice. "You are not your father."

"But I could become him," Raven murmured.

Azar placed a hand on her surrogate daughter's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. As she was asked to leave, she placed a round pin in her foster daughter's hands. It was red, with a yellow-gold trim.

Azar smiled. "Take it."

Raven did as she was asked and watched as Azar was escorted out. As the door closed and she was left sitting in the room, she closed her eyes. At least in Azarath, in her meditations, she was safe.

* * *

 **Jervis Tetch of District Nine**

 **Written by NicKenny**

* * *

" _It is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane."_

― Philip K. Dick, _VALIS_

" _In a mad world, only the mad are sane."_

― Akira Kurosawa

* * *

" _Begin at the beginning," the King said, very gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop."_

Jervis smiled to himself and put the book down, but in reality, he didn't need it in the first place ― he could recite the whole thing by heart, and _Through the Looking-Glass_ too.

The sun beat down overhead as he lay back by the trunk of an old chestnut tree on the edge of a field in the outskirts of the district. The walk back would take some time, but it was worth it for the solitude. No one would travel out here, bar the odd Sentinel patrol. At least, not until harvest time came.

The grain before him gleamed in the sunlight, stretching out in front of him as far as the eye could see. Next to him, nestled on the grass, lay a battered top hat, its brim bent, its crown cracked with use. The trained eye, however, would pick out the signs of repair ― a patch here, a stitch there.

Jervis reached out and picked up the hat, spinning it in his hands before reaching inside and withdrawing a small brass pocket watch from a secret pocket hidden in the hat's interior lining.

He flipped the watch open easily, with the air of one who had carried out that exact motion a hundred times before, and glanced at the clock face, before flipping it back shut again.

Plenty of time.

Jervis grasped the brim of it hat and pulled it forward so that it covered his eyes, blocking out the harsh sunlight. He could feel himself beginning to doze off, but consigned himself to it, settling back comfortably against the base of the tree.

And he dreamed.

* * *

 _In his dream, he was a child again, sitting on his father's knee after the sun had gone down over the district. His stomach was full of his mother's rabbit pie, and she was sewing sequins onto some of the hats his father had prepared earlier that day. His sister, Alice – three years younger than Jervis – sat next to their mother, little more than a baby at this point, playing with the leftover felt his father had decided was unusable._

 _His father opened the book and turned to a well-worn page, cleared his throat, and began to speak. His voice began soft and comforting, but rose and fell into sudden harshness as he read through the text, bringing the words to life in his son's mind._

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

'Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!'

He took his vorpal sword in hand:

Long time the manxome foe he sought—

So rested he by the Tumtum tree,

And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! and through and through

The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

He went galumphing back.

'And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'

He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe."

 _Jervis' father fell silent, and met his son's eyes with a serious look. "Do you understand any of that, boy?" he asked, and Jervis regarded him cautiously for a moment before shaking his head._

" _One day you will," his father told him sadly, before looking away and staring off into the distance. "One day it will all make sense."_

" _It's about killing a monster, right?" Jervis ventured, and his father smiled before ruffling his hair._

" _It is, and it isn't."_

 _Jervis frowned. "How can that be?"_

" _The world is full of things that can't be labelled neatly, boy. It's a topsy-turvy place that rarely takes the time to make much sense."_

 _Jervis nodded as if he understood, but he was only a child at the time, just seven years old. His father's words meant little to him, but his presence meant the whole world. And that made sense, to the young Jervis._

" _I love you, daddy."_

 _His father glanced down at him, tousled his son's hair, and smiled. "I love you too, boy."_

* * *

" _Ka-kaw!"_

Jervis startled, jolting out of sleep, and looked up to see a giant crow perched in the tree above him, staring down at him with a look of ill intent in its eyes. The sun had fallen in the sky, and Jervis retrieved his pocket watch from his hat once more, satisfying himself that he hadn't dozed off for too long.

"Shoo!" he hissed towards the bird, which ruffled its feathers in response, unimpressed by his attempts at intimidation. "Go on, clear out. Don't make me shout."

He paused, and the bird continued to stare at him. "Leave!" Jervis yelled, his irritation building.

"Kaw," the crow replied, tilting its head to the side. Jervis turned around, scanning the nearby ground for a suitable stone, and picked up the nearest candidate. The stone flew wide when he threw it, not even eliciting a response from the crow, who hopped over to a nearby branch and turned its back on Jervis.

"Stupid bird," the boy muttered sourly to himself, embarrassed by his failure. Some scarecrow he'd make. He briefly considered going for another stone, but it was time to get back. The crow might have done him a favor, waking him up when it did.

It wouldn't do to be late.

Jervis retrieved his book and put it in the rucksack he had brought it up in, making sure it was entirely hidden from sight. The Sentinels had begun confiscating books, anything that was not Capitol-approved, years ago, but Jervis had managed to hold onto a couple of odds and ends from his father's collection. The others he could bear to lose, but not _Alice._

Never _Alice._

The dirt road was hard on the feet, and Jervis' shoes kicked up dust behind him and he walked, slowly plodding beneath the scorching sun. He could feel the sweat building up beneath the top hat and the long coat he wore, but he'd have balked at the thought of taking them off.

It didn't take long before the noise of civilization made its return, as Jervis picked out the sound of youthful voices up ahead, occasionally rising up in peals of laughter.

Jervis himself had little time for laughter, on today of all days, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he followed the sound to its source.

A group of kids only a few years older than Jervis were playing by the shores of a lake, just a little off the edge of the main town in the district. There was never much to do on Reaping Day, and most children spent the morning with their families. Others, like the kids here, spent their time goofing off until the day's events could be put off no longer.

Jervis leaned against the wooden fence on the edge of the dirt road, casually looking out on the lake and the kids at play. One boy in particular caught his eye, his silver hair standing out from the crowd, and Jervis recognised Pietro Maximoff, the brother of the girl from their district who had died in the Games last year.

Wanda… that had been her name. A lovely name.

 _What a strange world we live in… said Alice to the Queen of Hearts…_

Pietro seemed to have his thoughts on the Reaping as well, looking somber next to his friends as he bit into the plump red apple he was holding. Apparently, that hadn't escaped the notice of his friends either, who laughed and joked next to him, trying to drag him into their conversation. And, little by little, Pietro warmed up, a small smile forming on his lips. He suddenly froze, and Jervis shrank back a little, worried that he had been noticed, but the silver-haired boy's eyes had spotted something else.

A group of girls around Pietro's age were playing by the edge of the lake.

Pietro darted forward, pushing one of the girls from behind, and she toppled, screaming, and fell with a splash into the lake. A second or two passed when only the laughter of those watching could be heard, and then the girl resurfaced, squealing in outrage.

"What, you didn't see that coming?" Pietro taunted, and turned away, smiling.

He lifted up an arm to shield his eyes from the sunlight, and startled suddenly, only realising the time now that he had turned to face the moving sun. His brief moment of levity passed like a shadow, and his face grew serious once more.

"I'm late!" he yelled, running over to his backpack and throwing it over his shoulder. "Gotta go, guys!"

Jervis reached under the brim of his hat and withdrew his father's pocket watch, deftly snapping it open and consulting it for a moment. He nodded in satisfaction and glanced up to see Pietro speeding off in the distance. The boy's house was on the far side of town. He was indeed late.

Jervis' interest in the group waned after watching the silver-haired young man speed off, and he hefted his own backpack, glad that he hadn't brought more than a book and some water. It really was a hot day, and he could feel the perspiration settling on the base of his neck, clinging to the ends of his hair.

He started walking again, picking up his pace slightly since he knew the kids by the lake would leave soon enough, and he didn't want to be around for that.

However, Jervis' fears were misplaced, for trouble proved to be waiting ahead of him on that dirt road, rather than behind him. He groaned internally when he caught sight of the two identical figures up ahead.

Both boys were short and squat, only an inch or two taller than Jervis, though they were all short for their fifteen years. Dumfree and Deever Tweed, known as the "Terrible Tweeds", were the town… bullies, for lack of a better word. And Jervis, as the weirdest kid around ― and an orphan to boot ― had been on the wrong end of their fists all too many times.

Swallowing nervously, Jervis kept his eyes on the ground and battled against the hollow feeling in his stomach that threatened to root his feet to the ground. Similarly, he also fought against the temptation to run ― the Tweeds wouldn't have the stamina to pursue him, but Jervis was as likely to trip and fall as he attempted to run past them as he was to make it back to town unscathed.

No, he'd keep his head down and hope they had better things to do. That had worked before. Once or twice.

"Well, well, well," one of the boy's murmured, and Jervis felt his heart fall. "Lookee 'ere, Deever."

"Why, it's a little rat, ain't it Dumfree?"

"Dumfree. Deever," Jervis replied in acknowledgement, wincing internally at the sound of his own voice, which was several octaves higher than normal.

"Oh, it speaks, Dumfree!" the boy on the left noted, with apparent joy. "The little rat speaks!"

"Nah, Deever, rats don't wear hats," Dumfree replied, before the pair realised that what he had said had rhymed, and fell into a fit of laughter.

"Ooooh, rats don't wear hats," Deever repeated, and that brought on another fit of chuckles.

"Well, that might not be true," Jervis ventured, unable to stop himself. "Some pets wear clothes, and rats can be pets too."

"What's that 'e said?" Dumfree asked, looking over at his brother; their mirth evaporated just as quickly as it had arrived.

"I fink 'e's givin' you cheek, Dumfree."

"You know what we do to people who give us cheek, Jervis?" Dumfree asked, and Jervis swallowed nervously.

"Let them off on their way, and leave them be 'til another day'?" he ventured, his voice feigning hope he didn't feel.

"I wouldn't put it _quite_ like that," Dumfree replied.

"You still got that stupid watch of yours, Jervis?" Deever asked, and Jervis resisted the urge to tap the brim of his hat. He opted instead to stay quiet, knowing anything he could say would only make things worse.

"What time is it, Jervis?" Dumfree asked, looming over him.

"It's time you got your teeth punched in," Deever added helpfully, before Jervis had the chance to reply, and Dumfree's fist connected with the side of Jervis' face, knocking him to the ground. He landed with a thud and opened his eyes to find himself lying next to an apple core, slowly beginning to rot.

"Really? Two of you against little old Jervis?" a voice asked mockingly from the trees above them, startling both Jervis and the twins.

The twins backed away from Jervis, their necks craning back to see who had spoken, forced to shield their eyes against the glare of the sun that shone behind the tree.

For a moment, the figure in the tree was silhouetted against the sunlight, and it took the three boys a moment for their eyes to adjust to the light. The first thing about the person that Jervis saw was the wide smile on her face as she observed the boys below her.

It wasn't until she dropped down from the tree that Jervis recognised the girl – Kitty something or other. Her brown hair was pulled back in a curled ponytail, and she wore a lemon-yellow dress, which somehow hadn't been torn when the girl had scaled the tree. She was in the year ahead of Jervis and the Tweeds in school, so beyond that, Jervis didn't know much about her.

And yet he knew everything he needed to know about her, recognising a fellow character, and some of the dread in his stomach began to lift.

"We were only messing with him," Dumfree replied, backing up.

"That's not what I saw," Kitty challenged, and took a step forward. The two Tweeds shared a look and collected themselves, stepping away from Jervis.

"We don't know what you're talking about, but if you wanna be so protective of the little rat, so be it," Dumfree told her.

"We've established that rats can wear hats," Deever added helpfully, and his brother turned and glared at him.

"Come on, Deever, we're outta here," Dumfree said, grabbing his brother by the shoulder and dragging him away, hissing something into his ear as the two walked off.

Kitty helped Jervis back to his feet,

"T-thanks," he stammered, looking down at his shoes. "You didn't have to do that, though. They wouldn't have done worse than rough me up a little."

"I don't like bullies," Kitty grunted, glaring at the Tweed's retreating backs.

"I'm not all that fond of them either," Jervis replied, smiling weakly.

Kitty snorted to herself and stared at him. "You're Jervis Tetch, right? The―"

"The Mad Hatter," Jervis interrupted. "Yes, that's me."

"You're not as weird as they say you are."

"I'm sorry to disappoint. I'll try harder in the future," Jervis replied, and Kitty tilted her head to the side, surprised.

"Well," she said, glancing back at the Tweeds just as they disappeared from sight. "I don't think those two will be bothering you again anytime soon."

Jervis frowned. "When the cat's away, the mice will play, and then who'll come to save the day?"

"What?"

"You won't always be there," Jervis explained, shrugging. "Not all the time, not everywhere."

"But I can help people when I _am_ around," she countered, taken aback.

"Do you really think that makes a difference? You're just telling yourself a nice story to help you sleep at night, but it's not real. It's not going to change things. It's not going to fix the broken things in your life. You're… you're living in a fantasy."

"And what would _you_ know about it?" Kitty asked, glaring at him.

Jervis stared at the girl for a moment, his face falling. "I…" he began, struggling with himself for a moment before finally sighing and shrugging in defeat. "You're right. I'm sorry… What _would_ I know about it?"

"I didn't… I didn't mean it like that," Kitty replied, looking uncomfortable after her sudden outburst. "I'm sorry, I don't really know where my head's at." She paused, as her words caught up with her. "Damn it, now you've got _me_ doing it," she groaned.

"Doing what?"

"Rhyming. You did it just a minute ago."

"Oh," Jervis said, looking thoughtful. "Well, then I guess you're a bit of a copy-cat."

"Well, I wouldn't say _that_ ," Kitty replied, wrinkling her nose.

An awkward silence fell between the two, and they shifted uncomfortably in place, not meeting the other's eyes.

"Look, don't worry about the Terrible Tweeds – they'll get what's coming to them some day," Kitty said at last, and Jervis nodded back to her, smiling gratefully. With that said, Kitty turned away, making her way down the dirt road towards town.

"Oh, Chesh… if only you knew what I have planned for those two," Jervis muttered darkly to himself as he watched her walk away.

* * *

 _Several weeks before Reaping Day, the orphanage received a pair of visitors, escorted into the building by Rosa Vasquez, the woman in charge of the orphans. She was a well-meaning woman, but found it hard to cope with the two dozen or so children under her care. Jervis mostly kept out of her way, and since he kept his head down, she seemed more than happy to leave him be._

" _Billy, Eugene, Pedro – stop fighting and go do your chores. There's a pile of dishes that need cleaning, and they're not going to get done if you're out here playing."_

" _Aw, come on, Ms. Vasquez," Billy whined, but a stern look from the woman sent the trio scrambling, and they shuffled by Jervis, muttering sourly under their breath._

" _I wish we were grown up, and could do what we want," Billy complained, and the other two murmured a strong agreement._

 _Jervis paid them little heed, focusing intently on the scene unfolding in front of him. He had set up a mock tea table in his corner of the room, consisting of a circular table cloth, set down like a rug on the floor, along with a sugar bowl, a teapot, and three cups set delicately on matching saucers. The effect was only slightly spoiled by the condition the items were in_ ― _the porcelain all stained and chipped, the sugar grey and dirty, bartered for in the black markets. Ms. Vasquez would have an embolism if she had known that Jervis had been down there, but he skirted around that problem by not telling her. What she didn't know couldn't hurt her, after all._

 _Although, now that he thought about it, she_ must _know where he got them from_ ― _it wasn't like he had gone to any effort hiding them._

 _Two men walked into the room with Ms Vasquez, and in the back of Jervis' mind, he realised that the four of them were now the only people in the room. What's more, he recognized both of the men_ ― _Erik Lensherr and Arthur Douglas, the latter better known as Drax the Destroyer from his time in the Avenger Games. District Nine's two victors._

" _You don't see too many pets out here these days," Erik noted, and Jervis clicked his fingers, catching the mouse's attention. It was still skittish, and prone to losing focus when it detected an unfamiliar presence. It had taken Jervis weeks to get it and the hare used to Ms. Vasquez and the other children. The hare, at least, showed little signs of discomfort._

" _How did you come by them?" Drax asked, following his colleague's line of questioning._

" _The rabbit and the mouse are his. We… we never asked how he came by them," Ms. Vasquez said, a little guiltily, and Jervis sighed internally. Hare,_ not a rabbit. People…

" _And you let him keep them?" Erik asked, sounding skeptical._

" _Well, we tried removing them, but he just comes back with new ones the next day. He's never exactly been all that susceptible to punishment_ ― _he just waits until we allow him out again, and then he comes back with another mouse and rabbit again."_

" _Do you know why he wants them?"_

" _To be honest, Mr Lensherr, we don't really want to know," Ms. Vasquez replied. "The other children complain when we take them away. They say Jervis scares them when the animals aren't around."_

" _Scares them how exactly?"_

" _They're never able to specify," Ms. Vasquez admitted, sounding troubled. "We've found that just letting him keep the animals is the easiest option. It keeps everyone happy."_

 _Jervis released the breath he had been holding and smiled internally._

" _Anything else?" Erik asked grimly, staring at Jervis with a touch of concern._

" _Well… he might start speaking in rhyme," the matron awkwardly informed him._

" _Are you joking?" Drax asked, before turning to Erik. "That would indeed be a strange tic. It does not seem funny to me."_

" _I'm entirely serious," the matron replied. "He does it when he gets stressed. Like some sort of…"_

" _Coping mechanism?" Erik asked, and the woman nodded gratefully._

" _Exactly."_

" _Where does he get the tea?" Erik asked, after watching Jervis pour out a cup for himself. "It's a luxury I wouldn't expect to see in a place like this, no offense meant."_

 _Ms Vasquez glanced over at Jervis and smiled sadly. "He repairs the scarecrows in the fields. His father was a hatter, and his parents owned a little shop just a block or two from here. It burned down a few years ago."_

" _Yes… I remember it," Erik replied quietly._

" _Well, it's not a lot, but it's work that someone needs to do, so the Sentinels pay him a little here and there to keep those scarecrows maintained. He gives half to me and keeps the rest for himself, to spend on whatever he wants."_

" _Will you be able to cope without him?"_

 _Ms. Vasquez opened her mouth wordlessly and glanced over at Jervis again, clearly troubled by the question. When she satisfied herself that Jervis was lost in a world of his own, she turned back to the victors and half-shrugged._

" _The money would be a blow, but… Jervis isn't the easiest child to look after. I could never send him away, not until he was old enough to look after himself… but… the other children wouldn't miss him. Some would sleep easier at night, I think."_

" _Can he hear us?" Drax asked uneasily, having been staring Jervis' way for the last few minutes. Ms. Vasquez glanced over at Jervis a little sadly, and shrugged._

" _He's in his own little world half the time," she told the victors. "He's never been the most… open child. He's been through a lot, but then again, that's true for all the children here. Sometimes he seems to understand a lot more than he lets on, and others…"_

" _Yes?" Erik prompted her, after a few seconds had passed._

 _Ms. Vasquez sighed. "Other times it seems like he's never moved on from his parents' deaths. He's like a child, at times. So… innocent."_

 _Drax and Erik shared an uncomfortable look._

" _Will he speak with us?" Erik asked, and Ms. Vasquez gestured easily towards Jervis._

" _You can try," she offered, and Erik made his way over to Jervis, hunkering down across from him._

" _Jervis, do you know who I am?" he asked._

" _Erik Lensherr," Jervis replied tonelessly, not looking up from the tea party in front of him. "Victor of the second Avenger Games. Everyone knows who you are."_

 _Erik nodded slowly. "Yes, that's right." He stared critically at Jervis for a moment. "You know, you don't seem scary," Erik noted, and Jervis eyes finally flicked up and met the older man's._

" _That's because you don't know me."_

" _That much is true," Erik replied. "But you're small and skinny. Not at all imposing or dangerous looking. I don't think you could hurt a fly, let alone anyone in an arena full of tributes."_

" _Flies are very easy to hurt, Mr. Lensherr. They're just not very… fun."_

" _Ah," Erik said, seeing an in. "So what is fun, Jervis? Would you hurt a mouse, or a rabbit?"_

" _Never," Jervis hissed, shocked. "I keep my friends here safe. It's a cruel world out there, Mr. Lensherr. It's a topsy-turvy place that rarely takes the time to make much sense."_

 _Erik stared at him for a moment and nodded. "I suppose that's true as well. You isolate yourself from it, is that it? You create this… fairy tale for yourself," he said, gesturing towards the laid-out tea set between them. "To hide from the cruel world out there. From reality."_

 _Jervis fell silent and turned away. Erik nodded to himself, looking perversely satisfied, as the two victors went back to discussing matters with Ms. Vasquez. But Jervis had moved onto more pressing matters. ._

 _In front of Jervis, the mouse had planted itself in front of the teapot, lifting it up from the base with its nose. He smiled widely and urged it on with both hands. On the other side, the hare sat back on its hind legs, its forelegs underneath the teapot's handle. Between them, though with mostly the hare's powerful legs, they managed to get the small, half-empty teapot off the ground and tilt it so that it poured a steady stream of the brown liquid into the cup in front of the teapot._

 _Erik barely noticed any movement on Jervis' part, but the mouse and the hare stopped pouring just as the tea level reached a few millimeters below the cup's brim, and carefully placed the teapot on the ground again. Both animals sat back, looking up at Jervis, who glanced back over at the Victors._

" _Would you care for some tea?" Jervis asked, taking a sip from his own cup, apparently oblivious to the amused expressions on the faces in front of him._

" _Do it again," Drax whispered hoarsely, after a few seconds had passed in silence, his voice filled with wonder._

* * *

" _So how did you do it?" Erik asked the boy a short time later, after the victors had returned to Ms. Vasquez and spent a good hour or so in deep discussion with her._

" _I trained them," Jervis explained, which was a half-truth, or a half-lie, depending on which way you looked at it. There was no reason to divulge the secret of his amber vials, the shining liquids he had played with secreted in his corner until they were perfect, carefully collected from both animal and human in the marketplace. "It's important to have good table manners."_

" _That's a very vague answer," Erik noted, and Jervis nodded happily._

" _Yes, it was, wasn't it?" he agreed._

" _You are an… odd person, Jervis Tetch."_

" _I suppose that's true," Jervis replied, and Erik raised an eyebrow, smiling despite himself._

 _The victors regarded him for a moment, and this time Drax was the one to break the silence._

" _Why do you call yourself the 'Mad Hatter'?" he asked with a deep frown, his arms crossed over his chest._

" _Well, I make hats, or I try to," Jervis replied thoughtfully. "And, of course, I'm mad."_

" _What are you angry about?"_

 _Jervis ignored the question. "To begin with – a dog's not mad. You grant that?"_

 _Drax frowned. "What do I care of a dog's feelings?" he grumbled, and the other victor sighed._

" _I suppose so," Erik answered Jervis, similarly ignoring Drax._

" _Well then – you see, a dog growls when it's angry, and wags its tail when it's pleased," Jervis explained. "Now, I growl when I'm pleased, and wag my tail when I'm angry. Therefore, I am mad."_

" _He speaks nonsense," Drax said, frowning deeper than before._

 _Silence fell between the three, and the victors contemplated Jervis' words._

" _And he has no tail," Drax declared, and Erik sighed again._

" _It's the cat's line," Jervis admitted regretfully. "Most of the best lines are. Alas, it's not entirely applicable in this circumstance, but the gist fits."_

" _Meaning?" Erik asked, raising an eyebrow._

" _I don't think the way other people do. When they'd say 'false', I'd say 'true'. And seeing truth in lies… why, that's how madness will arise."_

" _And now we see the rhymes."_

 _Jervis frowned, confused. "What?"_

 _Erik stared at him, waiting to see Jervis' confused expression break, until he realised that the boy really didn't know what he was talking about. "You do know you speak in rhyme, don't you?"_

" _Oh – that! Yes, they tell me I do that," Jervis replied, his confusion clearing._

" _But… but you don't notice yourself doing it?"_

" _I… I guess not, no. I don't really think about it."_

 _Erik nodded, as if that made sense, but even Jervis could tell how odd it sounded._

" _It's just something that happens," Jervis added, trying to fill the silence. "I don't mean it to. I don't…_ try… _Will it matter?"_

" _I can't see how it would," Erik replied, after a moment's consideration. "But – will it matter for what?"_

 _A moment of silence passed as Jervis looked back down to the floor, until he finally shrugged._

" _Do you understand why we're here?" Erik asked, looking grave, clearly realizing that Jervis had already worked out the reason behind the victors' visit._

" _I'm mad, but I'm not stupid," Jervis replied evenly, as if the topic was of little interest to him. "Of course I understand. You're sending me to the Capitol, to compete in the Avenger Games, and to kill and be killed by other people my age. It's not a complex concept to grasp. It's been around my entire life."_

 _Erik and Drax exchanged a significant look, surprised by the boy's lack of reaction. "You seem to be taking it well," Erik ventured._

" _Would it make you feel better if I cried?" Jervis asked, and tears began to well up in his eyes, his chest heaving with deep, wracking sobs. Erik and Drax exchanged another look, and the older victor cleared his throat, trying to think of something he could say to console the boy._

 _Jervis suddenly straightened up, cutting off mid-sob, and stared back calmly at the victors. "Did that help?" he asked._

" _I didn't find that helpful at all," Drax murmured._

" _Well, you're convincing, at least. We can work with that," Erik told Jervis, pointedly ignoring his fellow victor. "You'll have a chance. That's more than many others have gotten."_

" _Why do you…_ care?" _Jervis asked, his voice entirely devoid of malice, containing only curiosity. "You don't… owe me… anything. You had to pick_ someone _, right? Even_ I _can see why you'd pick me."_

 _Erik stared at him for a moment, and glanced over wordlessly at Drax. Something changed in his posture, and his eyes had softened when he turned back to Jervis._

" _I lost my family when I was young, like you," he replied quietly. "They were… taken from me."_

 _Jervis considered that statement for a moment._

" _Am I meant to empathize?" he asked. "Am I meant to see a connection between the two of us?" His voice grew harsh, with a needle of hysteria lurking within. "You grew to be strong and tall and respected, Erik Lensherr. I'm the Mad Hatter of District Nine. I'm mocked in the street or knocked to the ground, and if I'm lucky, I'm stepped over rather than stepped on as people pass by. The kindest emotion extended towards me is pity, and I have never had much time for that. Does it make you feel better, to feel bad that you have to do this? Does it help you sleep at night?"_

 _The victors stared at Jervis, surprised by the sudden vitriol in the boy's voice._

" _No, it doesn't," Erik said at last, and Drax grunted an agreement. "We simply go on."_

" _Well it should," Jervis replied, his voice having lost the anger that had snarled through it only a moment before. "Because there are people out there who'd send me off to die without a second thought. Better that this burden should fall on your shoulders."_

" _You're a very strange young man, Jervis Tetch."_

* * *

Jervis inspected his clothes in the small mirror, having propping it up against the wall so that he could take a step back and get a better look.

 _Could be better, but it'll do,_ he thought to himself, noting the various patches and repairs he had made over time. _To the Capitol, we'll all look like scarecrows – all raggedy and torn. At least I won't look like someone else when I'm called up. I'll look like me."_

He lifted up the loose floorboard, carefully placing it to the side, worried that someone might come in to investigate any unusual sounds. Thankfully, the room was empty, as everyone was already up and about, preparing for the Reaping. Privacy, in an orphanage, was hard to come by.

Several books were crammed in the space beneath the floorboard, and Jervis removed _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ from his knapsack and put it back in its spot _._ Next to the books lay several vials of an amber liquid, along with several unopened packs of medical syringes – while it was no District Six, Nine had more than enough drug problems of its hadn't been too hard for Jervis to get his hands on those syringes.

 _Goodbye, friends,_ he thought with a sudden pang of sadness. There wouldn't be a place for these where he was going. Not even for _Alice._ His consoled himself with the thought of a child coming across this treasure trove in the future, mentally picturing a younger version of himself. The thought of it gave him a small smile, and his heart felt a little lighter as he replaced the floorboard.

* * *

 _Erik Lensherr and Drax had returned the day before, to help him distribute his possessions ahead of the Reaping. A nice gesture, given that there wouldn't be any time once the Reaping came and went, although it wasn't like Jervis owned all that much, and the only possessions he considered of any value remained hidden beneath the floorboard by his bed._

 _They did, however, help him carry the mouse and the hare's cages to the edge of town, near where Jervis had caught them originally. On his signal, Drax released the mouse and Erik the hare, and the animals darted forward instantly, bounding away towards freedom._

 _The three of them stood and watched the mouse and hair disappear into the distance, and remained standing in silence long after the animals had departed._

" _I'm sorry you had to do that," Erik told him, after several minutes had passed, and Drax murmured similar condolences, but Jervis simply shrugged, turning away._

" _It's okay," he replied, brushing their consolations aside. "It's past time I moved onto human trials, anyway."_

* * *

The streets were beginning to fill with people as Jervis left the orphanage, pausing briefly to say his goodbyes to Ms. Vasquez – who, to her credit, was suitably upset by the situation, and hugged Jervis tight for a moment before releasing him and waving him off.

He drew his pocket watch from within his hat once again and consulted it briefly before snapping it shut and returning it.

It wouldn't do to be late.

Jervis could still remember what had happened to Lorina Dodson when she arrived ten minutes after the final call for the processing of the Reaping pool. A pair of Sentinels had led her right out into the middle of the city's main square, where everyone had already gathered for the Reaping, and the Head Sentinel – Hubert Carpenter, a huge beast of a man, the lower half of his face hidden behind a thick, red, walrus moustache – had walked out in front of them, lash in hand, and whipped the girl until she passed out.

Jervis would never forget the look of shock on the escort's face as she watched the girl lying face-down in the middle of the square, bleeding into the dirt. He'd never forget the look of resigned acceptance in the face of the mayor, or the barely restrained fury that flashed across the eyes of Nine's pair of victors.

He would never forget a lot of things, no matter how hard he tried. But the story went on, even if some of its characters didn't make it.

Jervis was surprised to see Sentinel Barnes on duty, dealing with the queues of teenagers waiting to be processed. He gave a small nod as he approached the Sentinel, who seemed less than delighted to be seeing him again. The man had never been comfortable around him, and for good reason. Jervis was sure he suspected at least some of the things he was experimenting with, though nothing could be proved, of course.

"You again, huh?" Barnes grunted.

"Good afternoon, Sentinel Barnes," Jervis replied, offering his hand for testing, and the Sentinel shook his head wearily.

"Well, maybe today'll be your lucky day," he said, and took the blood sample, waving Jervis through a moment later.

Nervous, Jervis played with the brim of his hat as he walked towards his place among the other fifteen-year-olds. He felt dwarfed among them, even with his hat lending him a few crucial extra inches.

He briefly locked eyes with Dumfree Tweed, who glowered at him before looking away. Next to him, Deever glanced over and started as he caught sight of Jervis, but he glanced away hurriedly when Jervis met his gaze.

 _Wonder how long that'll last?_ Jervis mused to himself, feeling strangely satisfied until he remembered what was about to happen, realizing that he'd never get the chance to find out.

 _How long is forever?_

 _Sometimes, just one second._

The mayor and the district escort walked out with the usual fanfare, taking the stage along with the two victors, both of whom looked less than enthused to be there.

The president's message came up on the screens in the corners of the square, but Jervis paid them the barest of attention – they were the same every year, and even though this year was meant to be something… special, it ran the same as always.

District Nine's escort, Robert Kelly, walked forward, his green hair duller than it had been in previous years, but his smile – and patronizing tone – was as prevalent as ever.

"What a splendid video!" the escort gushed. "Now. Shall we get on with it? Girls first?"

Kelly glanced over at the victors, and Erik Lensherr walked up to the mic, stopping to shake hands with both the mayor and Kelly before he spoke.

"Rachel Roth," Erik announced, rattling off his statement rather than dragging it out as the escorts were wont to do.

Jervis shivered as the girl took the stage, and he barely had time to wonder why before it struck him – something about the cast of her face, her head tilted slightly to one side, put him in mind of the bird that had tormented him that morning.

 _Beware the Jubjub bird…_

"And now, ladies and gentleman, the boys!" Kelly announced.

Jervis snapped his gaze away from the girl, unable to shed his sudden feeling of unease, as Drax stepped forward, taking Erik's place in front of the microphone.

"Jervis Tetch," Drax stated, looking uncomfortable beneath the lights and camera on stage.

Jervis smiled and adjusted the brim of his hat as the boys around him turned to look in his direction, and he stepped forward smartly, making his way towards the stage.

The skin on the back of his neck crawled as Jervis made his way forward, not used to being the focus of so many people's attentions. And yet, he was surprised to find that it wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling.

"This must be such a surprise," Kelly gushed, fussing over him as he stepped onto the stage. "Do you have anything you'd like to say to all the people watching?"

"Only that I'm looking forward to it," he replied, smiling widely. "I've always wanted to visit Wonderland."

"Well, visit it you shall," Kelly promised, seizing Jervis' hand and shaking it profusely.

Jervis shook hands with the mayor and the two victors, pausing each time in order to allow the cameras enough time to cover the moment, and suddenly found himself face to face with Rachel Roth, her big, blue eyes giving nothing away as they reached out and shook hands.

Sentinels came and escorted them from the stage outside the Justice Building into the building itself soon after, leading the tributes away from each other into two separate rooms.

"Your friends and family will have some time to say their goodbyes," the mayor told him, and Jervis only smiled tiredly.

"What happens if I don't have either?" he asked, and the mayor frowned at him, clearly not sure whether or not Jervis was being serious. After a moment of silence passed, with no sign of the earnestness in Jervis' face passing, the mayor smiled awkwardly and backed out of the room without another word.

Jervis snorted to himself, his shaggy hair waving as he shook his head, and leaned back into his chair. He deftly flipped his hat off his head and reached into it, drawing out his pocketwatch and flicking it open, all in one swift move.

And he stared at the watch's cracked face, stuck permanently at two minutes to twelve, and listened to it as it ticked, ticked, ticked…

* * *

 _Jervis' nostrils filled with the stench of smoke as he stumbled out through his bedroom door, his eyes watering, and he made his way to the bannisters to see the shattered remains of their front door scattered across the floor below._

 _A huge, hulking Sentinel towered over his father, who was lying with his back against the floor, the lower half of his face covered in blood. Another pair of Sentinels stood in by the doorway, their guns trained on Jervis' father. His mother stood at the back of the room, begging the Sentinels to leave, insisting that her husband had done nothing wrong. The giant Sentinel stepped toward her and knocked her off her feet with a backhanded blow, sending her reeling._

" _Keep your hands off her!" Jervis father shouted, and one of the other Sentinels holstered his gun and drew a stun baton, jabbing it into Jervis' father's chest as he attempted to rise up off the floor._

" _Leave him alone!" Jervis found himself yelling, and the trio of Sentinels glanced up in his direction, surprised by the intrusion._

" _Jervis, g-go back to your room," his father ordered, still getting his breath back._

" _Listen to your father, little boy," the towering Sentinel told Jervis, turning to look up at him, and Jervis locked eyes with Humbert Carpenter, Head Sentinel of District Nine, for the first time. "Your father's got some answering to do, and he doesn't seem to want to talk."_

" _That's because I don't know anything," Jervis' father declared through gritted teeth, and Carpenter leaned back and sighed._

" _I've spent the last hour walking up and down this street, Mr. Tetch, and in every house I've visited, I've heard that excuse over and over and over. We know that_ someone _on this street tried to sell highly dangerous weaponry on the black market. We just don't know who."_

" _Then find the person they tried to sell them to. They'll be able to tell you everything you want to know."_

 _Carpenter smiled, stroking his moustache with his free hand. "Oh, my dear Mr. Tetch… how do you think we know someone on this street tried to sell anything in the first place? Our informant, unfortunately, passed before he could give us the identity of the terrorist in our midst. And I'm here to find them."_

" _We're not terrorists," Jervis' mother interrupted, pleading with the Sentinel. "We've never done anything wrong. We've always kept our heads down, paid our dues, and worked hard. We not the people you're looking f-"_

 _Whatever else Jervis' mother had left to say went unheard, as Carpenter aimed his rifle in her direction and pulled the trigger._

 _Jervis wailed – a horrible, inhuman, wailing noise rising up from the hollow inside his chest – as his mother slumped to the ground, her eyes frozen in a look of perpetual disbelief, her hands clasped around the wound in her stomach even as her blood seeped through her fingers._

" _NOOOO!" his father yelled, struggling furiously against the Sentinels holding him down. He finally broke through ... and immediately fell to the floor, surprised by his own success, hitting the ground hard._

" _Where are the weapons?" Carpenter demanded, walking forward and grabbing Jervis' father by the hair before dragging the man over to his wife's body. "Do you see what you've done? What this has cost you? How much more are you willing to pay?"_

" _I d-don't know what you're talking about!" Jervis' father wailed, tears streaming from his face. "I don't…I don't…why? Oh god, why?"_

" _I'm not going to stop," Carpenter explained patiently. "Not until you tell me what I want to hear, Tetch. Now, let me ask you again – how much more are you willing to pay?"_

" _I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!" Jervis' father roared, struggling to his feet. "I MAKE HATS! THAT'S IT! THAT'S ALL I AM! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!"_

 _Carpenter stared at him critically for a moment before knocking the man back to the ground with the butt of his rifle._

" _Do you think I'm an idiot?" he asked. "Do you think I don't know how you people lie, and lie, and lie until you have no more breath left in you? You're scum, Tetch. You and your scum wife, and your scum children. Don't you understand? This is pest control."_

 _Jervis' father lay where he had fallen, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to look away from his wife's body._

" _I can't tell you what you want to hear," he said, broken, his voice holding all the misery a man could feel. "I can't help you…"_

 _The Sentinel squatted down, meeting Jervis' father eye-to-eye. "Oh, we'll see about that," Carpenter told him, before standing up and giving a brief signal to the men with him. They seized Jervis' father once more, and dragged him to his feet as Carpenter turned and left through the front door, and the Sentinels began to drag their captive after their commander._

 _Jervis, terrified, finally broke from the paralysis that had taken hold of him when his mother was shot, and slowly crept down the stairs. He made his way over to his mother, only to find that she had fallen still, her eyes open and yet seeing nothing. Jervis wept as he reached forward and closed his mother's eyes, and stood there, sobs racking through his small body, when the noise in the street grew louder and his ears picked up an unfamiliar voice yelling in a now-familiar fury._

 _Finding himself moving almost unconsciously towards the door, Jervis caught sight of Erik Lensherr – a man well-known to every citizen in the district as one of the district's two victors of the Avenger Games. Lensherr was the source of the noise, as he roared at Sentinel Carpenter and struggled against the wall of Sentinels preventing him from coming down the street._

 _And it was here that Jervis caught sight of the outside in full, and saw his entire street in flames. People staggered out from their homes, coughing from smoke inhalation, and any attempts to put out the fires were immediately quashed by the Sentinels._

 _Lensherr finally broke past the Sentinels, and Carpenter turned to face the victor as he strode toward the Head Sentinel. In one swift motion, Carpenter raised his rifle and fired a single burst off into the air, causing the people around him to scream in fear and panic and rush away._

 _The meaning behind the Sentinel's actions quickly became clear, as a tide of people charged past Erik Lensherr in an attempt to escape from the gunfire, but the victor fought his way past them, his fury palpable even from where Jervis was standing._

" _They've done nothing wrong. You can't do this!" Lensherr cried over the screams as he came up to Carpenter, and was immediately knocked to the ground by the hulking Sentinel's rifle butt. He lay there, unmoving, though Jervis couldn't tell whether he was unconscious or merely stunned._

" _Take him back to the Victor's Village," Carpenter snarled to a pair of Sentinels. "And make sure he stays there. I don't want him interfering."_

 _The two Sentinels saluted, the firelight gleaming off of the polished surfaces of their blue and purple armor, and seized Erik Lensherr's prone form, dragging him away into the night._

 _Jervis seized the momentary confusion to charge towards his father, not dwelling on what he'd do when he got there but instead operating purely on animal instinct. Somehow, he knew that if he could only make it to his father, everything would work out okay. However, his hopes were dashed when a Sentinel stepped forward and caught hold of him._

" _Dad!" Jervis yelled, and his father's head snapped towards the sound of his son's voice, his eyes wide with fear._

" _Jervis, go home," his father told him, struggling against the Sentinels holding him. "I don't want you to see this."_

" _Dad!" Jervis yelled. "Come back. Come back!"_

" _JERVIS, GO!" his father roared, and Jervis shrank back against the wall as his father was dragged out into the night, absorbed by the darkness and the smoke and_

 _Jervis found himself trembling all over as he stood just outside the doorway to his home, unable to turn back and face his mother's body inside, and unable to leave his father to fend for himself against the Sentinels outside._

I'm sorry, dad, _he thought, struggling with himself before finally stepping out onto the street, his eyes watering as they filled with smoke, his lungs straining for air, moving in the direction his father had been dragged off in. They hadn't gotten far, and it didn't take long for Jervis to catch up with them. There was a green area only a couple of houses down from Jervis' – the children would play there after school if they didn't have work or homework – and that's where he found them. The Sentinels had spread out in a circle, surrounding three men who were kneeling on the ground, their hands on their heads._

 _Jervis' father was one of them._

 _He couldn't make out what was being said, but no sooner had he caught sight of them than Carpenter strode forward, placed the pistol in his hand to one of the other men's forehead, and pulled the trigger. Jervis jumped, and the third kneeling man suddenly got to his feet and began running, only for Carpenter's pistol to ring out once more, and the man toppled to the ground._

 _His father tried to stand up, but the Sentinel behind him kicked him in the back of his left knee, knocking him back down to his knees._

 _Carpenter raised his sidearm, the barrel of the gun nuzzling the side of Jervis' fathers' temple. The Head Sentinel's mouth moved, but the words were lost over the sounds of fire burning and people panicking as they tried to escape from it._

 _Jervis found himself running forward towards the ring of Sentinels, and his father. One of the Sentinels caught sight of him and stepped forward to restrain Jervis, holding him back with one arm. Jervis could only look on as Carpenter's gun's muzzle, aimed at his father's chest now, flashed once more, and the boy's ears rang with the sound of yet another gunshot._

 _He could hear someone screaming, and it took him a moment to realize the screams were his. His father's body slumped to the ground, and Jervis broke away from the Sentinel holding him, still screaming wordlessly._

 _He covered the distance to his father in a matter of seconds, his hands scrabbling for the source of the blood seeping through his father's shirt. He found it, and pressed down on the wound with both hands, trying to stop the flow of blood through sheer force of will._

" _My beamish boy," his father said weakly, as Jervis sobbed, pressing his face into his father's shirt as blood seeped through his fingers. He lightly tousled Jervis hair, and the boy raised his head and met his father's eyes. "My beamish boy…"_

 _And as Jervis looked on, the life drained out of his father's eyes, and his body went limp in the boy's arms._

 _Jervis pressed his head against his father's chest once more, tears falling freely._

 _He pulled his head away and leaned back on his heels, kneeling next to his father's body. He dried his eyes with the sleeve of his coat, and as he wiped them free of tears, he caught sight of a glint of gold in the dirt next to him, reflecting the light of the fires that burned around him._

 _His father's pocket watch._

 _Jervis reached out and curled his hand around the watch and picked it up off the ground, dirt trailing from his hand as he pulled it to his chest._

 _He knelt there, his heart breaking, until something registered in the back of his mind – a sound, a faint one, perhaps of someone calling his name. Or perhaps it was just his brain finally kicking in, operating on a subconscious level to let him know something was wrong._

Alice.

 _Jervis jumped to his feet, pocketing his father's watch as he only now remembered that he had left his little sister inside, still presumably asleep. Her ability to sleep through just about anything had become a long-running family joke. It was as if Alice's mind was in an entirely different world when she slept._

 _He ran through the smoke, ignoring the fire that blazed across the houses on the street, and charged through the open door._

 _Jervis had no sooner set foot upon the bottom stair when he caught sight of a small white sock poking out from between the banisters at the top of the stairs, and if his heart could fall further in that moment, it would have._

The smoke, _he thought, struck with sudden dread._ Oh god, no.

" _Alice!" Jervis yelled, his throat rasping as he braved the fire and the smoke and ran up the stairs, finding his sister lying flat on the floor, still in her pajamas. He shook her and called her name again, but his attempts to rouse Alice were unsuccessful. However, Jervis didn't really begin to panic until he checked for a pulse, and discovered that he was unable to find one._

 _With terror pulsing through him, Jervis picked Alice up in his arms without thinking, his eight-year old body struggling to half-carry, half-drag his little sister down the stairs._

 _He'd never be able to remember exactly how he managed it, but somehow Jervis was able to get her down the stairs and through the front door. The houses still burned, though the fire had spread even further now, and the street had filled with smoke._

" _No, Alice. Please, no," Jervis muttered feverishly, cradling his sister's head against his chest as he rocked back and forth on his heels. "I can't lose you too. Come back. Please come back to me. I can't lose you too."_

 _Jervis coughed, his lungs straining for oxygen in the smoke-filled air, and realized that he didn't know what to do. He didn't even know what he_ could _do._

" _Help me!" Jervis cried, his voice breaking as he wept. "Please! Someone help me!"_

 _But no one did._

* * *

 _A few days later, when the Sentinels had moved on and allowed the survivors of the fire to return to what was left of their homes, Jervis found himself stepping through the front door once more. This time, however, he knew exactly what he had to do._

 _Jervis' father's tools as well as large parts of the house remained mostly unscathed by the fire, a lucky stroke thanks entirely to it being the last house on the street, though the fabrics and materials were all beyond use. His father would have hated to see so much good material go to waste, but his father was past caring about such things now._

 _He pocketed the tools, having learned enough of the basics by his parents' sides to know how to use them. At the very least, he'd still have a trade, even if there was still so much left his parents still had to teach him. He'd have to teach himself, somehow._

 _The downstairs bathroom, however, was his true goal, and so he left it for last, collecting everything of value that he could find scattered throughout what remained of the house. There wasn't much, but Jervis didn't allow himself to be disheartened._

 _He deposited what little he had found by the main door, doing his best to ignore the large bloodstain in the far corner of the room, and made his way towards the bathroom._

 _The door had fallen in on itself, and the ceiling had partially collapsed, filling the room with debris. It took Jervis a few minutes just to fight his way inside, shifting as much of the mess as he could. The floor was buried beneath a decent coverage of burnt timber, and Jervis got to work shifting it to the side, uncovering the remains of the bathroom's floormat. With his heart in his mouth, he pulled the mat away, revealing the smoke-stained metal handle hiding beneath. He seized the handle and lifted upwards with a grunt, and forced the door upwards._

 _Beneath it lay the 'weapons' the Sentinels had been looking for, and their names were_ The Scarlet Letter _and_ The Interpretation of Dreams _and_ The Woman in White _and_ The Wizard of Oz _and_ Peter Pan _and two or three dozen others._

 _And at the top, its cover facing Jervis, lay_ Alice.

 _His father had tried selling a few of them, after keeping them hidden away for years, only a couple of days before the… before the fire. The items he sold were considered a luxury among the people of the district, and as the Capitol squeezed harder, they had less money to spend on things they didn't strictly need._

 _It had taken Jervis days to piece it together, but he could see how the Capitol would consider any kind of unsanctioned education a weapon dangerous enough to quash._

 _There were others, not just fairy tales and fiction…_ Paradise Lost _and_ The Republic _and_ Lord of the Flies _and_ Fahrenheit 451 _and_ We _and_ Common Sense…

 _And so, his father had made a fatal error, and he died without ever knowing._

 _Grief washed over Jervis as he stared down at the trove of contraband, his vision blurring. And with a fire in his throat, he reached into his pocket and drew out his father's watch, clumsily fumbling at the clasp. It took a few seconds for him to open it, and he stared at it for a moment, his face flitting from one emotion to the next._

 _The glass face of the watch was shattered, its hands stuck in place from the moment it hit the ground after falling from Jervis' father's pocket._

 _He held it up to his ear, and even over the screaming and the roar of the fire, he could hear it ticking away in vain, stuck forever more at two minutes to twelve._

 _Teatime._

 _And in that moment, time stopped for Jervis Tetch._

 _Unable to face reality, he turned instead to fiction, and clad himself in a story he could bear the weight of, for his own had become so very, very heavy._

 _Jervis picked up the book staring up at him and rested it on his knees as he opened it with his free hand, the other still clasped around his father's watch. He flipped it open to the first page and stared at it for a moment, his face continuing its journey through every imaginable emotion._

 _And then he smiled – a sick, broken smile – and began to speak._

"Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, 'and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice, 'without pictures or conversations?'"

* * *

Jervis waited in the little room in the Justice Building for the full allotted visiting time, alone, until the Sentinels finally came to take him away.

"Sure there's not going to be any last-minute appearances, kid?" one of the Sentinels asked kindly, but Jervis only stared at him blankly, before finally shaking his head.

They brought him out, and Jervis blinked in the sunlight as autonomous camera drones swarmed around him, capturing footage of District Nine's new tribute as he made his way from the steps of the Justice Building to the nearby train station, where his mentors and district partner were waiting.

Erik Lensherr nodded at Jervis as the boy walked up, and Jervis tipped his hat to him, taking his place beside Rachel as the train's doors opened before them.

"And down the rabbit hole we go," Jervis murmured to himself, and stepped off the platform and onto the train.


	14. Chapter 13: Innocents Lost

**(A/N): And we're back with our Friday update! Phew, we're just sailing through these Reaping chapters, aren't we? It's so fun to get to meet all the players involved! This chapter features both a new face and a familiar one. We're introducing tvfan69 here, who is absolutely wonderful and who we're so excited to have in the collab. And this chapter also features abrokencastiel, who wrote the Joker earlier for District Eight (and Peter Parker in ITEYAK), so she's here to show off her insane multi-character talents here again!**

 **Thank you to all our authors who reviewed not only the last chapter but the older ones. This cast is turning out wonderfully, and we're so excited! Thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for your review. (Probably your review got slightly cut off because this site considers Dick Grayon's first name to be a swear word lol.) But we're glad you're enjoying it ... and we, too, are still wrapping our head around the Jack and Spidey thing! :D**

 **Without any further ado, let us introduce you to our District Ten tributes...**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen - Innocents Lost**

 **Written by tvfan69 and abrokencastiel**

* * *

 **Jade Nguyen of District Ten**

 **Written by tvfan69**

* * *

 _F.E.A.R has two meanings._

 _Forget Everything And Run._

 _Or_

 _Face Everything And Rise._

 _The choice is yours._

 _-Unknown_

* * *

Charles Xavier, or "Professor X", as he had been nicknamed due to his calculative approach to nearly everything in life, pressed his mouth into a firm line as he reviewed his home's security footage for what was probably the thousandth time. Having been the victor of his run in the Avenger Games, long ago as that was, had allowed him some luxuries that very few people in District Ten could ever afford. Security cameras and other measures surrounding his home were one of these, and unfortunately, they sometimes invited unwanted attention.

Two nights ago, he had been robbed, the thieves having been smart enough to pull the job whilst he was away at the final preparation meeting concerning the upcoming Games. They didn't take much, which had tipped his curiosity. After all, if you are going to rob somebody in the dead of night when they aren't even home to catch you, why would you only take the money from the safe and nothing else? Still, that hadn't been too out of the ordinary, as it could be understandable enough that the thief was simply worried about getting caught and wanted to get in and out of the house as quickly as possible. But when Charles decided to go through the security video, just on the off chance something of more value had been taken without him noticing, that was when things got interesting.

The thief himself was almost exactly what Charles had been expecting to see, so much in fact that it was almost laughable. He was a tall and bulkily built man dressed from head to toe in dark clothes with a hockey mask secured over his face in order to preserve his identity. But his partner, his partner was the one who intrigued Charles. She was tall like the man, not quite to his height, but still tall. Like him, she was also dressed in dark clothing but with exposed arms that intrigued him because, like her face mask, they had been painted with stripes. These stripes were part of the reason that Charles almost missed her presence in the videos, the second part being that she appeared to only be acting as a lookout.

A lookout who was able to avoid most of the cameras.

Of course, the reason Charles even knew that he had been robbed in the first place was because his home alarm had sounded whilst he was gone, but the alarm was motion activated. So it was now, not for the first time either, that Charles watched the tape and how the thief began to raid his home for more items of value before accidentally tripping a motion sensor, while his partner had spent the past twenty minutes walking the perimeter and managing to avoid every single one. Naturally, Charles had sent this tape to his friends in the Capitol, knowing that their facial recognition technology may not be able to reveal the thief's identity; but if they could just isolate one of the few clear frames of the girl, she could at least be identified. Sure enough, she was, but he asked that no action be taken against her.

"I know that tape takes your mind off of it." It was the voice of Hank McCoy, one of his oldest friends and fellow District Ten victor, entering the study that brought Charles out of his thoughts. "But it's time; you have to select someone." He spoke with a heavy voice; he knew how opposed Charles was to the tradition of the barbaric Avenger Games, and the idea of being the one to select this year's tribute had come with the feeling of a death sentence — and not only for the unfortunate tribute. So of course, he had made it a point to stop by this morning before he would have to head off to his own endeavors; he needed to know how Charles was handling it.

"I know," Charles confirmed, wheeling himself around to face his friend.

* * *

Meanwhile, on the other side of District Ten, Jade Nguyen's day was already off to a rough start. Not that there was ever a day that didn't start off rough in the Crock household, but this one was looking to be worse than usual.

No one had slept the previous night, thanks to Artemis. The tan-skinned blonde was twelve years old now, and with the yearly Reaping drawing nearer and nearer, she had been suffering from endless nightmares about being selected and dying in the Games. For the most part, she had been able to handle them quietly, but last night, she awoke with a scream so loud that it drew the attention of her and Jade's father. Lawrence Crock, a butcher known for having no hesitations about slaughtering his own meat, was pissed to say the least that his nearly teenage daughter had woken up the entire house with what he deemed to be a childish nightmare. Jade, who slept in the bed across from her sister, knew better by now at the age of sixteen than to speak up against her father, and so she merely rolled over and listened as her father roared into the face of his youngest daughter as she sobbed.

 _Big mistake,_ she had thought to herself, in regards to Artemis's tears of course, not her father's less than nurturing way of dealing with them.

Sure enough, the tell-tale sound of skin smacking harshly against skin rang out until Artemis's sobs were reduced to mere whimpers, and then once more after, before Lawrence finally slammed the door and returned to his own bed. Needless to say, Jade spent the rest of the night with a weeping pre-teen latched to her side, and she was not happy about it.

When she awoke, not that she had slept much to begin with, she left Artemis in her bed and quickly changed into her clothes for the morning. Those clothes did not consist of much; just the barely holding together sneakers that she had been wearing for over a year now, jeans that she'd been wearing for two, and a dark green tank top that had once been far too loose on her but now clung perfectly to the curves of her mature figure. She was even quicker to tie back her hair, not even attempting to brush through its unmanageable mess of knots and snarls. Once she was done, she made her way out into the hall and then to the small living room of their family's one-story house where her mother was lying on the couch, wide awake as always.

"How'd you sleep, Mom?" Jade asked with a fake smile plastered onto her face. Paula turned her head and matched it.

"I slept alright," she lied before her face fell. "Is Artemis ok?" she asked, and she was so sincere in it that Jade found herself laughing and waving it off as if the question were nothing.

"She's fine; don't worry about her," she said, but Paula appeared to be far from reassured. It wasn't Artemis's nightmares that had her worried, Jade could tell; it was the way that Lawrence handled them.

But the thing was that Paula had never before worried so much over her husband's treatment of her and their daughters. She couldn't bring herself to. She had loved him once, and for years now, she had been in love with the memory of the man that he used to be, before his temper got the better of him. Jade had figured most of this out by the age of thirteen, and so she had been waiting ever since for her mother to stop living in the past and open her eyes to their family's horrible reality. But now, now that she was sick and paralyzed from the waist down because of her sickness, it was finally happening, and Jade almost wished it wasn't. She knew what her mother seeing the light under such circumstances truly meant, but she would never dare say it out loud.

"Come on, Mom, let's get you cleaned up," the raven-haired girl finally said in the soft voice that she only ever used with her mother, and occasionally Artemis. She went to help her mother sit up, but the older woman shook her head.

"No, you and your sister need to get ready," she insisted,

"Which we will," Jade promised. "After you're set for the morning and Artemis wakes up," she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Once she had helped her mother in the bathroom, made a quick breakfast for everyone, and gotten her mother dressed then returned to the couch, Jade went off to get herself ready. They were supposed to look nice for the Reaping, but the further down you go in the districts, the less "nice" nice becomes. Jade simply ended up putting on her old kimono; it was green, and the skirt of it now ended high above her knees, but not so high that she couldn't wear it. She couldn't do anything about her shoes, nor could she do anything about her hair. So once she had deemed herself ready, she went to round up Artemis, who was dressed rather similarly, and the two of them headed out for the Reaping.

"Do you think it's gonna be me?" Artemis practically blurted the instant that they were out the door, and just barely out of earshot from their father.

"No," Jade replied quickly. "You'll be fine."

"Since when are you an optimist?" It wasn't Artemis's voice that questioned her, but rather that of a boy with short red hair and a seemingly permanent scowl set on his face.

Falling to step beside Jade was none other than Roy Harper the II, apprentice to one of the district's wealthier plantation owners and pain in Jade's ass since childhood.

"Red, you clean up nice." She greeted him dryly, using the nickname that she had given him in honor of his fiery hair, and temper, not long after they met in elementary school.

Roy scowled at the nickname, but made no attempts to correct his friend/adversary. He and Jade had always had a rather complicated relationship. It all started when he pushed her down when they were merely seven years old; his bratty little boy's mind never dreamed she would retaliate by punching him out. After that, they spent their lives trying to always one-up each other, and somehow, that had turned into what had to be one of the world's weirdest friendships.

"I'm surprised you're showing up at all, Chesh," he retorted. Around the age of ten Jade had begun experimenting with makeup, as most girls do, but Jade has never been like most girls. One night, when he was making his way home from his apprenticeship, he passed through the forest and of all people ran into her testing the capabilities makeup had as camouflage. She had painted herself from head-to-toe in strips that when combined with her signature grin of mischief reminded him immediately of the Cheshire cat; she'd had the nickname ever since.

"Thought about running away, can't seem to figure out why I don't," she replied, her voice only half joking, and Roy sighed as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of the nice suit he had borrowed from his boss.

"You and me both," he murmured in agreement but had no time to say more.

They had arrived at the town square.

"Come on," Jade said in a firm but low voice as she nudged her sister along and brought her to the line for the newest potential tributes, or potential sacrifices as she and Roy liked to say, to wait and have their fingers pricked.

After leaving Artemis, who despite the weeks of nightmares was fairly calm about the whole ordeal, Jade and Roy separated to their own lines. It didn't take long for the ceremony to begin.

It started off as usual; the mini history documentary playing, the mayor stepping up and giving a speech, everyone acting like this was the most OK thing in the world to be doing. The entire time, Jade couldn't help her eyes wandering to "Professor X". Lawrence had brought her along with him a few nights ago to rob the former victor's mansion. Due to the victors meeting, her father's usual accomplice was busy pulling his own job that night, and he had already forced her onto some low-level jobs already anyway.

Now, she wasn't exactly a fan of her father's plans for her future, but it was stuff that she could easily handle. Yet Xavier was giving her an uneasy feeling. She didn't, however, have time to dwell on it right now. The mayor's speech ended, and he handed the microphone over to Mr. Jameson, the man from the Capitol who any other year would reach into the fishbowl and select this year's sacrifices.

"Hello," he began in an authoritative voice, not that his mere presence at the front of the stage hadn't already silenced everyone. He then went on to give a very brief, and not very explanatory, speech about the change being made to the way tributes were selected this year. They had decided to have past victors hand-select this year's sacrifices as opposed to doing it randomly.

Once he was done, he handed the microphone over to Professor X, and although she knew it was needless, Jade couldn't help the knot that formed in the pit of her stomach. It grew even tighter as the wheelchair-bound man took his position at the front of the stage, but she forced herself to calm down. After all, there was no way that he knew she was involved with the robbery of his house.

"Hello," he said; everyone immediately silenced. "I know how anxious you all are for this to be over, so I am going to cut right to the point. When this change to the process was decided, I was given a list of names of every young woman who would be eligible for the Games this year, and after very careful consideration, I have made my choice. The young lady who will be representing District Ten this year will be… Jade Crock."

 _Oh Shit,_ Jade thought. _He did know._

They were about to call her name again, something she did not want to hear, so she stood up taller and started to move. Through the crowd, she could see Artemis looking back at her, so many rows ahead of her, and as she moved towards the stage, she shot her little sister a glare that warned her to stay put.

"Jade Crock?" Jameson asked when she made it onto the stage.

"Nguyen," she said, earning a very confused look from the rather distinguished man. "My last name is Nguyen," she continued to insist, and Jameson could only look to Xavier for an answer.

Xavier, surprisingly, smirked in what Jade was sure was amusement. "On the form, her name is hyphenated," he explained, which Jade knew was a bald-faced lie. "But this is the one," he assured Jameson. "Jade Nguyen."

Jameson looked back and forth between the two once again and then once more. But in the end, he shrugged in acceptance of the story.

"Jade Nguyen!" he declared, and there was applause from the audience, from all but Artemis and Roy, and then they moved onto the boys.

* * *

She was brought into the backroom of the local courthouse immediately following the Reaping. Tradition stated that this was when her loved ones could come and say goodbye, but Lawrence had been preparing to take off for a job when she left the house, and her mother sure as hell wasn't going to be coming. She doubted that Artemis would have any idea as to where to go and instead would just go home and cry to their mother. But much to her surprise, the doors to the room opened after only a minute, allowing Roy and Artemis to be ushered in.

Artemis practically flew into her older sister's arms, and while Jade did return the hug, her eyes were focused on Roy. But he wasn't saying anything, not yet, and Artemis was sniffling louder by the minute.

"Hey," Jade finally said and looked down at her sister, an action she followed by pulling away from their hug and crouching down so that they could be eye to eye. "Hey, listen to me," she requested. "I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself. But so are you. Dad is only going to hurt you more with me gone, so I need you to stay out of that house as much as possible."

"Where will I go?" Artemis asked in a tearful and small voice.

Jade had no answer for the question; if she did, she would have gotten herself out of that house years ago.

"With me." Roy's voice was firm and enough to get both girls looking at him. "They're looking for more help at the plantation, boys and girls. It's long hours but…" He trailed off, not wanting to be the one to say that the longer the hours, the better for Artemis.

Jade nodded her thanks before she turned back to her sister. "You're going to be fine," she assured the young girl, who responded by launching into another hug.

Jade returned the hug tightly before she more or less forced Artemis off of her so that she could stand up.

"Red," she said in a gentle voice, a voice that she had never before used with him, and he glared at her with one of his hardest looks.

"I need you to promise me, Chesh, that when you're out there, you'll do to every bastard who tries to hurt you what you did to me when we met," he said in a deadly serious voice. "Whatever they throw at you, get up and hit them back harder."

Jade gulped but nodded,

"I promise," she said before walking forward and hugging her oldest, and frankly only, friend.

He hugged her back, despite how far this was from either of their comfort zones. It wasn't nearly long enough that they stood there in each other's embrace, Artemis eventually coming and locking her skinny arms around Jade's waist. But eventually, the guards came and announced that it was time to go.

"Come on, Artemis," Roy said, ushering the younger girl to go with him so that they could avoid being physically dragged out.

As they walked out, he stole one last glance at Jade, and for the first time in his life, he noticed how broken she looked.

* * *

 **Garfield Logan of District Ten**

 **Written by abrokencastiel**

* * *

" _Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don't resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like."_  
― Lao Tzu

* * *

The rising sun cast a red glow along the horizon and highlighted the morning dew on the grass. The pastures of District Ten were beginning to fill with the herds of animals ranging from sheep and goats to varying types of cattle, though the main streets of the district remained quiet. Garfield Logan savored the picturesque view from his perch atop one of the dairy cows in the pasture. The tawny animal's bell tinkled softly as she worked at eating the grass.

"Why did you have to wake me up so early, Jill? Couldn't you have at least let me sleep in a little bit today?" His voice was oddly raspy for a boy so young, a remnant of the Sakutia sickness he'd contracted seven years ago. He let himself fall backward so he was lying along her spine, his head resting on her rump. All around him, the herd tore gently at the greenery. The peaceful environment threatened to lull him to sleep. The occasionally rocking step of Jill didn't help.

A titmouse started cheerfully chirping in the misty morning from the edge of a grove of shade trees. Gar listened for a moment to the quick _peter-peter-peter-peter_ cry before answering back with a perfectly-tuned imitation. He grinned when the bird returned the call. The two maintained a conversation for a few minutes until the song bird gave a loud warning cry and flew away. The source of its fear, a feral tomcat, slunk past without a second glance as it made its morning rounds.

The sounds of the waking district reached him across the field. Reaping Day always gave the majority of citizens a late morning with a reduced workforce to care for the livestock in the first shift. Since Gar slept in the barns anyway, he always volunteered to help with the animals on the "holiday". It wasn't a huge help, but at least one more person could stay home with their family. The boy sighed and let his eyes drift closed. "I'm going to have to go in pretty soon."

The cow huffed and shook her head with a loud clanging of her bell.

"Hey, don't get all upset at me! I'd totally stay here if I wouldn't get in trouble. I tried to skip last year, and Rita dragged me there by my ear." He rubbed one of his rather large ears at the memory. "So not cool, dude."

"Garfield!" a man called out from a relatively close distance.

The tan boy groaned and squeezed his eyes tighter. "Play it cool, Jill. If we ignore him, he might go away."

"I know you can hear me, Gar. It's time to get ready for the Reaping."

He cracked a green eye open and looked up at the man now standing next to him. "Aw, come on Stevie! Five more minutes? Please?"

"No can do. Rita sent me on a mission to get you, and I never quit a job." Steven Dayton rubbed a spot behind Jill's ear that made the cow happily lean into his hand.

Gar sighed in annoyance, but rolled off the cow's back and to his feet all the same. "Fiiiiiiine." He slipped around to Jill's head and placed a hand on each of her tawny cheeks. "Save some good grass for me, 'kay?"

The cow lowed softly in response. Her kind brown eyes looked into his trustingly.

He returned the quiet moo as he pressed his forehead to hers. "Don't worry. I'll be back soon."

Steve led the way back toward the main buildings. Gar shuffled his feet at first, but when a patch of dandelions caught his eye, he brightened. A quick yank pulled them up in one swift motion, and he jogged to catch up with his friend. "Why do I even need to go in so early? The Reaping isn't for _hours_ ," he complained as he started chewing on one of the stalks.

The man laughed with a sideways glance at the boy. "When's the last time you saw yourself in the mirror?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gar stretched out his dirt-covered arms to examine them. "I don't see anything wrong."

"That's exactly why you need to come to our house. You need to look at least semi-presentable."

The blossom of the dandelion disappeared into his mouth, and he replaced it with a new one. "Whatever, dude. You didn't make me do this last year."

"Last year, Rita didn't see the state you were in until it was too late." Steve ruffled Gar's red hair when he noticed the sour expression. "I'll tell you what, you can argue with her all you want once we get to the house."

* * *

 _Gar didn't remember much about his parents, aside from the constant smell of hay that accompanied them. He remembered their names, and he thought he remembered their voices, but their faces remained distant. They appeared as friendly, blurry blobs most of the time._

 _The fire crackled in the small living room where Marie Logan was sitting on the threadbare rug with her young son._

" _What does a chicken say?" she asked._

 _Three-year-old Garfield clucked and strutted in a small circle with his elbows stuck out like wings._

" _That's right!" She laughed and wrapped him in a hug. "My little chicken."_

 _He gave her a frown and pulled back. "Notta chicken."_

" _You're not?" she asked with a bemused smile._

" _Nuh-uh. I'mma rooster!" He puffed out his chest and crowed loudly._

" _Of course you are." She gave a light pinch to his nose._

" _Why was there a rooster crowing this late at night?" Mark Logan entered the house and dropped his bag to the floor with a clatter as Gar ran to his father._

" _It wasn't a rooster, it was me!" The boy grinned, gripping his father's pant leg in both fists._

 _Mark took on a shocked expression. "It was? Well, you certainly fooled me!" He spun the boy through the air with a loud laugh._

" _Higher! Higher!" Gar squealed in delight as Mark complied._

" _Be careful," Marie warned. "Don't scare him."_

" _He's not scared, are you, Gar? You're not scared of anything."_

 _Garfield laughed in response as he sailed through the air._

* * *

The brown-haired woman stood with crossed arms as she took in the state of the wild boy. "I can't believe no one forces you to take a bath in that barn." Rita shot a look at her husband, who raised his hands in self-defense.

"Everyone offers, but he always refuses. You know how hard it is to get him to even come over here every couple of months."

"You live too far in the city," Gar defended. "I'd just get dirty again walking all the way back to the barn."

She shook her head as she tried to finger comb out a few tangles from the thirteen-year-old's hair. "I swear, this year, I'm going to tame you." It was hard to tell if she was referring to Gar or his curls.

"You two have fun! I've got to get back to help set up the square. Mayoral duties and all that." Steve quickly ducked out before he could be recruited into helping scrub the boy down. Gar watched him go with more than a tad of jealousy.

"Alright, to the bath with you!" Rita chased him down the hall while tickling his sides.

The boy quickly shed his clothes and jumped into the waiting tub. The warmth seeped into his skin and made him sigh in happiness. "If they offered me baths like this, I might actually go to someone's house. But everyone else just uses troughs. I have those in the barn."

"They don't use troughs; they use wooden tubs," Rita corrected as she rolled up her sleeves and poured smelly shampoo into her hand. "Steven and I are lucky to be able to live like we do."

Gar frowned and picked at his fingernails while Rita roughly began cleaning the caked-in mud from his hair. Steve had been elected as the new mayor the past year, which explained why he was so intent on making Gar decent. He wanted to make a good first impression with the Capitol. "How's Steve liking his new job? I don't get to see him in the pastures as much."

"It's hard work, but I think he's enjoying it. He believes he can really do some good." She rinsed the suds, shielding his eyes with her hand. "We'll see how he feels after today's over." She sat back on her heels and frowned at his sopping curls. "I'm going to have to scrub that mess at least three more times."

Gar folded his arms over his knees and plopped his chin on top, knowing full well he was in for the long-haul whether he wanted to be or not.

* * *

 ** _The barn echoed with the sad baaing of the ewe while Gar waited for his father to come back. The sound was punctuated with Gar's sniffles as he angrily wiped away the few tears that leaked down his cheeks._**

" _Stupid," he mumbled with a kick at the dirt floor. His gaze kept wandering over to the small white body wrapped in a cotton vest. The dead lamb hadn't looked sick to Gar when it was born not fifteen minutes ago. He couldn't understand why it never took a breath._

 _Footsteps announced his father's return. He carried a different lamb in his strong arms. "Gar, are you ready to help me?"_

 _The five-year-old nodded and hurried to take the new lamb in his arms. The small creature bleated feebly and squirmed, but the boy held on tight._

 _Mark removed the cotton vest from the dead lamb and helped Gar put it on the live one. "Do you know why we're doing this?" he asked._

 _Gar scrunched up his face as he tried to remember how his dad had explained it before. "It makes the new lamb smell like the old one. So that the ewe will let her nurse, right?"_

" _Right." Mark carried the newly-clothed lamb into the lonely ewe's stall and carefully settled it on a cushion of hay._

 _It reminded the boy of the Changeling fairy tale where the monster took the place of naughty boys and girls, tricking their parents into thinking it was the missing child. A sudden fear gripped the boy that this was all a trick, but he shook off the idea. His father wasn't working for monsters. There had to be a different reason the lamb hadn't survived. Gar looked over at the dead animal, now hidden in a burlap sack. "Papa, why did her baby die?"_

 _Mark gave him a sad smile as he picked his son up in his arms. "There isn't always a rhyme or reason why. Sometimes terrible things happen, and there's nothing that we can do. You'll need to understand that if you're going to help me with the animals." He shut the stall door and stepped back to give the sheep some privacy._

" _But it's not fair." Gar latched his arms around his father's neck and frowned at the unsatisfying answer._

" _Maybe not. Life isn't always fair, but that doesn't mean good things can't come from it. You have to look for the opportunity to make it better and brighter. Look here, Gar." He directed the boy's gaze to the ewe curiously sniffing the lamb. "That little lamb had two sisters. Her momma wouldn't have been able to take care of all three of them. But if all goes well, this will be her new momma, and she'll grow up strong and healthy."_

 _The ewe bleated and nudged the lamb encouragingly until she got to her unsteady feet. The baby wobbled over to nurse with a happily wagging tail. Garfield smiled and laid his head on Mark's chest. "I guess that's good, then."_

 _They watched the new family for a couple moments before Gar broke the silence again. "Can I name her? The baby?"_

" _Sure," his father chuckled. "What are you thinking?"_

" _Lamb," he asserted without hesitation._

" _Lamb?"_

 _Gar nodded adamantly. "Yes. It's a good name, right?"_

 _Mark ruffled his son's hair. "That it is."_

* * *

Two baths, a shopping trip, and a quick lunch later, the pasture boy had transformed into a civilized citizen. By looks, at least. The accumulated mud and dust had been scrubbed away to reveal his tanned skin and a multitude of freckles. His worn clothes had been termed "unredeemable" by Rita and disposed of. Instead, he wore a new pair of black pants, a sharp purple shirt, and a white tie. All in all, he felt incredibly uncomfortable. The only thing that remained relatively normal, albeit cleaner, was his untameable hair.

"There," Rita said with a smile as she looked him over. "Don't you look handsome?"

"I feel like I'm being lassoed." Gar scrunched his nose and pulled at the tie around his neck. "And do I have to wear shoes? They make my feet feel heavy."

Her green eyes crinkled with her smile. "It's just for an hour or so. Afterward, I'll make you a wonderful dinner. All your favorite veggies and fruits."

"Really?" He perked up instantly.

"Really. Now come on. We don't want to be late." She took his hand and led him outside.

The Dayton house was a block away from the town hall. It took only a few moments for them to reach the busy district center where the mass of people filling the square made Gar shrink against Rita's side. The woman squeezed his hand reassuringly as she led him to the sign-in, where his finger was pricked and his name was added to the pool of possible tributes.

"I have to join Steven on stage. You remember where to go from last year?"

Gar drew himself up to his full four-foot-nine-inches. "Totally." He walked with confidence to the second line of boys that were mostly taller than him and took a spot on the end where he felt less trapped. Most of his peers openly stared at him. No doubt they couldn't recognize him in his clean state. Or maybe it was because he had long ago refused to go to school and they didn't remember his existence. Gar didn't recognize any of them, either, so he wasn't offended in the least.

His bright green eyes travelled to the front stage, where Rita had taken a seat next to her husband. The two victors of the district, Hank McCoy and Charles Xavier, sat on her right. The weird guy from the Capitol also sat on the stage, angrily staring out at the corralled children. His appearance, completed with a brown pinstripe suit, reminded Gar of something, but he couldn't quite pin down what it was.

"That's going to bug me," he mumbled to himself as the Capitol video began to play. _What is it? A goat? No, not that. Something like a possum? Not even close._ He continued to run through his options as the video ended and Mayor Dayton stepped up to the mic.

"Welcome, citizens of District Ten."

That was as far as Gar made it into Steve's speech before he zoned out again. He subconsciously reached up and loosened his tie. _Screech owl? Closer._

The Capitolite in question, John Jonah Jameson, Jr., was talking now. He ran through his speech quickly and jerked his head to signal Xavier to roll up and make his choice. The girl the victor called up, Jade something, joined the group on-stage and was introduced. The boy didn't pay much attention. He didn't know the older girl, and there was more pressing matters, like the animal identity of Jameson.

The second victor stood and crossed the stage when Jameson beckoned him forward. Gar had met the man seven years ago, but he could barely recall the meeting. McCoy probably didn't remember him at all. The escort bobbed his head encouragingly as the tall man leaned into the microphone and adjusted his glasses.

"A roadrunner!" Gar quietly proclaimed, suddenly realizing what Jameson reminded him of. The boy next to him shot a confused glance his way, but Gar was too pleased with his realization to care.

"Garfield Logan."

The announcement caught Gar off-guard. At first, he thought he was getting reprimanded for not paying attention. But then he saw the stricken faces of the Daytons and realized what had just happened. He'd been chosen. Not just randomly Reaped, but actually picked out of all the available tributes. He could practically hear the sighs of relief from the boys, not to mention the families, around him.

He gave a little jump and tripped over his shoes as he scrambled to the stage. He slid to a stop next to McCoy, wishing he had paid more attention to how Jade acted so he would know what to do. He looked wide-eyed between McCoy, the Daytons, and the crowd before giving them a smile and simple "Hi."

"Garfield?" the escort asked. "Any weird other name I need to know?"

Gar scratched his head. "Umm, no. Not really."

"Perfect." Jameson clapped a strong hand on Gar's shoulder, making the boy wince slightly, and motioned for Jade to join them. "Say hello to your Quarter Quell tributes! Garfield and Jade."

* * *

 _The bedroom was dark. Outside, Gar could hear the quiet chirping of crickets. A bit of candlelight slipped through the cracked door and gave a gray outline to his surroundings. It was usually only on special days, like his birthday, that he was allowed to sleep in his parents' room, but since he'd gotten sick, he'd been allowed to use the good bed instead of his little cot._

 _His mother slept next to him on her side, one arm a semi-circle above his head while her other rested limply between them. She was shivering despite the heat that radiated from her skin. For his part, his head pounded, and his chest ached. And he was hot. So, so hot. All he wanted was a drink of water, but he didn't have the strength to move._

" _Mom?" Marie didn't move from where she shallowly breathed beside him. A barking cough sapped what little energy he'd mustered to call out, and panicked tears began to well in his eyes._

" _Shhh, shhh, it's alright, it's alright." His father's shape appeared at his side, and a cool towel was placed on his forehead. "Can you take a drink for me?"_

 _Gar managed a small nod and struggled to sit up, with little success._

 _Mark supported his son's head and neck with one hand while holding a glass for him to sip from with the other. "Slowly. There. Feel better?"_

" _Mmm-hmm." Gar gave him a small smile._

" _Good." Mark reached over and gently brushed the sweat-soaked hair away from his wife's face. A harsh cough escaped him and made him lean heavily on the mattress for support. As spasms shook his body, he slid to the ground and rested his back against the bed. "I'm going to rest here for a little bit, okay? Then I'll go get you some more medicine." His voice was weak and rough compared to its usual strength. Gar reached out a hand, and Mark took it comfortingly. "It's going to be alright, Gar."_

 _Over the next week, he occasionally awoke to his father giving him medicine or offering water. Each instance seemed dreamlike, and he immediately fell back into unconsciousness without registering what was really happening._

 _The next time he was fully aware, early morning lit his window. The bed was cold where his mother had been, and his father had disappeared as well. He coughed and forced himself to sit up and look around._

" _Mom? Papa?" He slipped off the bed and stood unsteadily on his feet. The house was silent as he staggered toward the door. Before he could quite reach it, the door opened, and a tall man entered. The stranger looked just as surprised at seeing Gar as Gar did seeing him. The boy stumbled to a stop and placed a hand on the wall to keep upright. "Who are you?"_

" _Calm down, it's okay." The dark-haired man slid his glasses up on top of his head and gave him a small smile. "Your name's Garfield, right?"_

 _Gar nodded as the stranger squatted to his eye level._

" _My name's Hank McCoy. I'm a doctor." He led Gar back to his bed and sat him down. He gently placed a hand on the boy's forehead. "Feels like your fever's breaking. That's very encouraging. You had me very worried for a while," he mumbled almost to himself. He pulled out a stethoscope and listened intently to Gar's chest. "Breathe in for me."_

 _Gar complied as best he could. "Are you going to fix me? Like Papa does the animals?"_

" _I'm certainly going to try to make you well. Breathe in again."_

" _What about_ —" _His question was cut off by a raucous cough._

 _McCoy frowned at the noise. "You should rest. Are you hungry?"_

 _Gar nodded and slid back under the covers, already exhausted from the short exchange._

" _Of course you are. You've been asleep for a very long time."_

" _What about Mom and Papa?" the six-year-old asked as the man stood._

 _Blue eyes avoided the boy's green ones as McCoy looped his stethoscope back around his neck and stood. "They didn't_ —" _He hesitated and tried again. "I couldn't help them. I'm so sorry, Garfield, but they weren't strong enough. They died a couple days ago."_

" _Oh."_

 _McCoy look like he wanted to say something else, but after a few moments, he gave the child a sad glance and quietly left the room. If Gar had been stronger, he might have gotten angry or cried loudly or refused to accept what he'd been told, but all he could manage at that moment was to quietly hiccup as tears streamed down his face._

* * *

Before Gar knew it, he was ushered into a room of the courthouse. It only took a few moments before Rita and Steven rushed into the room. She immediately pulled him into a tight hug.

"Hey," Gar said weakly.

The mayor's wife craned her head to look at her husband, maintaining her tight grip on the boy. "What does that McCoy think he's doing, picking Garfield for the Games? Can't you do something? Anything?"

The man ran a hand through his greying brown hair. "My hands are tied, Rita. It's the victor's choice."

"You're the mayor, Steven." She was using the no-nonsense voice that made Gar wince. "You must have some say. He's just a little kid!"

"Honey, please. There must have been a reason." Steve looked suddenly tired and older than Gar remembered him ever looking.

"A reason?!" Rita looked like she was about to argue more when Gar cut her off.

"It's okay! Really!" he said as he escaped from the embrace. "It makes sense. The only one I've got waiting for me is Jill, and she'll understand." He frowned for a second in thought. "Do you think someone will be able to bring her over to see me before I have to leave?"

His question was met with stares.

"You're right," he continued, his voice cracking. "It's probably best not to ruin her day."

"Oh, Garfield." Rita laid a gentle hand on his arm.

His eyes were feeling wet, and he wiped at them quickly with the back of his hand. "She found a really good patch of grass this morning, and if she came to visit me, one of the other girls might move in on her spot."

He was pulled into another hug as the tears streamed down his face. Rita's hand ran comfortingly over his messy hair as she softly consoled him. "It's alright, it's alright. Let it out. You're okay."

They stayed that way for a long time. Gar sobbed loudly and clung to Rita with white-knuckled fingers. When he finally calmed down, his cheeks were hot, and his eyes felt heavy. "Sorry about your dress," he hiccuped with an apologetic smile.

"I never liked this thing anyway." She gave him a small smile through her own tears.

Gar giggled and looked around to find that Steve had disappeared. "Guess we got a little too mushy for him. He's probably too manly for this sort of thing, right?"

Rita let out a small chuckle and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "I'll be sure to give him a hard time." She knelt to look him in the eye, her voice turning serious. "Gar, I want you to know that Steve and I love you. Don't forget that. Others will love you, too. You will find so many friends that will help you as long as you be yourself." She tapped him on the forehead for emphasis.

"I hope you're right. I can't remember the last time I made human friends." He smiled widely. "Keep an eye out for me on the TV, 'kay?"

"Of course." Rita gave him a tight hug and a kiss on the forehead. Suddenly, an out-of-breath Steve rushed through the door.

Gar spread his arms with a grin. "Stevie! I thought you weren't going to say good-bye."

"You needed a token," he said as he regained his composure and straightened his askew suit. "Jill wasn't very happy with me giving her tail a trim, just so you know." He held up a braided bracelet that Gar instantly grabbed.

"No way." He took an experimental sniff, and his face lit up. "It smells just like her! Now I can take Jill with me everywhere."

"That's the idea." Steve ruffled Gar's hair. "Don't lose it. I don't think she'll let me close enough to make another for a very long time."

"I won't," Gar promised as he happily tied the bracelet to his wrist. "Best. Present. Ever!"

A Sentinel opened the door and gave a respectful nod to the mayor. "I'm sorry, sir, but time's up"

Rita squeezed Gar's hand. "We'll be waiting for you when you get back, alright?"

"Man, I'm going to have so many stories to tell you. Just think of all the cool Capitol animals I'm going to meet." The boy pulled them into one last group hug. "For the record, if I was going to have new parents, I'd want them to be just like you. I won't forget anything you guys did for me. I promise."

The Sentinel cleared her throat. Steve glanced back at her, and a sudden thought struck him. "Greer Nelson. You need to find her once you get to the Capitol. She was appointed the replacement Head Sentinel after the criminal was broken out to volunteer last year. She provides training during the Games. Find her and tell her who you are. She'll help teach you how to fight," he quickly explained.

"Got it." Gar nodded with a serious expression, tucking the name into his mind.

Steve gave his shoulder one last squeeze before taking his wife's hand and leading her toward the door. Rita's fingers trailed through Gar's as she left, both of them hanging on until the last possible second.

The door closed, and he took a slow, deep breath. "It's going to be alright, Gar," he told himself with a smile. "Everything's going to be alright." He wrapped a hand around his braceleted wrist and rubbed his thumb along the rough cow hairs until the door opened and the Sentinel beckoned him to his uncertain future.


	15. Chapter 14: Natural Resources

**(A/N):Hello, and welcome back for our Tuesday update! Here we are in the home stretch of our Reapings, and next Tuesday marks the start of our Capitol Chapters - no stops on this bullet train in sight. This is another district with a new author to our group, and one that is known and loved already, but I'm sure you'll adore both, so lets peek in at the writing talents of Abby Well, who is debuting with Pamela Isley and InDeepDarkWood, who last time brought us Storm in ITEYAK, and this time you've already seen with Diana Prince of Four.**

 **Thanks, as always, to the writers who reviewed - we encourage you to support your fellow writers always - and also many thanks to Slim Summers 2002, we're glad that you're sticking with us. It only keeps getting better!**

* * *

 **Pamela Isley of District Eleven**

 **Written by Abby Well**

* * *

 _"Plants don't have a brain because they are not going anywhere."_

― _Robert Sylwester_

* * *

It was Reaping Day, apparently. She supposed it must be — the seasons had changed the right amount of times to make it a year since the last one, with her having to coax her children through an unusually cold winter into a new spring and onward. They had survived, mostly, and were better off for her care, thriving in the garden she was assigned to look after. She loved working in that garden, grateful that she was almost always appointed to it unless more bodies were needed for grunt work elsewhere.

Somewhere, a clock chimed, and she sat back on her heels from where she'd been bent over the flowerbed, meticulously digging out space around each individual flower so they had room to breathe. The freshly turned soil in the flowerbed filled the air with a deep, rich scent, reminding her of the first and only time she'd smelled coffee grounds. Very carefully, she removed her thick, grey gardener's gloves, wary of the possibility of residual poison envenoming the fabric. Beautiful as they were, the pale yellow blessing blooms secreted a powerful toxin from their stems. Without the Capitol ruling their necessity — when severely diluted, the toxin could be used as a highly effective anesthetic, perfect for the surgeries Capitolites deemed 'essential' — the flowers wouldn't have been allowed to grow at all. There were a lot of plants like that here, in what other gardeners referred to as the 'Poison Patch'; plants used for medicine and sometimes other, less savory purposes. These were the plants that nobody really understood, the underestimated ones, the ones dismissed by many due to a lack of proper knowledge.

Rather like herself, perhaps, but that wasn't why she liked working with them so much; she liked that they didn't talk back or ask probing questions about her wellbeing. She could go hours talking to them, barely minutes talking to a person face-to-face. Plants, she got; people were harder.

Someone was calling her name. Pamela raised her head, brushing a few flyaway strands of red hair off her face, and looked round. She registered that she was the only one left working in the garden before spotting Moss, her father, coming towards her with a nervous expression on his lined face. She didn't know why — she was never going to be picked this year. It was a Quarter Quell, the very first, and as such it had been decreed that tributes be chosen specifically by previous victors. Sam Wilson, the only victor from District Eleven, would never choose her if he wanted to stop being just that. It was hardly worth her being at the ceremony.

Still, she got to her feet as her father approached and smiled at him briefly. "Do I need to get ready?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly. She needed a drink after working in the sun for hours.

"The ceremony starts in an hour," Moss said, glancing up and down the body of his quiet, placid daughter. Her gardener's apron, tied over ill-fitting overalls that hid her natural curves beneath dull uniformity, was streaked with dirt, and her bright red hair was a tangled nest of curls gathered hastily at the back of her neck. Thankfully, her hands and nails were clean. "You need to change into something else, love, and brush your hair at least."

Pamela nodded, already moving to leave her father behind. It wasn't that she didn't like spending time with him or her mother, Yarrow; it was just that neither of them really knew how to treat her these days, and hadn't for a long time. So they left her alone unless absolutely necessary, like it was today.

She reached the garden gate and looked back around for a second, seeing that her father was still standing exactly where he'd been, his shoulders hunched in a way that went beyond years of tough farm work. He looked...smaller, slouched, and more worried than she'd ever seen him.

"You know he won't choose me, right?" she called out, trying to reassure him slightly. That was what he needed, she thought. He turned around at the sound of her voice, and stared at her. "Sam Wilson," she clarified. "He won't choose me. Why would he?" She almost laughed — it was so simple in her eyes, that she wouldn't be chosen, and she couldn't quite understand why her father was worried at all. Why did he have that look on his face, like he was feeling sick? Would he and Yarrow spend this Reaping Day as they always did — in terrified silence, afraid to open their mouths and voice their fears until the ceremony was officially over and they could relax for another year? There was no need to be worried this year. Bemused, Pamela turned away and began the walk back to their house.

Her father watched her walk away with a lump in his throat.

* * *

The Isley family's little wooden house was practically bare aside from basic furniture — beds, dining table, chairs, a small stove, the television that would only ever work without static if it was tuned in to the Games or the Victors Tour. Stone floors kept it cool in summer and freezing in winter, and while Yarrow had tried to combat this with rag rugs made from scraps of old clothes and sheets, it was still impossible to go around the house without shoes during the colder months. It was all one level, which suited Moss's arthritic knees, and had a view of the gardens in their organized formation of green rectangles a short distance away, but that was about it. They shared an outhouse with three other families.

Pamela's own room contained a bed, a basin for washing, and a flat panel of metal that hung on the wall at head height with a small table beneath it. Moss had found the panel and painstakingly polished it up for her, so she could use it as a mirror; it wasn't fancy by any stretch of the imagination, but it did the job well enough. Hanging from a pole next to the tiny window were her spare set of overalls, two dresses, a button-down shirt, and a pair of loose trousers that she wore to bed when it was cold. Shoes, socks, and underwear were organized in a box on the floor below.

With the door locked and the curtain drawn, she stripped down and filled the washbasin with water gathered from the well that day and, rather extravagantly, heated on the stove. With methodical movements, Pamela scrubbed, ridding herself of the morning's accumulated dirt to reveal the pale, lightly freckled skin beneath. It felt strange, and she found that she somewhat missed the familiar feeling of the earth. Still, after the ceremony, she could go back to work in the garden. She would tell the plants all about it.

Her hair was next. Gently, she pulled the string that kept it bundled at the back of her neck and watched impassively as it tumbled down over her shoulders. It was clean, relatively, though as she carefully combed it through with her fingers, she discovered a few stray leaves hidden among the curls. She laid them down on the table in front of her — they were dead, dried up and shriveled, and Pamela winced as her fingers accidentally crushed the last leaf into powder and flakes. _Sorry,_ she thought.

Of the two dresses she had — wearing her gardener's uniform every day, she had no need for many other clothes — she chose the plainest. Knee-length with t-shirt sleeves, in a shade of green so dark it may as well have been black. The fabric made her skin look even paler. She pulled the dress on over her head and lifted her hair out of the collar, then slipped her feet into a pair of flat, sturdy shoes and returned to survey her reflection in the polished metal on the wall. Above her head, the single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling flickered precariously. This was nothing new — the standard issue solar panels on the roof of the house were not especially reliable when it came to providing continuous power.

She looked at herself for a long time. The relatively shapeless dress made her look much younger than her seventeen years. Unremarkable as a whole, though three things stood out if she really thought about it — obviously her hair, which nobody could miss unless they were color-blind; the bright green eyes she had inherited from her mother; and her lips, which were full, soft, and fell into a pout. She didn't know why this happened, and it always made her look sad. Some people looked naturally angry; she just looked naturally miserable.

Jason had told her she was beautiful more than once. He had played with her hair, stared into her eyes, kissed her against a tree in one of the orchards. _He had lied._

With that sudden, unwelcome thought souring her mind, she turned away from her reflection and left her bedroom, heading for the front door. The narrow street outside the house was a river of children, which she joined with some trepidation, getting swept along like driftwood through clumps of nervous teenagers until she reached those her own age. Her finger was pricked, her identity confirmed, and suddenly there she was, squashed into the crowd. She wasn't the only whitey there, not at all, but standing surrounded by so many other girls with much darker skin than her own made her feel like there was a spotlight on her. It was strange.

Everett Ross, the District Eleven escort, stood dutifully on the stage, accompanied by Sam Wilson and the two candidates for T'Chaka's mayoral successor, M'Baku and the enigmatic J'onn J'onzz. After a quick introduction laced with Ross's unique brand of enthusiasm, the presidential film began to play on the screen behind them. It was a special one this time around, being the Quarter Quell and everything, but even then, Pamela wasn't really paying attention. She never did; it was always the same stuff, no matter how they dressed it up. Rebellion, war, victory, sacrifice, power, control, _remember_. Remember the awesome and righteous majesty of the Capitol — as if anyone could forget.

When the film was over, Ross approached his microphone and fixed the crowd with a big smile. "So, let's get this very special Reaping over with, shall we? To choose this year's tributes, please welcome your victor, Sam Wilson!" He waved Wilson closer to the second microphone, where the victor stood ramrod straight with posture reminiscent of the military, his hands behind his back.

"I've had to think long and hard about this year's tributes," he said steadily, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. "It was tough to know where to begin. This district hasn't gotten any real glory from the Games in too long, and one thing was for sure; this year, we need to make an impression." He paused, gathering his thoughts. It was one thing to choose slips of paper out of a bowl; it was another to deliberately decide upon tributes. The two names he would utter were essentially a death sentence for at least one of their owners. "It has also been...brought to my attention that my decision should attempt to encapsulate the entire district, unifying us in the pursuit of victory." He sounded somewhat disbelieving of his own words.

"With that in mind, I've chosen District Eleven's tributes for the first Quarter Quell. The female tribute will be…" He stopped again, more abruptly this time. Someone had obviously just told him to try and build up the suspense, so he waited in silence for a good ten seconds before continuing.

"Pamela Isley."

She laughed. Of course she did; it was a joke. It had to be, because there was no way she'd been chosen. No way.

Except she had been, and Ross was repeating her name into his own microphone, making a show of searching for her in the crowd for the sake of the cameras. Sam Wilson was looking right at her. Some of the girls around her were beginning to whisper and nudge each other, casting her furtive looks and muttering indiscreetly. She registered the whistles and clicks of Wakandan, but she didn't know what it meant. Then someone grabbed her arm, and it felt like a burst of cold water had been thrown in her face; she came to life again.

"You alright, ghost gum?" The girl holding her arm was looking at her warily, as if she might explode. Pamela noticed the necklace the girl wore, a wooden carving of an animal's head flanked with what looked like fangs, and she stared at it in a vain attempt to ground herself in reality. "You gotta go. Go now." With no small amount of force, the girl pushed Pamela forwards through the crowd, and she stumbled out into the open, exposed, like a weed torn up by the roots. She crossed her arms and hugged herself; she wanted to return to the earth, to the garden, where it was safe.

But she couldn't. Not with the eyes of District Eleven and the Sentinels on her. Slowly, she made her way up towards the stage, climbing the steps carefully. She could feel every human in the square watching, their gazes like aphids chewing on her skin. The steps felt steeper than they were. At the top, she tripped. Her arms flew forwards, too late, and she landed with a smack on the hard stage floor. A ripple of shocked laughter swept over the crowd then was quickly suppressed, and she felt like she was about to cry; her cheeks burned red, and she felt hot, uncomfortable, naked in a dress that suddenly seemed far too short. Pressed flat against the stage, her hands trembled as she fought against the lump in her throat and the stinging sensation behind her eyes.

A hand appeared in her field of vision, and she took it without thinking, needing something solid to hang on to while her head was spinning. It helped her to her feet, and she discovered that it belonged to Sam Wilson, who was looking at her with an unfathomable expression on his handsome face. He was probably regretting his choice already. Funnily enough, though, he didn't let go of her hand or turn away in disgust; instead, he studied her with keen brown eyes, a tiny frown creasing his forehead.

"District Eleven, give it up for Pamela Isley, your chosen female tribute for this spectacular Quarter Quell!" Behind Sam, Everett Ross's voice boomed out across the crowd, drawing the attention back to him and the continuation of proceedings. With a barely noticeable nod, Sam released Pamela's hand and returned to his microphone to announce the male tribute, leaving her standing alone.

* * *

She sat in a silent room in the Justice Building, all but bolted to the chair, her hands white-knuckled in gripping the seat. She wasn't entirely sure how she'd ended up there; after her name had been called and she'd promptly humiliated herself onstage, the rest of the Reaping had passed in a blur, like watching through dirty glass. Sam Wilson's choice of male tribute had been tall and skinny, around her age, but she hadn't recognized him, and she'd already forgotten his name. Instead, the same singular thought whirled through her mind over and over: _why?_ Why had she been chosen, above all others? Why was she the one sitting there, waiting to say goodbye? She couldn't begin to understand it.

There was a knock on the door, and Pamela raised her head with some effort. It was her parents, and as soon as their eyes met hers, they ran forwards to embrace her. Her father was crying in a restrained sort of way; no loud sobbing, just a steady stream of tears down his cheeks, mapping their journeys across years of ingrained dirt that wouldn't go away no matter how much washing was done. Her mother's faded red hair, streaked with grey, was wild around her head as if she'd been tugging on it anxiously, and she was visibly trembling. Pamela stood to hug them back, but she soon became restless and put some distance between herself and the two of them, sitting back down on her chair.

"I don't understand," Yarrow moaned, wringing her hands. She turned to her husband desperately, as if he would suddenly know how to fix everything. "Why would Wilson choose her, Moss? Why?"

There was that word again. Pamela looked up and saw her mother's anguished face, and she felt an unexpected stab of sympathy cutting through her own fear. "I don't know," she said quietly, sounding much calmer than she felt inside, trying to stop her mother from becoming hysterical. "I'm...I'm sure there was a reason." She wasn't sure at all.

Moss wiped his eyes, shaking his head. "What reason could he possibly have? Pam's not a fighter, she's not strong or fast, she can't…" He stopped, realizing he was doing nothing but condemning his daughter, and looked down at her apologetically. "Sorry, love."

Pamela shook her head dismissively, not wanting to say anything else. Another knock sounded at the door, louder this time, and a Sentinel thrust it open wide. "Time's up," he barked.

"Wait, wait!" Yarrow shrieked, springing to life suddenly and rolling up her sleeve. She tugged fruitlessly on a piece of black cord wrapped around her wrist, her fingers fumbling until Moss took her arm and held it still. He untied the cord carefully, then picked up Pamela's hand and dropped whatever it was into her palm. Threaded onto the thin cord was a tiny metal charm in the shape of a leaf. "It was your grandmother's, my mother's," Yarrow explained. "It can be your token. Something to...to remind you of us." Her voice cracked, and she clung tighter to her husband. In their sorrow, the two of them seemed to have aged a decade.

Moss laid his hand firmly on Pamela's shoulder, aware that the Sentinel would forcibly remove them from the room if he didn't say what he wanted to quickly. "We love you, rosebud," he murmured. "Be smart. Listen to what they tell you. Learn everything you can, but don't forget what you already know, and… please come home." On the verge of tears once more, he kissed his daughter's forehead, then wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders and guided her out of the room.

Pamela was left alone again. She toyed with the charm around her wrist for something like comfort, wishing the leaf was real. Perhaps it could be from an Elysium vine, and she could eat it right there. They couldn't make her compete if she was already dead.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she dismissed it. Moss and Yarrow would never forgive themselves. Sam Wilson she didn't care about — he was almost certainly going to have her death on his hands after choosing her specifically — but she couldn't do that to her parents. She knew that she hadn't been herself for almost two years now, but they had never given up on her. Sure, they'd eventually left her to her own devices when they realized their efforts to get her to open up were wasted, but they had never stopped caring. They were the only ones left in District Eleven who cared, which meant that now she had to care too. If they lost her, she didn't believe that they would be able to bear it — much less if she simply allowed herself to die in the arena and didn't put up some sort of fight. It would end the Isley family in one fell swoop. No. She had to go, and she had to try and come home to them, because they loved her.

It never occurred to her, as she was eventually summoned to board the train and begin the journey to the Capitol, that the girl who came back from the arena might not be the one that left.

* * *

 **Jonathan Crane of District Eleven**

 **Written by InDeepDarkWood**

* * *

 _"We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light." ― Plato_

* * *

"And you believe they're going to choose the best of the best, Dr. Leland?"

"Despite Dr. Essex's… unusual opinion that the victors plan on weeding out their districts, I am confident that these heroes will choose those that follow a similar path. After all, who wouldn't want glory for their district?"

"I'm afraid that's all we have time for on this special edition of Trish Talks. Tune in tomorrow for the full Reaping analysis. Thanks to Dr. Joan Leland and Dr. Nathaniel Essex, as well as our sponsors, Marvelous Miracles, Mr. Duq –"

The sound was cut off as the boy twiddled with the tuner, Patsy Walker's face compressing slowly and fading into a new channel.

"Timed rest periods help your Inhuman to function for longer, and more efficiently. Try Restawhile, the new collar to alert your Inhuman of these periods. The less you replace, the more _you_ save."

 _Click_.

Jonathan Crane was not an exceptionally huge of fan of shock collars, but the wide, dilated pupils in the Inhuman's eyes made him smile whenever he saw the advert; his sigh was all the larger, therefore, since he'd only caught the tail end of Restawhile's piece.

"Damn, Patsy," he muttered to himself, climbing up to his feet and grumbling about the reporter's role in denying him one of the few pleasures of life. The stove in the corner radiated heat, and he grimaced slightly, tugging at his sleeves where they clung to his skin, aided by sweat. He could never understand why the Reaping was in the summer, with the heat, in the middle of the day to add insult to injury. "Why not winter?" he asked. "Why not spring?" They were the times the mind was most alert after all; summer and harvest, it was too busy, too physical. "No time for thinking. No time for the mind," he muttered, taking one of the pots off the heat and pouring its contents into a bowl.

The other pot bubbled away merrily, its steam trapped in a short series of pipes that ended in a jar. Jonathan left that where it was and got a spoon, sitting down at the head of the table, as was his right. He was the most important member of the household, after all. His back straight, he deftly produced a dirty white cloth, laying it across his lap, and proceeded to carefully eat the way he was taught; elbows in, feet together, "Always the spoon away."

Grandmother Crane had raised him good and proper, and none of those Capitolite folk would dare to think they were better than him.

The boiling pot was the only noise in the house. His windows lit up every ten seconds with the roving watchtower lights from the produce area. That, he supposed, was probably the only good thing about summer; the watch lights disturbed his sleep far less than in the long winter nights. It took him a long time to finish the hot food, and, though he didn't have a clock, he figured he only had a short time before he called it a day.

" _When all the birds had gone to bed, and the sun had gone away_ ," he half-sang softly as he washed his bowl, and dried it, and put it away, as Grandmother Crane had taught him. Then he moseyed back to the couch and clicked back on the television, flicking slowly through the channels until he came to rest on the Games rerun channel, sighing almost dreamily as images of the 10th Games flashed past. Ben Grimm was always a triumph to watch kill, in his opinion; how he managed to do so many of them so close to a camera, Jonathan would never know. It made his heart swell just a little, watching the light go out in their fearful faces.

He propped himself up with a pillow, the hazy glow of the television mixing with the watch lights, and smiled as he drifted off to sleep. _"Up, jumps the scarecrow, and...this...is...what...he...says..."_

* * *

Bright and early, before the watch lights had even been turned off, and the sun was just peaking over the crest of the district's borders, Jonathan was up and about, pulling apart a loaf of bread and chewing it in a sleepy manner. His other hand finally removed the pot from the hot stove, and he gave a small, bread-filled smile as he got down on his haunches. The little jar at the end of the connecting tubes swirled with an opaque gas. Holding the bread in his teeth, he jiggled with the built-in stopper and then disconnected the jar carefully. The jar in one hand, and the bread in the other, he straightened up.

"Ah, Mr. Crane, not your finest work, you admit," he said softly, giving a small sigh. Gas was much better than powder, but it was still in the early stages, still a newborn, still a simpleton. He shook the jar, and the gas continued to swirl in a whirlwind pattern. "It's so...grey," he continued gloomily, pocketing the jar and closing the three buttons securely. It wouldn't do at all for it to escape when he didn't even have something to _test_ it on.

"People will see it coming a mile off," he complained to the world as he left his grandmother's house, the door swinging wildly behind him. "Bad for business." He set off down the path towards the orchards, the east door bathed in morning glow and already giving off enough heat to suggest it was going to be a sweaty one. "Useless, useless. What use is a sweaty day if I can't even bottle it fresh?" A morning bird twittered from a bush in response to his words, sympathetic to the plight that was Reaping Day. No sweat to be collected; it would take him hours to walk home after it, going around the orchards once they'd closed, and that meant no time to purify and extract useful ingredients.

"What a cruel and denying mistress Marvel is," he proclaimed, finishing off his bread as he arrived at the door.

"Marvel is a 'he'" a voice pointed out from the shadows of the tree line as his partner emerged, rather suddenly and suspiciously, like he had been waiting for the boy to join him in the hopes of bringing alarm, or fright, or some other sort of synonym to him. Jonathan raised an eyebrow and shot a withering stare in the large man's direction.

"Really, Peter, must you do this every morning? You scared me half to death." The large man gave a deep-chested laugh and clapped Jonathan across the back, sending him staggering forward, limbs flailing.

"Good one, Jon-Jon," Peter replied. "I'll scare you one of these days, just you wait. You ain't seen my best stuff is all." The boy barely disguised his look of disdain.

"It's Jonathan," he corrected, instead of pointing out that Peter had been working with him for nearly eight years and had yet to manage a successful jump-scare, "and what is wrong with Marvel being a 'she'?" He turned the conversation where he wanted it as the pair waited for the Sentinel on the gate to open it.

"Thanos is our president, whitey," Peter said, as though that explained it all.

"Your point?" Jonathan asked, as the Sentinel waved them through, the purple in the armor extra-shiny this morning. _Must want to look nice for Reaping,_ he thought, waiting for Peter to mull over his question.

"Thanos is a _man_."

"So, if one of his daughters, say… oh, what's her name? Gambula? Nemora? Whatever—" He gestured dismissively with his hand. "—were to become president, would Marvel then become a 'she'?"

This seemed to stump Peter as he cupped his hands and allowed the boy to spring up into the branches of the first tree.

 _What an interesting mind he must have_ , thought Jonathan.

"Once a king or queen, always a king or queen," Peter eventually declared. "Besides, Marvel isn't a very _girlish_ name is it, idiot?"

"Well it certainly isn't a _boyish_ name," Jonathan muttered, reaching down towards the man and beckoning with his hand. Peter unhooked a large stick from his belt and handed it up with a flourish. Jonathan thought it best not to even broach the subject of his earlier statement; Peter was always saying funny things like that, and the times Jonathan had questioned him, he'd been stone-walled with the less-than-satisfying answer of " _That's what Nanny taught me._ "

Well, Jonathan's grandmother had taught him a lot too, he reflected, as he swung the stick hard against the first nest in the tree, but she certainly hadn't _thought_ for him. He snickered to himself quietly, amused by his own play on words, watching the nest lift neatly off the branches in near perfect condition to fall down to the ground into Peter's sack.

The next few weren't so complete, and Jonathan watched Peter scurrying around the ground to pick up the fallen debris, a hazard to machinery and a blight to the landscape according to the Capitol. The boy was tall, but light of frame, and the branches took his weight fairly handily. The pair continued light conversation as their work carried them through the trees, Jonathan swinging nonchalantly across the treetops, frowning whenever he had a near misstep and his heart didn't accelerate appropriately. One such step had him briefly hanging upside down, his feet catching him as he flailed for a handhold, and Peter paused his natterings about his other job in the orphanage.

"Holy smokes, Jon, you some kinda daredevil?" he asked, his mouth hanging half-open.

"I prefer mind over bodily feats, Pete," he answered, righting himself. "I think that name would better suit somebody else. And it's Jonathan, 'crow."

Peter shrugged and resumed his work.

Jonathan again wondered what it would be like to wander around Peter's brain. _Airy_.

The sun was high by the time they'd finished, Jonathan's hair disheveled and his back dripping with the heat. Peter had two full sacks strapped to his back and a little case by his side cradling some of the eggs they'd managed to save. The boy clambered down the last tree, wiping his hands in his trousers. He extended a hand out to the man, who looked at it almost suspiciously.

"What?"

"I'd like an egg for dinner tonight," Jonathan pointed out, gesturing to the little case. Peter looked aghast at the thought.

"But they're just children!"

"Without a home, without a mother bird. That's too lonely a life, Peter. They'll be too scared to live, without anything to keep them grounded." Besides, Jonathan thought eggs were a splendid dinner, and he knew Peter had saved some big ones.

"They're better off without their parents. _I'll_ take care of them," the man said firmly. Jonathan sighed a little and started to walk towards the gate closest to the town square, Peter following with a protective hand over the case.

"You can't take care of all of them. I just want _one_ ," he pressed, trying a different tactic. "If you have one less, that will mean more time for the others, better attention, better comfort, better love. Surely you want to give them all love, so none know fear?" Peter seriously mulled the words over, and the boy wondered why he cared for the yet-hatched nestlings but had no problem hurting adults, bird or human.

Jonathan knew he was walking with a murderer. A simpleton murderer, yes, but a murderer nonetheless. He didn't mind; in fact, he quite liked it. Over the years, Peter had — often unwittingly — given him tips and pointers, and sometimes mentioned the fear — which was Jonathan's favorite part. It would be a bit hypocritical to _mind_ anyway.

He was a murderer too, after all.

* * *

 _He had expected the appropriate authorities to come for him once it had happened. People knew, after all. Peter knew, and had already told him that his orphanage was one of the nicer ones, and it was just a real damn shame that he was a whitey, or Jonathan could have gone to live with his Nanny._

 _Jonathan had no intention of going to live with that deranged, rhyme-singing old bat, nor was he inclined to enter an orphanage. He thought he would do just fine on his own._ Better off now that she's dead, _he thought._

 _But no, no one had come for him, and he continued to walk to school, and walk to the orchards, and work as a scarecrow with Peter. He made his dinners and bought meat on occasion at the market near his house. He watched television (when the connection worked, which was usually only around the Games time), and waved at Sentinel Essen, who told him that it was okay to call her Sarah, which he never did._

 _It was over a year since he'd washed the blood from his hands and burned his clothes to get rid of the reminder, and he almost thought that maybe no one was going to knock on his door and sit him down._ Almost, _he thought, as a low knock rapped Grandmother's front door, late one weeknight. He opened it warily, his eyes dark with suspicion, which only grew as he recognized the shape outside his door._

 _"Yes?" he asked._

 _"Jonathan Crane? I would like a word," the man said, his tone suggesting that he was a man that got what he wanted. It was an accurate suggestion. Jonathan swung the door open wider._

 _"Come in, sir." He offered to take his coat, because that was the polite thing to do when a political figure came to the door. "I didn't realize you were making house calls during your campaign, M'Baku."_

 _He waited. He waited for the man to tell him that they were going to take him away and put him in an orphanage, even if it was only for a year before he was too old for Reaping._

 _"Nasty business, wouldn't you say?" M'Baku asked, taking a seat on the couch when it wasn't offered._

 _"Hm?" Jonathan remained standing, poised, still suspicious._

 _"This Quarter Quell," he elaborated. Jonathan gave a small nod. The Reaping had just been explained by the president less than a week ago. The boy had thought him rather charismatic. "Sam Wilson deserves a little freedom, after his trials, wouldn't you say? Nasty to have him bear it all himself."_

 _Jonathan had lost where the conversation was going, since it was not the direction he had anticipated. M'Baku looked up at him, dark eyes flinty as they surveyed him._

 _"So I've taken it upon myself to see that he doesn't bear it all himself." M'Baku's eyes roved through the little house, and the boy began to see that the direction the man's mind was heading was actually similar to his earlier one, and his body tensed again. "You live all alone, Jonathan Crane," he said softly. "You have no family. You have no friends."_

I have Peter, _Jonathan corrected, though even he knew that was a bit of an alternative truth._

 _"Lots of people have no family," he said instead._

 _"This is true," M'Baku agreed. "But lots of people did not disable two schoolmates permanently." The man whistled and clicked, and the boy's lip twitched in disdain at his lack of Wakandan. He could pick up the tone, however. "Forgive me, I forgot you...folk aren't accustomed to our ways. I've heard things about you though, Jonathan. Useful things." M'Baku's eyes had reached his stove, and the small container on the shelf beside it._

 _"You have a hallucinogen." It was not a question._

 _"No," Jonathan automatically replied._

 _"Yes. I would like it. J'onz J'onzz support is growing, and it would grieve me to see him take T'Chaka's place. I need a touch of paranoia." M'Baku's eyes hardened. "You do not want to be an enemy of me, Jonathan."_

 _"What's in it for me?" the boy asked, matching the man's stare with one of his own._

 _"Your name, out of Sam Wilson's sight and mind."_

 _"Seems fairly reasonable. I want this house as well." Jonathan was not one to let opportunity go to waste._

 _"You've already got…alright, fine, yes, agreed?"_

 _"Agreed." Jonathan picked up the container on the shelf and handed it to M'Baku. "You only need a little to do a lot. This is all my stock."_

 _"I'll need the recipe too." The boy hesitated at the words. "Give it, boy, or no house, and no name-destroying." There was a beat, and then he scrawled down some words and measurements on a piece of paper._

 _"Good boy, Jon." M'Baku picked up his coat and left the way he had come. The boy's fist clenched._

 _"It's_ Jonathan."

* * *

He parted ways with Peter when the crowds arriving to the square became too large for the man's liking. Jonathan had an egg safely stowed in his pocket, far away from his carefully wrapped jar, satisfied in the job he'd done convincing Peter.

Once he'd called him an orphan-maker, and had ended up with a black eye, so he used the gentler tact instead much more effectively. _And without injury_ , he mused, clasping Peter's forearm, the other doing the same in farewell.

"Same time tomorrow, Jon-Jon?"

"I'll have school, so it'll be earlier in the morning, scarecrow." The two shared a look; any of the previous years, it was a look of unspoken best wishes, hope that Jonathan wouldn't be reaped. He thought Peter's still had that, just a little, overlaid by a look of exasperation at getting up before the sun after a long day's work previous.

"Scarecrowing just never stops, does it?" Peter asked. "You watch calling me 'crow'; you're half one of us anyway." He released Jonathan's arm and went off a more roundabout route, no doubt going to go stand with his Nanny while her children faced judgement. Jonathan joined the throng of people, most of them just as sweaty-looking as he was, though they probably started out clean and pretty from their homes.

He walked alone to the square, avoiding children as they darted in and out of the throngs of people, initially attempting to ignore any passing glances thrown his way, tall and gangly and sticking out like a sore thumb, until a woman had passed just a few too many in his direction. He fiddled with his hair, turning his head to eye her. When she moved her gaze away, he sidestepped beside her.

"Have I something in my hair, madam?" he asked, oozing politeness and frost. "No? Then I suggest you move your eyes elsewhere, before I remove them for you."

He walked on, his long limbs allowing for a speedy exit and an unobscured view of the square before him. He recognized a couple of boys that he knew were in his age group and made his way towards them. Jonathan wasn't exactly what you called the 'friendly' type. He had long ago alienated himself in the classroom by separating from those he deemed less clever; which was practically everyone, when he thought about it. But in the Reaping lines, he was just the same as everyone else, and had made peace with that while in the thirteen-year-old section.

He slipped into the queue behind a recognizable acquaintance. "Good day."

"Good day?" The boy in front of him snorted and turned around, probably to box whatever idiot had called the day 'good'. He stopped himself when he saw Jonathan. "Ah. Never mind. Yes, good day."

"How are you, Ben?"

"Killing time." They moved a couple of paces. "Wondering about what's going to happen." Ben Turner's face, despite the scars that sliced it like stripes, looked troubled. Jonathan placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, Ben, I doubt you have anything to worry about," the boy said, rather cheerfully, keeping a hand on him as they neared the Sentinel checkpoint. The large boy in front of Ben twitched at Jonathan's words and turned, his frame towering over the skinny scarecrow.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Jonathan, this is Tom, Tom, Jonathan," Ben said, by way of introduction.

"How do you do," Jonathan said, by way of politeness.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tom asked again, then paused as he reached the Sentinel and went through the necessary procedures. Jonathan waited for his turn, holding his finger out for the prick of the needle and leaving it in the position, slowly dripping on the machine, until it successfully _bing_ ed out the name Jonathan Crane. Then he made his way into the seventeen year-old section, and resumed conversation, gesturing up towards the stand, where Everett Ross was outnumbered by Elevens, three to one.

"Well, this is the perfect opportunity for you all to get rid of the scourge that is whiteys. Agreed?"

"No, not agreed," Tom countered. "I wouldn't want them to pick based on skin."

"That's not what you said last year," Ben challenged, crossing his arms. "Better a whitey than Jericho, were your exact words, I'd say."

"Well, that was last year, and fat lot of good my words did," the boy grumbled. "Now I have...a friend, and I wouldn't want him to be picked just because he turns red in the sun."

Jonathan watched the tension crackle between the two with a mild fascination. Ben was a loose cannon, full of rage and ferocity. He wondered if Tom was the same and thought it a shame that this was taking place at Reaping, when the Sentinels would break up a fight.

"I doubt Sam knows who either of you are," he put in, shaking a hand through his hair.

"True...although, he _has_ seen me going through his rubbish," Tom admitted guiltily.

"And I _did_ throw a rock through his window when Myoshi didn't come home," Ben chipped in, his face near stricken.

"But he doesn't know your _names_ , so it's fine." Jonathan wasn't exactly sure why he was reassuring the two, since his heart had done a little flip-flop of excitement at Ben's expression of fear. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Everett had already tapped the microphone, and the reverb shut him up.

"Welcome to another glorious beginning of the Avenger Games!"

 _Spare me_ , thought Jonathan, as Ross began to roll the film, dismayed for the sixth year in a row at the lack of enthusiasm from the crowd. All around him were signs that people weren't paying attention and didn't care for the propaganda that flashed up on the gigantic screen, but the boy dutifully watched it, admiring the camera angles that caught the way the rebels looked as they died, the carefully acted fear of a crowd of Capitolites and the bold coloring of the Sentinels as they rose victorious. After that, it got a little more boring for him, what with the peace and apparent prosperity and smiling district citizens, but he looked at the whole thing and gave it his time, right up until Thanos finished repeating his decree.

He saw Ross giving a clap at the end of the film and wondered if the man was going to wipe away tears. But no, he didn't, and he simply returned to the microphone and began to speak again; Jonathan saw the flash of a frown appear as his introduction for Sam received a more appropriate applause than his earlier words. It was gone as soon as it appeared, but Jonathan saw, and if Jonathan had seen it, he knew others had too.

"I bet he wishes he escorted a Career district," he whispered to Ben.

"I hear they have huge parties on Reaping Day," the boy returned, his limbs twitching with nervous anticipation. "I hear they—"

Jonathan didn't get to hear what One, Two or Four did, because Ben fell silent at the aggressive move a Sentinel made towards them.

"...to my attention that my decision should attempt to encapsulate the entire district, unifying us in the pursuit of victory." _Oh dear_ , Jonathan thought, grimacing, _I've missed the start_. He had wanted to hear what Sam's justification was, hear the false words he used to convince the citizens that he was a good person. _Good people do bad things all the time, Sam_ , he thought.

"Pamela Isley."

 _Who?_

He wasn't the only one who was looking around. Beside him, Tom breathed an audible sigh of relief, echoed by many in his section with younger sisters. Jonathan cast his eyes towards the girls' sections, waiting.

"Pamela.. _.Izzz_ ley? _Eye_ sley? Not again," Ross hissed away from the microphone, and the boy recalled his lack of pronunciation of T'Challa's name last year. He settled on the latter and repeated the name. "Can anyone spy a Pamela Isley? Oh ho, Sam, you're off to a great start with a camouflaging tribute, you won't need to teach her — ah! There she is! Come on up, don't be shy!"

 _I doubt_ shy _is what she's going for,_ he thought, a flicker of recognition crossing his mind as the first of two tributes were reaped. He couldn't put his finger on it though, which annoyed him. He was clever after all, clever enough to remember a face. _No matter,_ he dismissed it, _she'll be dead soon anyway._

There was another flash of recognition as she went flying on the top of the stairs, and a boy close to him let out a loud guffaw, accompanied by a few sniggers. Jonathan's fists clenched tightly together, the sounds bringing back memories of when he was the brunt of laughs. He had a moment of contemplation, debating whether to swing his arms and give the laughers a piece of his dancing, but they were swallowed up in the section, and he wasn't even sure who it was that had made fun. _Probably that Ebenezer one_ , he thought darkly. _Laughing is in his_ name, _the bastard._

"District Eleven, give it up for Pamela Isley, your chosen female tribute for this spectacular Quarter Quell!" The words received the obligatory volume of applause, and Ross swept his arm across the boys' sections. "And now...Sam Wilson returns to the mic once more, because it's time to reveal the _boy's_ name!" _If that man had a pompom..._

"Unity is important," Sam announced. "The Avenger Games can bring us closer together, if we let them." His words sounded like a mayor's electoral speech to Jonathan, and he wondered which of the two on stage had helped Sam write it. He had heard a thing or two about J'onz J'onzz, who always acted so enigmatic around people, but according to eavesdropping on a certain Sentinel, would rather a dead whitey than a live one. M'Baku wasn't about unity either, but Jonathan wasn't sure if he'd be clever enough to pull the double bluff Sam's words held.

Pamela Isley stood on the stage looking half-vacant.

"...Eleven's male tribute is..." Sam trailed off for effect, and Jonathan realized he'd missed part of his words again, "Jonathan Crane."

"Bad luck, Crane," Ben whispered.

For the first time in many years, Jonathan's heart rate accelerated.

He smiled.

"See you around, Ben," he said to his scar-striped acquaintance, then took a step forward and moved out of the seventeen-year-old section. He paused, briefly, to send a deliberate elbow into the gut of one Ebenezer, whom, despite lack of evidence of the laughter, Jonathan felt deserved such a sentence. "Nobody laughs at a tribute, Laughton," he growled, then strode purposefully towards the stage, his heart rapidly beating merrily, his long limbs eating through the ground.

He arrived beside Sam much quicker than the girl, reaching out to shake first his hand and then Pamela's; she seemed in a trance, and Jonathan had to do most of the work, including lifting their arms as Everett announced their names once more, to a smattering of applause. Jonathan caught sight of Peter in the crowd of worried families, standing next to an elderly woman, and flashed him a smile, his blood pumping wildly.

If he had known this was how it would feel, he would have volunteered _years_ ago.

* * *

Jonathan hadn't expected anyone to come visit him, what with a dead grandmother and dead parents, and alienating most of his schoolmates with cleverness (and an unfortunate incident resulting in handicapping two of them). He was rather surprised when the Sentinel announced a visitor towards the end of the allotted time, and even more surprised when M'Baku was the one who came through the door.

"Don't know why you came," he said languidly, sprawled on the couch in the ornamental room. "You got what you wanted from me, you lying son of a bitch."

"I told them I needed to give you a token," the man answered, looking almost guilty, as he brought the hand from behind his back to reveal a small straw hat.

"You wouldn't have needed to give me a token if you'd just _not_ let me get picked," Jonathan pointed out, his hands in his pockets, one caressing his jar, the other the egg he doubted he'd get a chance to eat. "I gave you your means to drive J'onzz to the ground and dismantle his support." He made no move to take the hat from M'Baku.

"Two minutes till the train," the Sentinel announced at the door, and Jonathan got up off the couch, recognizing the Sentinel's voice. M'Baku blocked his path.

"You've given me the _wrong_ formula," the man growled, his skin almost glowing with whatever product the makeup team had used on him.

"I would never do a thing like that. I am a man of my word," Jonathan responded, matching the politician's height.

"I've people trying to make it with your recipe, and I'm telling you, it's _not working_."

Jonathan shot a wide, disconcerting smile at M'Baku. "That's the problem with trying to get rid of the inventor when you've got something," he said coldly. "People don't ever seem to learn from the past; we have whole architectural ruins, unable to be replicated because somebody decided to eliminate the architect." He met M'Baku's stare, his hand withdrawing from his pocket along with the jar. "I said I would never give you the wrong formula, M'Baku. I didn't say I would give you a _complete_ one."

He flicked off the jar's cap, his arm darting up to his mouth like a snake, and gave a short, sharp blow, the gas flying into M'Baku's eyes and nose and mouth. The man staggered away, and the jar was stoppered once more.

"What...what have you done? What _is_ this?" He watched M'Baku start to tremble and was a little dismayed he didn't have time to see the gas take the full effect. Instead, he reached over and took the hat from the man's shaking hands, placing it delicately on his disheveled hair and pivoting around him to the door.

"Buyer beware, M'Baku. Have a fun trip."

He exited, calling goodbye to Sentinel Essen, who had such a distinctive voice. He headed towards the waiting train, with the slightly recognizable Pamela, and the definitely recognizable Sam and Ross, pushing up his glasses and singing softly to himself.

" _Up jumps the scarecrow, and this is what he says..._ "


	16. Chapter 15: Sibling Rivalry

**(A/N): Here we are with our Friday update! This time, we've got two new writers: Bstnstrng13 and Unlucky Alis. We think they're perfect to round out the Reaping chapters and introduce you to the last of the tributes for this year; they're pretty darn talented!**

 **As always, thank you to our writers who reviewed both the most recent chapter and the ones before it. In a collaboration like this, it's oh-so-important to support each other, so we love seeing that support in the reviews section! :) And thanks also to Slim Summers 2002 (we, too, are glad Essex is far, far away).**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifteen - Sibling Rivalry**

 **John Constantine of District Twelve**

 **Written by Bstnstrng13**

* * *

 _"It is easier for a father to have children than for children to have a real father."_

 _Pope John XXIII_

* * *

"Constantine, what the hell are you still doing here? Your shift ended an hour ago."

John Constantine shrugged and pulled his helmet off his head, feeling a sprinkle of rock dust fall under his collar and down his neck. "Thought I spotted a new coal seam," he said shortly to his foreman, "so I followed it."

The foreman raised his eyebrows. "And?"

John grinned. "It looks promising. You should have a geologist check it out."

The foreman regarded him steadily. John could almost read the man's thoughts. Even though the miners in District Twelve were essentially slave labor for the Capitol, there was always a healthy bonus for the boss who discovered a new load of coal. If John was correct about the seam, this man and his family would eat well for months.

The foreman pulled an old silver watch out of his pocket and glanced at it. "Got time to show me this seam now?"

John nodded, appreciating that the foreman had made it a request and not an order. John had found the man to be a decent boss in general. He cared about the miners' safety and sent them home when they were sick or injured. "Sure," John replied easily. "No place else I have to be." He returned his helmet to his head and turned back toward the elevator that went down into the mine.

Sadly, it was all too true that he was not expected elsewhere. Unless his sister, Cheryl, was at home, there was certainly no reason to return there. At best, John's father would ignore him. At worst, he would greet John with insults or even a fist. For as long as John could remember, his father had treated him coldly. It didn't matter what John did or didn't do, or what he said or didn't say — the result was the same. So he'd given up trying to please the man and now did his best just to stay out of his way.

He and the foreman took the elevator down to the lower levels of the mine, and John led them both through a series of twisting tunnels, barely needing the light from his headlamp to retrace the route. He forced himself to slow down several times, making sure his boss was not left behind. John knew that few people felt as comfortable as he did underground. His slim, wiry body negotiated the meandering spaces easily, and he wasn't bothered by the oppressive dark. He liked the feeling of invisibility that the tunnels gave him. They allowed him to disappear — it was almost magical.

Eventually, he guided them to an old tunnel that hadn't been used in several years, following it until it narrowed dramatically.

"Here," he said, pointing to a thick, dark strip high on the wall, sandwiched between lighter layers of rock. "This looks like it might go on for a while if the tunnel were extended."

The foreman groaned as he tried to cram his heavier body down the same confined space that John had easily fit through. He unclipped a flashlight from his belt and raised it to the wall, frowning as he studied the black material. There was no doubt it was coal. The foreman rapped on it with the butt of his flashlight. "Seems hard," he said shortly. "Could be anthracite." There was a glimmer of excitement in his voice. Anthracite was the highest grade of coal, mostly carbon. "I'll get the geologist down here," he added.

John nodded. There really wasn't much more to be said; either the geologist would confirm that the seam was promising or he would say that they were wasting their time pursuing it. John and his foreman turned and began the journey back to the surface. As always, it felt quicker than the trip down into the mine, and soon John was squinting in the afternoon light, even with the sun's rays muted by the dirt and coal dust in the air. "You know," the foreman said to John, "you should think about studying geology. You're clever, smarter than most of my men. I'm guessing you could pick it up pretty easily."

John frowned. "My father's never liked me spending too much time with books. He thinks using a mining pick is all I'm good for." More than once, John's father had tossed a book into the fire when he'd caught John reading it. Cheryl had taken to hiding them on his behalf.

The foreman shrugged. "You're seventeen now, Constantine, old enough to make decisions for yourself. Pretty soon you can stop living under your father's roof. And even though you're a decent miner, you won't be agile and strong forever. You see what happens to everyone — the mines take their toll. Another ten years and your joints will ache and your eyes won't adjust to the light so well anymore." He reached out to touch John lightly on the shoulder. "Just think about it. You work the early shift — you've got a few hours in the afternoon to study. I can arrange it so your father never even knows."

John felt a rush of gratitude and bent his head so his foreman wouldn't see the blush on his cheeks. He seldom received kindness except from Cheryl and had little practice responding to it. It was true that studying geology would eventually mean less time in the mines. It wouldn't get him out of District Twelve, though, or ensure that his belly was full every evening. It wouldn't even allow him to leave the Seam and live in the merchant section. Still, he could tell that the foreman was trying to help, so he said, "Thank you, I will think on it, assuming I don't get picked tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Don't tell me you forgot that it's Reaping Day."

The foreman shook his head. "No, I didn't forget. I'm lucky that my children are still too young, so I guess I don't worry about it as much as others do. I'll have to be concerned about it soon enough, though." He wiped the dust from his face. "I keep hoping something will happen to cancel the Games before my kids get old enough."

John glanced at the sky and blew out his breath. "Well, I'm seventeen. I've just got to get passed over this year and the next, and then I'm in the clear."

The foreman nodded. "I hope it works out that way for you."

"Thank you."

The foreman turned and started to head back to the small shack at the entrance to the mine. John knew that the man had a couple of hours of work ahead of him, looking at the production numbers and preparing reports.

"Sir?" he called out after him.

The foreman spun around to face John. "Yes?"

"Did you lose something?"

The foreman looked puzzled. "Not that I'm aware of."

John held up the foreman's silver pocket watch. "Somehow this ended up in my pocket, sir." He stared at the man for a few seconds before grinning cheekily.

The foreman shook his head and gave John an exasperated look. "Constantine, you should be a magician. I never even felt you pick my pocket. You're wasted in the mines." He walked back toward John with his hand extended.

John shrugged as he placed the watch into it. "You'll want to be more careful, sir. Something like this could fetch a good trade at The Hob. And there are pickpockets out there who are just as good as I am."

The foreman sighed. "Somehow, I doubt that."

* * *

The Hob was bustling that afternoon, everyone a little on edge before Reaping Day. John wandered among the tables, looking for a gift for Cheryl. She'd turned nineteen last year, too old to be chosen for the Games, but he knew she was as nervous as ever this year on his behalf.

Despite their proximity in age, Cheryl had always been something of a mother to him. Even when she was small, she'd tried to diffuse their father's anger and assume the blame for John's transgressions because she knew their father would be kinder to her. Their real mother had died giving birth to John and a stillborn twin, and his father held John responsible for the loss of his treasured wife. Mary Anne Constantine had been the daughter of merchants and had given up the chance for a more comfortable life when she'd married Thomas and moved to the Seam. Both John and Cheryl had her fairness, with sandy hair and sky-blue eyes, as well as her slim build. In Cheryl, Mary Anne's looks gave Thomas Constantine pleasure. But in John, they seemed only to be a reminder of her passing and the reason for it. When he was able to get his hands on liquor, Thomas had taken to drunkenly calling John "Killer."

Most sons found ways to make their fathers proud, or at least make them happy from time to time. John had managed to make his bitter, simply by being born.

John wanted to find something pretty and, for once, not practical for Cheryl. He knew she would colodress in her best for the Reaping, and he hoped to find a piece of jewelry that would make her look as fine as any of the girls from the merchant section. He didn't have a lot to trade; a decent jack-knife and a pocketful of unusual, colored stones that he'd picked up working in the mine. With his talent for sleight of hand, he was pretty sure he could lift something from one of the tables without being noticed, but he preferred not to do that. Many of the sellers weren't much better off than he was. He was happy to rob the Capitol if he ever got the chance, but not his own people in District Twelve.

Bargaining, on the other hand, was fair game. John knew he could match wits with the best of them. If he managed to talk a seller down in price or even into giving him something for nothing — well, that was all in a day's work. He spotted a stall with a number of necklaces and bracelets and made his way over. Several looked like they might suit Cheryl, and he was particularly taken with a silver pendant holding an orange glass bead in the center. It matched her personality — sunny and pure. He glanced around to see if there were any girls Cheryl's age whose opinion he might ask, when his breath caught in his throat.

There was a girl about twenty yards away trying on scarves at one of the stalls. She looked to be around his age but clearly did not live in the Seam. Her hair was a shining auburn color, and she was tall and slender without being skinny — as tall as he was, he guessed. She appeared confident and graceful, her long legs moving like a deer's as she pivoted this way and that, making the scarf sway gently. Her skin was flawless, and her eyes were an arresting shade of green.

John was mesmerized. He'd seen pretty girls before, but never one quite as dazzling as this. He watched a few other boys and even a couple of men approach her; each was rebuffed with a toss of her head and a teasing smile. The thought of going over there himself never entered his mind. She was as far out of his reach as the Capitol — as unattainable as his father's love.

She looked his way, and their eyes connected for a few, brief seconds. John quickly diverted his gaze, embarrassed to have been caught staring, even though he was certain she was accustomed to stares. He forced himself think of something besides the girl, to appear indifferent to her beauty and to focus once more on his sister's gift. He studied the silver pendant again, imagining how nice it would look around Cheryl's neck. It really was the perfect present. He opened his mouth to make an offer to the stall owner.

"Can I see that?"

John looked up to see the red-headed girl standing next to him. She was pointing at the pendant with the orange bead — _Cheryl's pendant_ — and smiling at the stall owner. _The girl was right next to him!_

She was indeed as tall as he was, and she smelled wonderful — clean and vaguely of the woods. She glanced at him slyly before returning her attention to the necklace. There could be no doubt that she understood the effect she was having on John. He could tell that it gave her a sense of power.

 _Say something,_ he told himself. _You're usually good with words. Tell her that you've already picked that out for your sister. Make it a joke_ — _make her laugh._

But no words emerged. The glibness that came to him so easily when he bargained with the sellers in The Hob had deserted him, and he could only stare at her dumbly. He could picture himself through her eyes; lean, with rock dust in his hair and dirty fingernails. No doubt the sort of boy her merchant parents would want her to stay away from. The sort of boy who would toil in the mines for the rest of his life while she ended up living in relative comfort with another merchant.

"I'll take this one." The girl didn't even try to bargain, just slid some coins into the seller's hand and fastened the pendant around her neck with slender, graceful fingers. She paused for a moment, admiring the way the orange bead complimented her smooth, tanned skin. Then she winked at John.

And before he knew it, she was walking away, wearing Cheryl's necklace. He'd never even said a word.

* * *

John woke early the next morning, as if it were a regular working day instead of The Reaping. He thought briefly about going down into the mine for a few hours to rest in the cool quiet of the tunnels. There was plenty of time; District Twelve would be the last to choose its tributes, and the Seam would be humming with tension for half the day before the selection. The last thing he wanted to do was watch the Reapings in the other districts as they were broadcast on the big screen in the Square. Going to the tunnels would provide a reprieve.

But then Cheryl sat on the edge of his bed and gently squeezed his hand, and he knew he was going to have to stick around, if only for _her_ peace of mind. She was wearing the bracelet he'd found at the Hob yesterday — after the red-headed girl had taken the pendant he'd originally wanted. The bracelet was a series of turquoise and green colored stones, polished to a shine and strung on an intricately braided set of threads. John didn't think it was as good as the necklace, but the color of the stones brought out the blue in her eyes, and she had loved it immediately.

"Now, you know what you have to do today," she chided him gently.

John nodded. "I have to not get picked."

"That's right."

John grinned reassuringly. "I think the odds really _are_ in my favor, Cheryl. You know I never get chosen for anything. I'll bet Blackagar Boltagon has no idea who I am, and I don't go near the Victor's Village. So what reason would he have to pick me?"

She smiled. "I'm going to keep reminding myself of that until the day is over. It will help keep me calm." She patted his hand. "Now… you and I should both get cleaned up and look our best for the Square. Everyone will be there, and you know I like to fool people into thinking we don't live in the Seam." Her eyes twinkled.

John forced himself chuckle at her joke. They did this every year on Reaping Day. It was part of an unacknowledged ritual to hide their emotions behind a screen of jests and trivial comments. The alternative — to tell her that he loved her and she was the kindest sister a boy could have — would cause them both to unravel.

There were no such emotional worries with his father. John managed to avoid him for the entire morning — not easy to do in the four rooms that they called home — but ran into him just as he and Cheryl were leaving for the Square. Thomas Constantine studied both his children. John and Cheryl had washed their hair and were wearing their best clothes, crisply ironed by Cheryl. John knew that they cleaned up well and looked out of place in the dingy kitchen. No one would ever guess they were the children of a dark and tired man like Thomas Constantine.

"Well aren't you a pair," Thomas said sarcastically. "Pretending to be merchants?"

Cheryl smiled and, before John could say anything, replied mildly, "Just trying to do you proud, Dad."

His father's expression immediately softened, and he looked only at her when he said, "You always make me proud, girl."

"Thanks."

Knowing that similar praise would not be coming his way, John held out his arm to Cheryl and merely asked, "Shall we go?"

She inhaled nervously and slid her hand into the crook of his arm. "Yes, let's get this over with."

They left the house, and John turned briefly back to see his father standing in the doorway. He wasn't sure what he expected to see in Thomas Constantine's face; anger? triumph? Joy? Certainly not fear or regret. His favorite child was exempt from the Games, and it wouldn't matter much to Thomas if John were picked. He might even consider it some kind of weird retribution for his wife's death. Yet to John's surprise, Thomas's expression was strangely devoid of emotion. He just stared at John guardedly and then nodded very briefly. After a few seconds, John shrugged and walked away with Cheryl on his arm.

The rest of the Reaping passed in an odd kind of blur — happening both much too fast and much too slow. There was a short memorial to District Twelve's last tributes, Kate Bishop and Loki Odinson. John hadn't known either of them, but he felt a pang of sadness as their pictures were shown. They were young and no doubt brave. And, like all the tributes, they didn't deserve to die.

And then Ian Boothby was up on the stage next to Blackagar Boltagon opening up the envelopes.

"Kory Anders?" he announced first, almost as if there could be some question.

A tall, red-headed girl started walking toward the stage. John was shocked to see that it was the beauty he'd seen yesterday at the Hob. For her to be chosen just seemed wrong, he thought. She was radiant; the kind of girl that luck should follow like an eager puppy. The kind of girl who should be exempt from everything ugly or unpleasant.

 _She must be ready to faint_ , he figured. _She has to know she hasn't got much of a chance_ — _she can't flirt her way to winning._ Still, he had to hand it to her. She marched toward the stage as if she were going on a picnic instead of headed toward the Games, with the same confidence he'd seen yesterday on full display now. She grinned at Ian Boothby as she took his hand and climbed the steps. He noted that she was wearing the silver pendant.

"And for the boys, John Constantine."

John looked around the crowd curiously, waiting for someone to step forward. It wasn't until he heard Cheryl's muffled sob that he realized what Boothby had said.

It was him. He had been picked.

His first thought was that, like Kory Anders, it made no sense for him to have been chosen. She was blessed with luck. She should have been above being selected. And he was gifted with invisibility — at least to most of the people in District Twelve. He was below notice. Okay — yes, his foreman liked him, and Cheryl certainly loved him, but he hadn't formed a connection with many others. He was John Constantine — the skinny kid in the mines with the smart mouth who spent much of his time alone. Blackagar Boltagon should barely have known of his existence.

But then again, he realized, who else to pick _except_ someone who wouldn't be missed? Cheryl loved him, but she was just one person. His father certainly wouldn't care. John guessed that at this moment, Thomas Constantine was either yawning in boredom or grinning in satisfaction. He most definitely wasn't in anguish. And when you thought about it, there weren't many children you could send to the Games without devastating a parent. So really, he had to hand it to Blackagar Boltagon. The man had chosen well.

John climbed the stairs onto the stage, dimly aware of the stares and of Cheryl still sobbing in the crowd. He shook several hands, including the slender, graceful one belonging to Kory Anders. He briefly registered that her grip was unexpectedly strong before the Sentinel was escorting him back to the rooms to say his goodbyes. _It should be quick,_ he thought. _There aren't many to be said. Just me and Cheryl, and maybe this time I should tell her how much I love her. I probably won't get another chance._

But it turned out that Cheryl was not his only visitor. Somehow, his foreman, despite not being family, had managed to talk his way back there. More shocking still was his father.

Cheryl didn't say much. She sat next to him and held his hand, a tear trickling down her cheek despite her efforts not to cry. He gripped her fingers, trying to memorize the way it felt, trying to take with him a reminder of positive human contact before he went to a place where contact was only likely to bring him pain.

His foreman looked almost as weepy as Cheryl. "Remember what you've learned in the mines, John," he said. "Being able to disappear won't win the Games, but it will help you stay safe until many of your enemies have been killed and your odds have gotten better. You have the gift of stealth. Use it."

John nodded mutely, touched that the man cared enough to come back to tell him this.

"And I want you to have this," his foreman continued, reaching into his pocket and handing John his silver watch. "Something from home to hold onto."

John stared at the watch and shook his head, dumbfounded. He was afraid he might join Cheryl in weeping. It dawned on him that he didn't even know the foreman's name — he had always just been Sir or Boss — and now the man was giving John what must be a very treasured possession. "I can't accept this, Sir," he said at last. "I'm sure it's a family heirloom. What about your children?"

The foreman shrugged. "If you want, you can give it to them after the Games. I want you to have a reminder that there are people at home who care about you and want you back." He paused to look pointedly at John's father. "I want you to have a reason to fight."

John blinked a few times rapidly and put the watch in his pocket. "Thank you," he whispered. He saw Cheryl glance gratefully at the foreman before returning her gaze to her lap. John's father, on the other hand, stared grimly at the man for a few seconds before turning his gaze to John.

"We both know that you're capable of killing," he said harshly. "Now might be a good time to make use of that skill." He reached out as if to touch John's shoulder but then turned and abruptly left the room. John stared after him, unsure if Thomas had intended his statement to be encouragement or condemnation.

He also wondered if there were any truth in it. Could he, when the moment came, take a life? He didn't know.

Cheryl watched their father go and then squeezed John's hand. "I don't care what you have to do, John," she said softly. "Just, please, come back home to me."

John nodded, even though he thought the chances were pretty slim. "I'll do my best." And then, because he thought he might never see her again, he added, "I love you."

The words completely undid her. She was sobbing as the Sentinel came to force her and the foreman out of the room. It was only after they left that John allowed the tears to roll down his own cheeks.

* * *

 **Kory Anders of District Twelve**

 **Written by Unlucky Alis**

* * *

"…the depths to which girls would sink to get revenge."

J.K. Rowling, _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_

* * *

There were two types of stares Kory Anders was intimately familiar with. The first was the sort of stare some people ached to receive. Full of envy and, more importantly to her, lust. Looking as she did, Kory received more than her fair share of that type. Thick, long, red hair, bright green eyes, and a body most girls her age would kill for. Kory was undeniably gorgeous. Tall, but not too tall, with healthy curves unseen on most girls from Twelve. It was hard for people not to stare. It may have been a little vain of her, but Kory enjoyed the attention and wasn't afraid to tease the boys, and sometimes men now that she herself was almost a woman, who looked at her like that.

They made it too easy. All they saw was a beautiful girl and were completely oblivious to the clever mind and hidden strength beneath her tanned skin.

The other stare was the complete opposite, all rage and unabashed anger. There was only one person who ever looked at Kory like that, and for reasons neither of them could control. Her older sister, Komander, was Kory's opposite in many ways. Pale skin rather than a light tan, black hair instead of red like the rest of their family, and darker eyes as well. Komander was much slimmer and almost as pretty, but she had always been of a grim disposition, which made it hard for people to warm up to her. Because of this, their parents decided Kory would be the one to take over the family business; an unlikable owner just wasn't suitable in their eyes.

Both girls knew it wasn't fair, and for the longest time, Kory tried not to hold it against her sister whenever Komander would spit out a biting remark or shoved her too hard. But it got harder and harder as each year passed, and while Kory didn't want to give up on her sister, the particularly hateful glare she was faced with first thing that morning was disconcerting.

"Good morning, Kammie," Kory said brightly, trying to ignore the tension in the room. She had given her older sister the nickname a long time ago, when the name Komander was verbally out of her grasp. Ironic, considering Kory's skill with language now.

"Good morning, sister." Komander greeted her from the kitchen table. Her tone was jovial enough, and there was a smile on the dark-haired girl's face, but her eyes continued to betray her. Komander was usually subtler than that and Kory found it a little unnerving. Silence reigned as Kory went about gathering her breakfast; she didn't miss Komander's disgusted look when she sat down with her food. It wasn't much, just toast and mustard. The sauce wasn't often found in District Twelve. In fact, the Anders were lucky to obtain it through their Capitol and district ties from business. Kory had loved it from the first moment and put it on everything. Everyone else found it strange and unusual.

Kory nibbled on her toast and commented, "Tomorrow is the day of Reaping."

"Yes, it is." There was a strange lilt in Komander's voice, a sort of eagerness.

"Who do you think will be picked?" Kory asked. She had been incredibly relieved when she learned of the special circumstances for that year's Avenger Games, being the first of what President Thanos called a Quarter Quell. The victors for each district would personally choose their tributes, and Kory could think of no reason why she would be on Blackagar Boltagon's radar.

"I have an idea," said Komander, smiling. Kory waited for her sister to share that idea. Instead, Komander pushed away from the table, her chair squeaking as it slid across the tiled floor, and left the room. A few seconds later, Kory heard a door slam shut as Kammie left the house. Probably to another meeting. Komander seemed to be having quite a few of those in the past week, although who she could possibly be meeting with was a mystery.

Kory waited a moment, listening for any sounds of movement. There was nothing but silence, meaning her parents were already in the shop and she could sneak away. Kory wolfed down the rest of her toast and bolted out of the house. She went out the back, where they had a staircase exiting into an alleyway behind the house. Like most merchants, the Anders lived above their business. The primary difference between their house and others was the third floor. Typical merchant houses only had two, and most of the first floor was taken up by their shop. The Anders dealt with that little problem by building their house up. Despite that, there were still only two entrances, and the staircase to the back was the only way to leave without passing through the shop.

It was cloudy when Kory stepped into the alley, and she thought about taking some kind of jacket or light sweater. After a moment's deliberation, she decided against it. She chose a snug tee shirt and short skirt for a reason; a little cool air wasn't about to make her go back on that decision.

Kory started off down the alley, a narrow corridor with homes for walls. What little space there was between most shops was cluttered with junk and foliage, and she had to squeeze between a bakery and clothing shop to emerge on the next street over. Kory checked her clothes for any grime and looked back the way she had come. The Anders house, though only one level higher, seemed to tower above every other shop. With any luck, her parents would be busy all day and they would hardly notice she was gone.

Whenever she could, Kory indulged her habit of exploring. She was the daughter of merchants, one of the most well-off families in Twelve, if anyone could be considered well-off. Her family had a hand in a little bit of everything that went on. Her father sometimes joked that, if the world were a little different, they would be kings and queens.

Living as she did, Kory was fascinated by other ways of life. The Capitol interested her greatly, because everything was so much _better_ there, but the Seam was much closer to home. Kory visited all those places a merchant's daughter wasn't supposed to go. The dirty outer streets, overcrowded slum-like neighborhoods, she had even gone to the mines once. It was the one time she was jealous of Komander's dark hair and slimmer form. She fit in perfectly with those from the Seam. Kory probably would have gotten past the mine elevator if her bright hair hadn't made her stand out. The Sentinels practically had to drag her home

But for all her exploring, Kory had only visited the fence a few times, and mostly in the last year. It started before the last Games, when she saw a couple of teenagers disappearing into the forest. For a few days, the sighting had been at the front of her mind, until she simply forgot it even happened. It wasn't until almost a month later that Kory remembered what she had seen, when she recognized Kate Bishop as the younger girl took to the stage when she was reaped.

Kory had seen her before, both of them coming from well off families, but they had never been friends. She had never paid so much attention to the Games before, and she cried when Kate died. The Bishop girl was like Kory, living a moderate life in the poorest district, and Kory was certain Kate wanted _more_ as well. Why else would she risk going over the fence?

After Kate died, Kory visited the fence at least every couple of weeks, but she had yet to climb it. She had walked along it for miles, going as far as she could in a day and trudging back home at night to crawl into bed as dawn broke. There was a surprising number of spots where trees were just the right distance from the fence that it wouldn't be too hard to shimmy up and jump down from the furthest reaching branches. She never met Kate's friends. Maybe if she had, she would have built up the courage to climb before now.

Kory wound her way through the streets of Twelve, which slowly became less like streets and more like dirt paths. The houses lost their second floors as she reached the outskirts, where the miners lived and had no need for shops. Everything became dirtier, because there really wasn't a part of Twelve that could ever be considered clean. There was less bustle than in the merchant streets, but still a sort of dull activity. Most kids would be in school by then, and the miners would have started hours ago. Only those too young to learn, too old to work, or simply unfit for either were about. Kory smiled at them, a few being familiar faces that she probably would never even recognize outside the context of the Seam.

She kept walking until she reached the fence. There was a fair bit of space between the line of houses and the 'protective wall.' Kory scanned her surroundings carefully, making sure there was no one nearby, and took several firm steps towards the fence. She stopped when it was mere inches away and leaned forwards, listening carefully. It was silent. It took her a long time to notice, but the fence wasn't always on. It usually was, but there were days when the electricity stopped, and she could scale it so easily if she wanted to. Today was one of those days.

She reached out slowly, suddenly worried that the electricity would snap on at any moment. Kory's fingers hovered in the diamond shaped spaces before curling around the metal. Nothing happened. She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face and reached up for a higher hold, raising her foot to brace it against the thin metal.

"Kory Anders."

Kory spun around, ripping her hands away from the fence and hiding them behind her back, as if that could make the Sentinels before her forget what she was about to do. There were three of them, their helmets tucked under their arms, and their white hair a sharp contrast to the purple on their armor. Their blue skin, however, blended almost perfectly the blue of their uniforms. Their hair and skin were both from cosmetic adjustments when they still lived in the Capitol.

"Good morning, teachers," Kory said, nodding to each of them. They nodded in return, and after sharing a look, two of the Sentinels broke away, one continuing their patrol of the fence, and the other heading back into the district. Kory watched the second one go.

"He's not going to say anything, if that's what you're worried about," the remaining Sentinel said, and the tension left Kory's shoulders. She had met these three particular Sentinels during one of her visits to the fence. They were older, near retirement, and formerly from the Capitol. All three of them refused to tell her their names and instead requested she call them each Warlord. Kory settled for 'teacher,' although that didn't make it any less confusing.

Her teachers used to be part of a powerful group of Sentinels, nicknamed the Warlords of Okaara. They had been in charge of training, and through her own lessons, Kory learned they were strict, but compassionate. It was all a part of their ordeals. Over time, their views differed with the Capitol, and they were sent far away to District Twelve. When Kory met them, they were eager to teach again, and she was eager to learn. For almost a year, the Warlords had been instructing her in the art of combat.

Kory wasn't entirely certain what spurred her to accept the Warlords' offer. She had always been fairly strong but never thought much of fighting before meeting them. Something about watching Kate Bishop struggle to survive stirred something within her and made the offer too tantalizing to resist.

"It isn't a crime to look past the fence, only to climb it," the Warlord said.

"Of course." Kory nodded hastily. "I didn't think I would see you today."

"Nor I you. No other lessons today?"

"No. My tutor is busy today, and Komander left the house before I did anyways," Kory explained. It was unusual for any children from Twelve to be taught privately — Kory couldn't say anything about what it was like in other districts — but the Anders family, as usual, was an exception. Lu Ander, Kory's father, hired one of Twelve's best teachers to be Komander's tutor when she turned six, and Kory joined those lessons when she reached the same age — making school just another world Kory was immensely curious about.

"Then sit," the Okaaran instructed, and Kory immediately dropped onto a nearby log. "I have taught for many years, and you are by far one of my best students. You understand the need for compassion and compromise."

"Because conflict does not always have to be inevitable."

"Yes. But sometimes it is, and we must let go of our compassion. Though from what I hear, that is not a problem for you."

Kory fidgeted uncomfortably under her teacher's stern gaze. Those that knew Kory well would know about her temper. Normally, she was a rather bubbly and excitable person, and it wasn't easy for Kory to get angry. But when she did, she exploded, and bad things tended to happen to the instigator. While learning under the watchful eye of the Warlords, Kory had been able to keep a surprising hold on her temper anytime someone provoked her. But last week, there had been a bit of an incident, and it caused a scene, suffice to say. She hoped her teachers wouldn't hear about it, but of course Sentinels talked, and from what Kory understood, it had taken three of them to hold her back.

"It is not a bad thing," the Warlord amended. "Compassion is an important virtue, though it can make battle hard. But I don't intend to talk about your little… bout from last week. Your sister."

"Komander?" Kory's head snapped up. That certainly wasn't what she had been expecting.

"You show her compassion." It was not a question.

"She is my sister," Kory said.

"But she is not your friend. It is easier to hate a stranger, but it cannot be denied that strangers aren't always the ones deserving of our hate."

Kory's gaze dropped and she stared at the ground. She did not want to hate her sister. She remembered, just barely, when they were younger and Komander was still kind to her. Even now, there were moments where Kammie did not seem to despise her.

"I have never told you why we were moved to District Twelve, have I?"

It was an abrupt and hardly subtle change of topic, but Kory appreciated it nonetheless. "I thought it was a difference of opinion."

"It was, but there is more to it than that. You must realize, by now, that we fought on the Capitol side of the Civil War; it was our duty. The Capitol won, and they created the Avenger Games. Despite what you may think, not everyone in the Capitol agrees with this tradition. In fact, there was a rumor that someone even tried to burn down the president's home."

"How?" Kory asked.

"A ball of fire, thrown across the sky like a blazing star. Nothing happened, but they could never prove who did it. Of course, this is all just a rumor."

"Just a rumor." Kory smiled at her teacher. "And coincidentally, the Warlords of Okaara were scattered, and their greatest sent here?"

"Pure coincidence." The old Sentinel nodded. "I need to continue my patrol. Remember our creed."

"Friends should be loved and enemies hated," Kory recited. They were the values the Warlords had stressed most.

"Yes, child. And you have become a dear friend to me and the others. Remember everything that we have taught you, and we will see you after the Games."

It wasn't until much later that Kory realized what the Warlord truly said.

* * *

The Hob was the place Kory visited most frequently. It was this old warehouse filled with stalls and vendors for the greater population of District Twelve to buy and sell. Most people traded items, though Kory usually brought money with her. The entire set up was highly illegal, but the Sentinels ignored it for the most part.

After the Warlord left, Kory headed straight there and spent the afternoon walking between the tables, looking at everything that piqued her interest. Many items were handmade and beautifully crafted, despite the lack of artistic resources in Twelve. The food, on the other hand, was questionable. Kory enjoyed it anyways — one of the benefits of having what most people considered a strange appetite.

She smiled teasingly at any boys she caught staring, smoothly rebuffing their advances, and any older men that thought they could impress her. Kory had been admiring a thick, well-made scarf — a rare and coveted item in the Hob — when she felt another stare. Looking up, she noticed someone. Around her age, but more boy than man. He was standing by a stall with numerous necklaces, among other things. When she noticed him staring, he quickly looked away. Kory immediately returned the scarf to the stand before her and started walking towards the boy, who looked like he would be easy to tease. Thin, average height, and dirty blond hair. Though the dirty part was literal. If it weren't for the coal dust on his clothes and smudged across his skin, she may have thought he was a merchant's child with his fairer skin. But even then, he held himself differently. Not like Kory or her sister, and not even like other teenagers she had seen in the Seam.

Kory purposefully stopped beside him, gazing at the necklaces. Some of them were plain, while others were surprisingly beautiful, not the sort of items she expected to find here. There was one in particular that had caught boy's attention, and her eye as well. Kory pointed to the necklace and looked at the stall owner.

"Can I see that?"

The woman complied, lifting the necklace and passing it off to Kory. Feeling the boy's eyes on her once more, she turned and smiled slyly. Satisfied that he would not be looking away anytime soon, she focused on the necklace. It was very pretty, with an orange glass bead set into a flaring silver pendant, so it looked like a blazing star.

"I'll take this one," Kory said to the stall owner, and she handed over some money without really checking how much. Considering the soft gasp, it was definitely more than the necklace was worth. Kory brought the necklace up, sliding her hands under her thick red hair, and did the clasp behind her neck. She toyed with the pendant a moment and winked at the boy before walking away.

* * *

The next day, the star pendant was the last thing Kory put on as she was getting ready for the Reaping. After leaving the Hob, she had walked around the district a little more, and her parents' shop was already closed when she returned home. Komander was also there, and she seemed to be in a much better mood than when they shared breakfast. Kory had slept reasonably well, and when she rolled out of bed, she immediately started getting ready. Because it was the final district, and each Reaping was played live so everyone could watch, Twelve's Reaping wouldn't take place until that afternoon. Still, Kory took great pride in her appearance, and she had been planning this day for a long while.

Usually, people put on their best clothes for Reaping, and Kory certainly had much nicer clothes than this, but she had made up her mind the day Kate Bishop died. She wore a dark purple midriff shirt, with long sleeves, silver accents, and holes on the shoulders. It was a close copy of Bishop's shirt for last year's Reaping, though the shorts and silver belt were all Kory's personal touch. Most people would probably think the outfit in poor taste, but Kory had chosen it carefully. It was a way of showing her solidarity with the dead tribute.

Komander stared at Kory when she left her room, but it wasn't hateful. Just surprised. The smile, however, was unexpected.

"What do you think?" Kory asked.

"Wonderfully ironic," Komander said. She sounded pleased. "It took you long enough to get ready."

True enough, it was time for the Anders sisters to head to the Reaping. Kory couldn't help that she wanted to be perfect that day. They said nothing, walking in silence to the square. Kory remembered her first Reaping. She had been frightened, worried that somehow her name would be drawn despite only being entered once. Komander had taken her hand and given it a tight squeeze, though the contact quickly ended when some other girl was called to the stage. It was the only time Kammie had comforted her.

Now, as soon as they were identified, Komander disappeared amongst the other eighteen year old girls. This Reaping would be her last, while Kory still had one to go. She didn't bother trying to follow her sister, knowing it would be futile, and instead settled amongst her own age group. All the children of Twelve aged twelve to eighteen were in the square. Boys on one side, girls on the other, and further divided by age. The white walls of the Justice Building loomed over the gathered crowd.

Kory scanned the faces around her. She recognized a few girls, ones she had seen either around the Hob, or in the other merchant shops, and nodded solemnly to them. Some districts treated the Reaping as a festival, namely the Careers, but it was always a dismal affair in Twelve.

A few people looked at Kory in a mix of distaste and the usual desire. An odd combination, inspired by her choice of outfit and natural appearance. She smiled at them, ignoring the Marvel anthem and movie as the creation of the Avenger Games was explained. Twelve's escort, Ian Boothby, and soul living victor Blackagar Boltagon, were on stage.

In his usual nervous way, Ian stepped up to the microphone. "As President Thanos revealed one month ago, the victors of each district have chosen this year's tributes. Blackagar has carefully chosen who will be representing you in the Games, and, uh, I will tell you his choices. For obvious reasons…"

Ian's voice trailed off at the end of his sentence as he looked at Blackagar. The King of the Inhumans, whose trachea had been damaged during his own Games, pulled out two envelopes and passed them to Ian, who clumsily ripped open the first one and pulled out a pristine piece of paper.

"Ladies first," Ian announced belatedly. "Kory Anders?"

The first thing Kory thought was _oh, it's me_.

The second thing was that while she wanted to be more like the Bishop girl, she didn't want be _exactly_ like her. She didn't want to take part in the Avenger Games, didn't want to die in them. Then she started questioning why. She had never met Blackagar, and her training with the Warlords had been private. The Anders were a well-known family, but their moderate wealth should have discouraged her as a candidate, not the opposite. Most people had located Kory in the crowd by now and were looking at her with pity. Kory Anders had never been looked at with pity, and she wasn't going to let it happen now.

 _A warrior must not boast, but they must show they are strong_. It was one of the many lessons the Warlords had taught her. Kory lifted her head high and marched to the aisle, the girls around her parting easily to let her pass. She sauntered down the empty strip of dirt, hips and hair swaying, and graciously accepted Ian's hand as he led her on stage. Kory's smile was brilliant, dazzling. She knew her looks could be a great advantage in getting sponsors, as well as underestimated.

"And for the boys." Ian fumbled just as much with the second envelope, almost ripping it in half. "John Constantine."

Kory didn't recognize the name, but she knew the face immediately as the chosen tribute walked towards the stage. It was the boy from the Hob. A part of her was thankful she wouldn't be going in with anyone she knew. It was rare for district partners to kill each other, but it wasn't unheard of. Kory didn't want to go through something like that.

She smiled at John as she shook his hand, and once more at the cameras, before being ushered into the Justice Building. The Sentinel leading her was one of the Warlords, though with the full uniform on, Kory couldn't tell which one. She could just see his part of his face through the dark visor.

"You have ten minutes for visitors," the Okaaran said. They locked eyes, and the look her gave her was grim, but also reassuring. She had been taught everything she needed to know.

Kory had just taken a seat when her parents burst into the room, her mother crying and her father trying to give advice. Kory herself felt oddly calm.

"I've been training," she told them, "with a couple of Sentinels. I've got a chance."

It only made her mother cry harder, and Lu had to practically drag Mya off their daughter.

"Your sister wanted to say goodbye alone," Lu said. He pulled Kory into a final, crushing hug. "I am proud of you, daughter. Fight hard."

"I will." Kory nodded firmly, and her parents left while Komander entered. Kory wasn't sure what she expected to see in Komander's eyes. Their relationship had been strained for so long, despite Kory's attempts to maintain some form of sisterly bond. She certainly would have been sad if Komander was chosen.

But Komander didn't look upset or saddened. In fact, she was smiling. There was a glint of victory in her eyes. It only took a moment for Kory to understand why.

"The meetings," she said shortly. Komander's improved mood that morning, her absences. It made sense now.

"Yes, I made a deal. It was easier than I thought it would be." Komander's smile grew.

"Why?" Kory asked, her voice breaking.

"Because I hate you, sister," Kammie snapped. "Without even doing anything, you took what's mine. The better sister, the likeable one, the _favorite_ child."

Komander spat the word 'favorite' like it was a curse.

"You may not have seen it, but we have been at war, you and I. It's only time I claim victory, sister."

Komander was not her friend, she was not someone Kory could love. The eldest Anders child already considered them enemies. In an instant, Kory's betrayed expression turned dark. Terrifyingly beautiful, she glared at Komander and remembered what the Warlord said to her. She didn't think, just lunged, and her fist landed solidly against Kammie's cheek. The dark-haired girl tumbled out of her chair, and the hit was strong enough that it sent her to the wall.

"You are no longer my sister," Kory hissed, shaking out her hand. "You are an enemy."

When Komander rose, she was smirking, pressing her thumb against the fresh split on her cheek. She pulled her hand away and looked at the blood. "I would like to say you've been a worthy opponent, but I suppose I could do you the final courtesy of one less deception. Goodbye, sister."

Komander walked out slowly, with Kory's blazing green eyes on her back. The Warlords had taught her well, and Kory wouldn't go down without a fight. No, she wouldn't go down at all. If wars, even personal ones, were inevitable, Kory had to live so she could see this one through.


	17. Chapter 16: Oh, How the Other Side Lives

**(A/N): Hello, and welcome back to our Tuesday update! We're kicking off a brand new round of chapters now that everyone's been introduced, so we're starting with another peek behind the scenes as to the wheels in motion. After all, more than ever, we're hurtling toward something big for all of the characters involved, so it's nice to see just what's in store for these kids beyond just the Games. Don't worry; we'll get you back to what the tributes are up to with our Friday update ;)**

 **Thank you, of course, to all of the writers who have reviewed. We encourage you to continue supporting each other, especially as the story goes on! And welcome, ThatOneGuy875. It's amazing to see that you've read everything related to this story, and we hope that you continue to enjoy it.**

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen - "Oh, How The Other Side Lives"**

 **Written by robbiepoo2341 and Canucklehead Cowgirl**

* * *

" _Let our advance worrying become advance thinking and planning." -Winston Churchill_

* * *

 **Bruce Wayne**

 **District Seven**

* * *

Bruce was steadily pacing in his office, growing more agitated by the minute as his calls to the Capitol continued to go unheeded. What was the point of all his influence if he couldn't bring it to bear for his own children?

Granted, he was trying to go straight to the top. He had a decent relationship with Nick Fury, one that stretched back before the war, and until now, Fury had at least answered him, or given him the courtesy of a message explaining when he would be in contact if he was out.

This — this was nothing but silence.

There was a logical part of his mind, a business sense that reminded him that Fury was the Head Gamemaker and couldn't be taking personal calls from the father of not one but _two_ tributes from that year — but _damn_ the logical part of his mind if it couldn't help his kids.

The Reaping was replaying on a screen in his office as the Capitol continued its nonstop coverage of the Games, as always — and Bruce couldn't find it in him to turn it off. For as closely as he'd watched the Games last year when the tribute had been someone he'd known when James Howlett had been a bright young son of the rival family in the district… when it was _Helena and Dick,_ he wasn't going to kid himself into saying he could ignore it.

He let out a frustrated breath before he dropped into the seat at his desk again, picked up the phone, and once again got no answer from Fury.

Bruce was just about to start swearing into the man's voicemail — something that he simply didn't do, though the situation certainly warranted it at this point — when he heard a loud crash just outside of his office door, followed by the unmistakable thump of someone hitting the floor.

With both of the kids gone, the only other person in the house was Alfred, and Bruce couldn't help but jump straight to concern over the old butler — though as soon as he opened the door to the office, prepared to rush to Alfred's aid, he almost laughed at the scene in front of him.

Someone — a teenager, by the build of him — had clearly tried to break into the house, clad all in black with a hood over his head and a mask that covered his face from the nose down. And Alfred had clearly taken exception to the intrusion, if the large decorative candelabra he was holding in his hand was any indication. The young intruder was unconscious just in front of Bruce's office door, and Alfred glanced up at Bruce without a hint of apology in his gaze.

"I didn't think you wanted to be disturbed with riffraff today of all days," Alfred said simply, still holding the candelabra and looking somehow entirely unperturbed — even while he was straightening up from the solid hit he had just landed on their young intruder.

 _One of these days, I'm going to stop underestimating Alfred,_ Bruce thought with almost a smirk as he crouched down to examine the unconscious young man and to turn him onto his back and to see if he knew the intruder.

He frowned as he pulled the mask and hood back to reveal the blonde young man. He certainly did look familiar, though it took a long moment for Bruce to place him. Even after it came to him, Bruce wondered if it was simply because the young man from the previous Games that bore such a strong resemblance to their intruder had been from Two — where the Sentinels were trained and sent to other districts. A brother, perhaps? A Sentinel who had once been related to the elder "Hawkeye" from last year? This young man certainly looked older than last year's Barton boy had been, though not by much, and the resemblance _was_ striking.

Bruce frowned as he straightened up and nodded to Alfred. "Might be one of the extra Sentinels sent down from Two for the Reaping. I'll ask Gordon about it later," he said. "Right now, I'd like to know what he was doing in my house."

"Yes, sir," Alfred said, replacing the candelabra with extreme care — looking for the first time apologetic, over having disturbed the valuable object rather than over the intruder's state, of course — before he disappeared to find rope from Dick's climbing materials.

In no time, their blonde intruder had been well-restrained, courtesy of the climbing rope and an office chair, and it was only a few minutes after that before the boy started to blink back into consciousness with a little groan and an "Awww, crap."

Bruce smirked at the boy's reaction and had to shake his head. He certainly didn't sound like a hardened operative or soldier. Probably a petty thief, then. "Would you mind telling me why you're here?" he asked pointedly.

"Well, believe it or not, I was _planning_ on telling you that before your bouncer showed up," the boy said as he pulled slightly at the ropes, though those weren't budging anytime soon. "No need for the bright-light-interrogation routine."

"Most people that want to talk to me knock on the front door," Bruce pointed out.

"Most people that want to talk to you don't have to go through back channels because the director of SHIELD is paranoid," the boy replied evenly. "He says 'hi', by the way."

Of all the things that the boy could have said, _that_ was the one thing that gave Bruce pause as he looked the boy over a little closer, his eyes narrowed. "If Fury wanted to talk, all he had to do was answer my calls," he said at last, slowly. "Do you have proof of who sent you?"

The boy nodded once and tipped his head with his chin pointing toward his left side. "Hidden pocket… I'd show you myself, but I'm a little tied up right now," he explained, grinning at his own joke, though it was Alfred who found the pocket in question just by his left knee and came back with a small black box.

"What is this supposed to be?" Bruce asked as he frowned at the little device.

"Like I know," the boy said with a light shrug. "He said you'd know? I'm just the delivery service."

Bruce looked the young man's way for a moment and took the box to his desk. He sat down and turned it over in his hands for a moment before he let out a little 'aha' and pressed a couple of hidden buttons to make the box open.

The blue hologram lit up the room as Fury's face came into focus as it was projected out of the box in mid air. "You need to be patient right now. I understand you're anxious — and you have every right to be — but you _need_ to trust me." Fury paused, and the image shimmered slightly before he added, simply, "It's happening."

The others in the room didn't seem to understand the message, though it was clear from the change in Bruce's expression that he did. In the few times that he'd been able to speak to Fury in person since the war, they had talked about plans to undermine and overthrow the current dictatorship, but _now_ , of all times, when _both_ of his children were in the Games — was an incredibly inconvenient time to decide to move forward on those plans.

"Sir?" Alfred prompted after a moment as the blonde boy looked between them both with clearly no idea what had just transpired.

"You can let him go," Bruce said. "He's telling the truth."

Alfred raised a single eyebrow but didn't argue the matter — he never did — as he untied the young man sitting in the office chair. For his part, the blonde simply stood up and shook out his hands and feet for a moment before offering Bruce a rueful grin. "Yeah, I know. The ninja suit's off-putting. Not my idea for a uniform, if it makes you feel any better."

"Not particularly," he replied.

The boy shrugged at that. "So, you got the message from everyone's favorite one-eyed paranoid SHIELD director… I'm also supposed to stick around — keep an eye out — let you know someone's been going around attacking people connected to the Games, especially powerful people with family connections to the tributes."

At that, Bruce and Alfred shared a look. Fury had long known that Bruce was more than capable of looking out for himself, so if he _had_ sent this boy, it meant he was getting concerned. "What's your name?" Bruce asked. "Since you're assigned to play bodyguard."

"Ah." The boy shrugged with both palms upturned. "That… is definitely one of the big 'no's of working for Fury, sorry."

"What would you prefer then?"

"Barney," the boy said with a nod. He hardly even thought about it.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at that. "You have your choice, and _that's_ what you're choosing?"

'Barney' shrugged again. "I know I'll respond to it."

"Then, _Barney_ ," Bruce said glancing toward Alfred. "Alfred here will show you to a room."

Barney gave that same sort of lazy shrug as he looked toward Alfred, pulling the hood of his uniform back over his head before he got a good look at Alfred. "See, I feel like I should say something here about how I've never lost a fight to someone over fifty. Just… for the sake of my pride and reputation as a bodyguard."

"And am I to assume that you have an extensive reputation then?" Alfred asked, perfectly straight-faced.

"Not under the name 'Barney', that's for sure," the boy grinned crookedly.

"Or any other, I'm sure."

"Well, it's hard to do that when your name's off the books," the boy said.

Alfred couldn't quite suppress the smile. "And when you are oh, so young."

"You'd be surprised," Barney said, grinning wider.

"I'd have to be."

Barney turned toward Bruce with a steadily widening smile. "I like this guy."

Bruce nodded, barely hiding his own smirk. "Most do."

Alfred had just put a hand on the young man's shoulder to steer him down the hallway — already, to Bruce's amusement, inquiring after whether or not he'd eaten since arriving in District Seven — when the phone in Bruce's study finally rang.

It couldn't have been Fury, since the box message was likely the only response he was going to get from the man for a while when he would be so obviously busy with his _poorly-timed_ revolution — and Bruce was going to have _words_ with Nicholas Fury about his decision to pull his attention from the Games during the year that Victor Creed had decided to do his utmost to steal both of Bruce's children out from under his nose. But the phone in the study was _not_ the public line that well-wishers and gamblers alike had been calling since his kids were reaped, so it was probably important — official or business-related, though he'd _thought_ he'd already told his business contacts that he would be, understandably, harder to reach for the next several days at least.

Both Alfred and Barney had stopped in the hallway when the phone went off, and Bruce's expression changed to a far more serious and less amused one when he heard that it was Jim Gordon on the other line.

"I've got some bad news for you, Bruce. Or good news, depending on how you want to take it," Gordon started out. "Old Man Howlett was found dead about an hour ago, shot down in his own home. We don't have any leads on the shooter yet, but with Logan in the Capitol, you're the only other person I thought should be contacted."

Bruce frowned at the news and glanced toward the young man in his hallway. The timing on this couldn't be a coincidence, especially not with Barney delivering the message that someone was coming after powerful names connected to the Games. "Thank you for letting me know," he told Gordon, and the Head Sentinel wished him well before he hung up, likely to return to his investigation.

"Bad news?" Barney asked, his hands in his pockets and posture relaxed, though Bruce didn't miss that he was watching the windows more than Bruce was himself.

"The other powerful name in the district," Bruce explained as he also got up to close the curtains in the office. "It seems you were right about people being targeted, but I'm afraid you went to the wrong house first."

"Well I didn't get a box for anyone but you, so I'm pretty sure I'm right where I'm supposed to be," Barney countered.

"Was there anyone else that he sent out to Seven?" Bruce asked.

Barney shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of. And I usually know if I'm going in with a partner." He frowned as he ran a hand through his hair, unconsciously knocking back his hood again. "Whoever this guy is has been targeting tribute families, not victors' families. That's a break in the pattern." As he spoke, he reached for something at his hip that unfolded into a long, black bow with a _snap_ and started to string the weapon.

Bruce frowned at the bow and then at 'Barney'. There was simply no way that this could be a coincidence. "Well, I'm sure you'll figure it out, Mr. Barton," he said simply, and the boy stopped short, turning on his heel with a look of innocence that lasted for only a few seconds before it turned into a laugh.

"Yeah, I guess it's a stretch to ask you to ignore the face and the bow at the same time?" he laughed, genuinely unbothered by the whole matter, though Bruce was still thunderstruck by the fact that there was a dead boy in front of him.

Especially since his own kids were in the Capitol at that very moment.

"They can't have faked much of anything in the Games," Bruce said at last as he tried to work it out for himself, the gears turning and a niggling little piece of hope starting to tug at the back of his mind that he actively ignored until he could get more information. "Though I suppose for a death like yours, they could have called it before it was irreversible…"

But Clint Barton simply shook his head. "Ah, no. No, I definitely died. And I'm sure Fury'll have my hide for all of this," he added, gesturing between his face, Alfred, and Bruce, "but I don't actually understand the science of half of it, and the other half is just not fun to think about because it involves dying. So you'll have to have this conversation with someone else — after we get somewhere with a few less windows," he finished, frowning around at the drapes, even though they were shut.

"And Nick Fury did this?" Bruce asked with his eyes slightly narrowed, not sure he entirely approved of the implications here — another thing to add to the list of _words_ he would be having with his old friend.

Clint waved off the question, though, as a device at his hip chirped and he checked it, lips pursed into a frown as he read the intel there. "The Capitol's got a whiff of the murder down the way," he said distractedly. "Gordon must have called it in and someone got a hold of it… they're gonna have a field day with this. People everywhere…" He shook his head. "Listen, I'm going to call in a back-up guy. Good guy — you'll like him. Real poster boy for the program, y'know?"

But as he was placing the call, the lights very suddenly went out completely, leaving all three men in pitch darkness a second before shots rang out. Bruce had already hit the floor — and pulled Alfred with him — when he heard the sound of glass breaking, followed by a _thud_.

Bruce stayed low, one hand on Alfred's back to keep him down as well as he waited to see if there would be another shot, but when the house remained perfectly still after a long few seconds, he whispered out his instructions to Alfred to _stay there_ while he made his way across the room in a low crawl to where the young 'bodyguard' had been standing.

The young man was clearly struggling, and while the power hadn't come back on, Bruce's eyes had adjusted — and he thought he could hear Alfred decidedly _not_ listening to him and searching for a light. Even without the light, though, Bruce could hear the wet and heavy breathing that gave away the depth of the problem.

By the time the lights came back up — not from Alfred's doing; apparently, their assailant wasn't going to leave any sign that he'd been there — Bruce was already doing what he could to try to ease the situation, though with two holes in the center of the young man's chest, it was highly doubtful Clint was going to make it even the few minutes it would take Gordon to get there, let alone to a hospital.

 _And then what would I say anyway? I found this dead boy… and he wasn't dead when I found him, but he is now … again,_ Bruce thought incredulously, shaking his head to himself at the whole situation as the young man's blood pooled on his office carpet.

Clint still had the comm he had been using in one hand, and he pushed the device against one of Bruce's hands with a frown as it took him a few tries to get out the words "SHIELD's coming" before Bruce finally pocketed the blinking little device — probably with a homing beacon — just so that Clint would stop pushing it at him when he was trying to _help_.

Alfred knelt down as well with a few cloths that he had been quick to grab from the bathroom down the hall — good old Alfred — to offer his help, but it was only another couple of minutes after Bruce took the comm that the young man's head lolled to the side and there was no longer a pulse at his neck.

* * *

 **Phil Coulson**

 **District Seven**

* * *

Coulson was mad — and rightfully so.

On top of the fact that the powerful family in Seven that _wasn't_ in the spotlight for the Games this year was successfully hit, an attempt had been made on the sole parent of both of District Seven's tributes for _this_ year in the same night.

And the Games hadn't even really started yet.

It was a distraction from the work he was trying to get done, but this was his case — and he wasn't about to hand it over to anyone else. Not with the same reports from officials this time in addition to the staff at the Howlett Estate noting that the person at large fit the description of his mystery metal-armed assassin.

And, of course, it was even more his problem with the fact that there was a Tahiti operative involved with the second assassination attempt. Coulson's quick response to Seven secured both sites before the Sentinels could interfere — or see that someone had died in Wayne Manor. In fact, by the time that Head Sentinel Gordon had made it into the building, the blood and all evidence of any kind of body was long gone — though to his surprise, he didn't have to warn Mr. Wayne to keep quiet.

He'd finish his report on both incidents as soon as they were airborne, but right now, he had to handle the fact that Fury had a little something different in mind for dealing with Mr. Wayne. So, once it was clear that Gordon was squared away, Coulson made his way over to him to try and have a civil discussion. "I'm sure this has been a trying time for you, Mr. Wayne, but I'm afraid you're going to have to bear with us a little longer."

"I'm not surprised," Wayne said in an even tone. He looked past Coulson to the spotless crime scene. "I don't suppose you know who the shooter was," he said in a tone that wasn't a question.

"He's been a problem in recent months, to be frank," Coulson replied. "But as to his identity, no. We don't have a positive ID yet."

Wayne nodded once. "You sent in an operative who matched my height and build," he said, and again, his tone didn't betray his emotion. "Thinking ahead?"

But Coulson was _not_ going to let that implication slide. "We sent in an operative that was right for the job — it had _nothing_ to do with how he was or was not built. We don't work like that."

Bruce raised a single eyebrow Coulson's way with a look that clearly communicated just how much he didn't believe that line.

"Yeah. I get that a lot," Coulson said with a tight expression on his face. "But like it or not, it _is_ the truth." Bruce's countenance didn't change as Coulson matched his blank look for the longest time until, finally, he cleared his throat and redirected the conversation. "As much as I'd like to let you give me the talking to you so clearly have in mind, I'm afraid it's going to have to wait. Director Fury has ordered me to take you into protective custody immediately, all things considered."

"Alfred will be coming with me," Wayne said in a tone that brokered no argument.

Coulson glanced toward the butler in question but gave nothing away in spite of the ever present smirk. "Of course."

"And I'll want to speak to Nick personally," Wayne continued in that same tone.

"You'll have to take a number," Coulson said simply. "As you can imagine, he's got his hands full right now."

"He doesn't get to drop this kind of thing in my lap and not give me the courtesy of five minutes," Wayne said sharply, the calm facade finally breaking with absolutely no warning as he spun on his heel to better glare at Coulson. "I don't care who he is."

"I completely understand, Mr. Wayne. The Director can be irritating that way," Coulson agreed with a nod. "But if it's that pressing, I'll set Agent May on it. She's got a way with words."

Wayne smirked. "Right. _That's_ always been the way to Nick's heart."

"His inner circle has been a little more interesting lately," Coulson told him. "I think he might just be loosening up."

"Right." Wayne gave Coulson a dry look and then gestured for the stoic agent to lead the way. "To protective custody, then. I assume you've already told Gordon something to keep him from looking, but I should warn you, the man can catch a lie _much_ faster than SHIELD can catch an assassin."

"We didn't lie to him," Coulson said with a little frown. "It's my policy to be as upfront as I can, particularly with a Head Sentinel with as stellar a reputation as Gordon. We told him the truth. An assassin is on the loose that has been targeting families of those in the Games, and your life is at risk as long as you're here. If you play nice, you might even get a chance to catch him yourself and leave him on Fury's doorstep. That'd be a nice touch, don't you think?"

Wayne turned toward him and looked him over a bit more openly. "It would be faster," he said at last, almost smirking, but not quite.

"It would be," Coulson agreed. "And much more interesting as far as paperwork goes."

"And I suppose it's a coincidence that the string of deaths recently have been old friends or allies of Fury's," Wayne said, the almost-smirk disappearing in favor of a more concentrated look. "I do keep up with our old friends, Agent Coulson, despite how isolating the districts can be."

"The lone exception so far being Mr. Howlett at the other end of the road," Coulson said with a nod, looking just as stoic as ever. "Though as I understand it, there won't be any tears shed."

"That's what your operative said," Wayne said, taking care not to refer to Clint by name, though Coulson knew Wayne _had_ to know, considering the boy hadn't been wearing a mask when they arrived. "He said it broke the pattern."

"It did," Coulson admitted. "And we're not sure what the shift was about. We have ideas, of course, and I'm sure the director will share them with you. Seeing as you have a reputation of your own."

Wayne nodded as he followed Coulson to the waiting hovercraft with a few other SHIELD agents keeping watch, looking to the trees. "Greatly exaggerated, obviously."

"See, I don't think so," Coulson said. "It's just a shame you weren't working for SHIELD. I'm sure you could have worked through a box or two of those cold cases before they got cold."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll find something to do with my time in the very near future," Wayne said.

"Sooner than you think, I'm sure," Coulson replied with a smirk. "He won't admit it yet, but the fact is he can use the help."

"Agent Coulson, that's been the case for as long as I've known the man," Wayne said as he got into the hovercraft and Coulson closed the door behind them both.

* * *

 **Alexander Pierce**

 **Hydra Complex Beneath SHIELD**

* * *

Pierce studied the operative in front of him with a solid frown.

It just shouldn't have been possible for him to fail. He hadn't failed in the year since they had acquired him, and yet his mission to Seven had been only half-finished. Bruce Wayne was still alive, and all Pierce was getting from Fury was that someone else had been visiting Wayne to offer condolences — it was apparently a case of mistaken identity.

Though it couldn't possibly have been. Pierce was sure, though he didn't know why yet, that Fury wasn't telling him everything despite supposedly _answering_ to him, and that left him with the young man sitting across the table from him repeating his report that the target had been exactly where he'd been told.

The curtains had been drawn at Wayne Manor, but since the Winter Soldier had not seen anyone enter the house and the butler had been turning away well-wishers all evening, there was _no reason_ for anyone to be in that office other than Wayne himself.

Pierce said nothing as the Winter Soldier repeated his report, thinking of all the time and effort that had gone into finding themselves an operative that didn't exist even to the _rest_ of SHIELD. Essex and Cornelius had been eager and more than willing, of course, to try their hand at a Tahiti-style resurrection outside of the sanctioned Games tributes, and with no Games tracker for the blood memory, wiping his mind and memories without wiping him of the traits and experiences that they needed to turn him into an assassin had been a little trickier — a welcome challenge for both Whitehall and Strange.

His entire science division, in short, was happy — even pleased, _proud_ — with the operative sitting in front of Pierce, but Pierce himself was not. He didn't care what kind of scientific and medical marvel he was dealing with if he couldn't get the results he needed.

This was supposed to be a test to see if they could replicate Fury and Waller's results outside of the specifically-chosen tributes and carefully-controlled SHIELD environments, and up until now, it had been a resounding success.

Pierce sighed. After all the effort of obtaining the blood sample they needed, of cloning and training the boy — he wasn't going to risk a mistake.

"Wipe him," he told Whitehall without looking over his shoulder. "Start over. This process has to be perfect before we overthrow SHIELD. I want to know we can have Nick Fury himself at our beck and call if I want him."

Whitehall was also frowning — though it was certainly not at the idea of starting fresh. He couldn't have been pleased by any setbacks either, and Pierce knew it. "Right then," he said as he cleared his throat, and the Winter Soldier followed him out of the room.

Pierce leaned forward, massaging his temples for a long moment. The timetable for the strike against Thanos was fast approaching, and Hydra had to be _ready_ to step into the power vacuum the moment SHIELD did its dirty work for them.

They only had a few weeks to prepare. It had to be perfect.

* * *

 **Phil Coulson**

 **Triskellion**

* * *

With Bruce Wayne tucked away safely in one of Fury's personal favorite hiding spots, Coulson had only a few more things left to do on this unexpectedly busy day. One of them he had already _planned_ to do, after Skye and Fitzsimmons had finished their work for the day, and the other he certainly hadn't planned on, but it was just shaping up to be that kind of day.

"How are things looking?" Coulson asked his team as he rejoined them after leaving Wayne elsewhere in the Capitol. "Any luck on the evidence I sent for you?"

Skye looked up at him over her laptop, made a face, and gestured to the screen in front of her with a clear note of irritation. "No, of course not! _Why_ would there be any forward motion on the same case we've been working for months?"

"Doesn't hurt to ask," Coulson said as he glanced around their team's workspace. "Wrap it up for the day. We need to have a little talk."

"Oh, but we were hoping to get to work on the _you know_ — the thing for the Games!" Fitz said in a decidedly disappointed tone as his shoulders slumped.

"This shouldn't take too long," Coulson told them.

The three members of Coulson's team present shared glances before they finished up the various projects that they were working on and nodded to each other. "What's up, AC?" Skye asked as she followed him down the hall.

He smirked at the name as they kept walking through a few more advanced checkpoints than they were used to. "It's about time you got let in on the big secret."

Both Fitz and Simmons grinned at each other delightedly, though Skye raised her eyebrows and started to pull on her hair — a nervous habit that Coulson was sure she didn't realize she was doing. "Is this one of those 'we'd tell you but then we'd have to kill you' things because, I'm telling you, AC, I thought we were past that."

"I'm reasonably sure that's really just a speed bump at this point," he replied evenly.

Skye raised both eyebrows at that, but impressively, she didn't give anything away as they continued through the heavy security checkpoints that Coulson knew she had been through already with Raina — the two women hadn't been as sneaky as they thought they were.

"The fact is, we don't have the luxury of time to keep this under wraps from my most trusted team members, and the three of you have proven yourselves." He gave all of them a little once-over. "The fact is, I've been hunting down a leak for the past few months, and after today, I've seen there's no way that you could be that leak, seeing as you never had access to the intel that's in the wind."

"We would never!" Simmons said, sounding appalled.

"Yeah, you can't have suspected—" Fitz shook his head vehemently.

"I had to be sure," Coulson replied. "I couldn't figure out for the life of me how a team that I'd hand-picked could have a leak. But it finally is falling into place."

"So, what's this big, scary, couldn't-tell-anyone secret?" Skye prompted, looking decidedly more nervous than before.

But Coulson's answer was more of the 'show' variety rather than the 'tell'. He took them through another set of checkpoints — though by the time they hit this level, it was supplemented with retinal scans and fingerprints and a very anxious-sounding SHIELD agent buzzing around, upset over clearances.

"Relax, Billy," Coulson said. "They're with me."

The anxious Koenig brother didn't seem to be dissuaded, though, as he flitted around them. "That's very impressive-sounding, Agent Coulson, _sir_ , but they don't have lanyards."

"Billy. They're with me, and they have Director Fury's permission. Check with him if you need to, but we're going through." He kept walking past the flustered man, the other three in tow. "I have somewhere I need to be, as you well know."

Their little trek deep into the heart of the Triskellion simply seemed to get more unsettling the further they went until Coulson stopped at one of the dozen or so doors on that side of the corridor. "I'm going to need you three to keep yourselves in check until I say so. Keep your reactions quiet and understated."

"Don't worry about us," Fitz said with a wide and confident smile — though it took all of a few seconds for that to be entirely reversed when they stepped through into the room where Clint Barton was still hooked up to several machines, a few last-minute adjustments being made to make sure the blood memory took so he could give a proper report. It had been a wrench in the works for the science team to have to divert resources to force-grow a clone that wasn't being prepped for the current Games tributes through the final stages and checks, but that was why they had the science people they did. They had the resources to do it, of course, but the focus was supposed to be on the Games, not on resurrecting an old face.

Coulson came to a stop at the foot of the young man's bed and let out a breath as he watched some of the monitors. "I hate this part."

" _That's_ a dead person," Fitz blurted out, gesturing at Clint as if he couldn't believe that no one else was seeing what he was seeing.

"That's a little bit of an exaggeration," Coulson said with his head tipped to the side.

"How did you do it?" Simmons asked with wide, almost envious eyes as she looked around at all the equipment. "You can't have patched up his injuries from the Games in the time it would have taken to prevent brain death."

"It's a little complex, and far outside of my realm of understanding," Coulson admitted. "Though it involves cloning and some sort of data upload … you'd do best to ask Dr. Strange about the whole thing, honestly. The man's practically a magic maker."

"You grew him a new body," Simmons said almost breathlessly. "Oh. _Oh_ , this is so beyond anything that is supposed to be possible… this… with the kind of advances being used here…" She turned delightedly in place. "Why aren't we using these advances everywhere?"

"For one, it's expensive," Coulson replied, not surprised in the least that Simmons had abandoned the promise not to get over-excited. "And for another, think of how reckless people would be if they thought there were no consequences to their actions."

"Is he the only one you brought back?" she asked. "I mean, have the results been replicated? Are there differences to take into account for age, sex, injury…?"

"You're getting carried away," Coulson said with a smirk. "So far, all of our people have come back as themselves. Injuries are gone, but the memory of them …"

"That's fantastic!" Simmons said, beaming delightedly.

"So, wait, they remember dying?" Skye asked, finally breaking her silence — and of course fixating immediately to the part of the process that Coulson himself still had qualms about as well.

Coulson turned her way, his stern look softening a bit. "I think that's something you can ask him yourself."

Skye tugged on her hair again as she turned toward Clint, though it was still another few minutes before he started to stir awake — and she was still tucking and retucking strands behind her ears the entire time. They knew he'd come back before his eyes even opened because he muttered out a soft, "That's okay, I'll just sleep 'til Christmas."

"Agent Barton," Coulson said, stepping a bit closer. "Welcome back. I'm afraid I have to inform you that your cover was blown."

"The butler did it."

"Excuse me?"

Clint peeked one eye open and grinned crookedly. "No, really. Snuck up behind me and knocked me out. Next thing I know, I'm tied to a chair, no mask, and the _butler did it_."

"So you were taken out by Wayne's butler?" Coulson said before he blew his breath out. "Did you manage to deliver your message, or did they take it from you?"

"No, no, we got that part all settled. We were great friends. They untied me and everything once I delivered the message," Clint said as he started to push himself up on his elbows. "Oh, hi," he said, on seeing there was more of an audience to his debriefing.

Both Fitz and Skye were more or less just watching the entire exchange intently, but Simmons looked fit to burst. "I can't believe…" she started to say before Fitz elbowed her in the stomach.

"Coulson, what's this? Side-show attraction?" Clint asked with a frown.

"This is part of my team from the public side of things," Coulson replied before he gestured to the little group. "Jemma Simmons, biotech; Leo Fitz, gadgetry and weapons development; and Skye, our computer expert. Team, meet Agent Clint Barton."

"If I'd've known I was hosting, I'd've worn something better," Clint joked as he gestured at the white hospital clothes. "Nice to meetcha."

"Pleasure," Simmons said in an almost airy voice.

"Yeah, it's, uh, good to see you up and talking and all that," Fitz chimed in.

Clint smirked and turned to Coulson. "C'mon, Coulson. What's the point of having two teams if you don't tell the one you're stepping out on us with who you're stepping out on?"

Coulson just smirked a little wider at that. "Well. I need to have a day job."

"Typical," Clint said with a laugh before he leaned back with his arms behind his head. "So, how long was I dead this time?" he asked, and Coulson could see that Simmons in particular looked like she was going to burst from _that_ question alone.

"It's been a few days," Coulson replied. "Wayne and his butler are safe and well out of the shooter's reach."

"Great." Clint nodded once. "Wish I could give you more, Coulson, but I didn't see him. MO was the same, though."

"I can't say that I'm surprised. But I am surprised that you had the foresight to close the blinds. Howlett was shot and killed before the attempt at Wayne Manor."

"Yeah, I know," Clint said. "Wayne got a call from the Head Sentinel, which is why the blinds were closed. We were already on high alert when it happened."

"What's important is that we got there before they did this time."

Clint nodded. "Anything else, sir?" he asked.

"Rest up, I'm sure you'll be out causing trouble in no time." He turned to leave and then paused, a real smile flitting over his expression. "And Clint — we saved your bow."

Clint grinned at that. "You're the best."

With that, Coulson started to usher the group out to give Clint the privacy to recover, though Simmons and Fitz were bursting with questions that he couldn't wait to point toward someone who _knew_ the answers.

But even after Fitzsimmons had sped ahead, Skye hung back at a slower pace with Coulson, chewing on her bottom lip as he patiently waited for whatever it was she was thinking over.

Finally: "I knew already, Coulson."

"What did you know, exactly?" he asked, giving nothing away as he watched her carefully.

Another long pause. "I knew… I saw the regrowth chambers with the clones right after the last Games," she admitted in a rush. "I didn't know the background, or the science, and I've been _looking_ , but I can't find any record of it anywhere, so all I knew was that we had a basement full of zombies and—"

"Can I ask how you came to find the basement of zombies?"

At that, Skye paused again and closed her eyes as if she was steeling herself. "It… it was my idea, but Raina had the access."

But Coulson just looked vindicated for just a moment. "Are you sure about that? Do you really think she could get through all this security on pure luck?" He looked back to Fitzsimmons and then let his voice drop to just over a whisper. "Skye, this is very important. I need you to keep this to yourself. All of it. Don't discuss it with anyone — but especially not Raina. She is not your friend."

Skye raised both eyebrows high as she leaned toward Coulson. "What's up, AC?"

"I think the girl in the flowered dress is our leak," Coulson replied. "I just don't know who she's leaking to." He stopped again and narrowed his eyes. "But I'll bet you could probably do a little digging around her computer to find out, couldn't you?"

Skye looked taken aback for a long moment before she nodded. "Yeah, I could, I just… are you sure it's her?"

"She had access," Coulson reasoned. "They knew we were planning on moving Wayne out of Seven soon, and they tried to get ahead of us. You didn't know that, and the number of people that did have access to that … is incredibly small."

Skye nodded seriously for a long moment. "Coulson… I wouldn't ever leak stuff like this. I — you gotta know that, right?"

"I thought I did," Coulson replied simply, and Skye wasn't sure which was heavier — the tone of his voice or the hand he put on her shoulder to steer her a different direction down the halls.

* * *

 **Agent Clay Quartermain**

 **Undisclosed Location: One of Fury's Hideouts**

* * *

Quartermain had arrived to take over on Wayne and his butler while Coulson dealt with other matters, and he was already wearing a bit of a smirk, sure that the famously wealthy Wayne was going to take exception to the bare furnishings of the safe house in the Capitol.

When he arrived, the two men seemed to be examining their surroundings, and the setup was too good. "No, it doesn't lead anywhere; there's just the three rooms," he said as he shut the door behind him and keyed in the code that would keep anyone from entering after him without getting a paralyzing electric shock on the other side.

"That really isn't my concern," Wayne replied. "When do I get to speak with Fury?"

"Not right now," Quartermain replied — a bit disappointed that Wayne didn't rise to the bait but pleased to see that Fury's "old friend" had the same habits.

"Then my next question," Wayne said, his eyes narrowed. "Are all these precautions to keep them out, or to keep us in?"

"A little bit of both," Quartermain told him honestly. "It defeats the purpose of taking you somewhere hidden if some Capitolite with a camera catches you out and about."

"So we're going to be hidden away in the Capitol indefinitely then?"

"I'm not authorized to tell you how long this will last," Quartermain said, again being honest with him, since he could appreciate the man's direct approach. It wasn't what he had expected, but it was refreshing.

"Are you authorized to tell me if there are others in 'protective custody' as well?"

Quartermain shrugged lightly. "No."

"Then what are you authorized to do, and why the hell did Fury send someone that can't tell me anything while I'm locked away anyhow?"

Quartermain smirked as he considered his answer. "I'm authorized to do whatever I need to in order to ensure your safety and the protection of a few of our related secrets."

"Then you could at least provide us with weapons in case whoever it is comes looking," Wayne replied. "It's not like it would be the first time."

Quartermain leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. "I thought you were supposed to be some kind of detective," he said with a little smirk. "And you missed the weapons cache in the linen closet?"

Wayne scoffed. "A gun? No."

At that, Quartermain unfolded his arms and gestured toward the closet. "What? Those are top of the line. I carry one myself."

"And you probably need it," Wayne replied. "Even Alfred can do well without the aid of a firearm." The butler in question straightened up and rearranged his lapels with his nose tipped skyward. "Boomerangs, bolas, shuriken … even staves. Fury _knows_ this." He shook his head, muttering 'guns' under his breath like a curse.

Quartermain held both hands out in front of himself. "Alright, high and mighty. I'll talk to someone about switching out the weapons cache for you," he said, then shook his head. "Just thought you'd want something with better distance, considering the assassin after you."

Bruce gestured around himself with both arms outstretched. "If I can't handle myself in this space, then I guess I deserve it. And if he needs that much distance, he's not much of an assassin."

At that, Quartermain let out a bark of a laugh. "Right," he said, leaning back against the wall. "Anyway, if you need anything, there's an intercom built into the kitchen for when I'm not around. It's _not_ a dinner service bell," he added quickly.

The butler raised both eyebrows at that. "And if it were, it would never be used."

Quartermain laughed again. "I believe it." He took a moment to point out the intercom all the same before he explained, "Either I or members of my team will be here to help in case of emergency, and I'm sure while you're here there will be a few other things that need clearing up." Quartermain shrugged. "Wait a few days until the arena fights start. It's a little busy while everyone's here."

"After that, I'll be getting out," Wayne decided. "With or without you."

" _With_ me," Quartermain said firmly.

"Or without," Wayne asserted.

"Trust me; the best stuff you won't be able to get to without me, and you're going to want to be there for it when things really get rolling," Quartermain said.

"And what things might those be — in a few days time? A couple weeks, I can see."

Quartermain grinned. "Nice try," he said. "I only said you'd get some _answers_ once things lighten up. Not that anything will be _happening_ then." But his grin widened as he leaned forward. "I know Director Fury's brought you in — that you know we're moving forward. But even in a safe house like this? There are some things you can't know until it's time."

"Yes, I'm sure it's a very real concern that we might leak information to non-existent people when no one knows where we are."

"And here I thought you and the director were good friends," Quartermain said. "Didn't you know about the paranoia?"

"Since when has friendship ever been criteria for Nicholas to open up to anyone?" Wayne asked.

"I'm just saying, if you knew the man so well, you'd know he has more secrets than I can count, and he's paranoid and careful to a fault," Quartermain pointed out. He shrugged lightly. "It's not a strike against _you_. Don't take it so personally. Nobody knows everything. Get used to it."

"I am painfully aware. And at any other time, I'd take that at face value," he replied.

"With any other agent, you'd be right. But I haven't said a thing to you that wasn't as honest as you could ask for. So you can be patient for a few more days and sit back with your special treatment while we do our jobs so nothing goes wrong in plans that have been in motion for twenty-five years," Quartermain said firmly. "You're already getting more answers than any other civilian has, and you'll be getting more — sooner than others in our organization. So sit. Tight." When that simply got a glare out of Wayne, Quartermain stood a little straighter, nodded once, and turned back to the door. "You know how to find me."

* * *

 **Skye**

 **Triskellion**

* * *

It was a different sensation, being surrounded by her team, but on the wrong end of their questions. Fitz and Simmons were combing through her computers while May and Ward watched the door. But Coulson was simply standing there, reading over the printout of the texts she'd been sending over the past few weeks. She'd never seen him so cold.

She couldn't take the silence any longer. "I know how this looks—" Skye started, but she immediately stopped when Coulson held up one finger her way without looking at her.

"How long have you been on a text messaging basis with Raina?" Coulson asked, frowning at her as he tossed the papers onto the desk next to Fitz.

"It's … she contacted _me_ ," Skye countered. "She was trying to tell me we had a lot in common. I was just … waiting to see where she was going to take it." Coulson's expression was immovable and entirely unreadable as he kept his gaze locked onto her. "She … ever since she showed me some dead tributes that SHIELD was keeping locked up in a _basement_ in tubes … I … I should have told you sooner. I'm _really_ sorry."

"Noted," Coulson replied. "Why _didn't_ you tell one of us sooner?"

"I don't know," she replied, wide-eyed. "I just … I wanted to get more information, and I didn't think I could … _talk_ … to you." Skye felt her cheeks burning as she sank deeper into her seat.

Coulson looked utterly disappointed in a way that made her shrink down even further. "I know," Coulson said. "Tell me, Skye, since you two are so close, who is it that Raina answers to?"

"No one ... Raina is out for Raina; she's not a big fish," Skye insisted.

Coulson's mouth tightened, and he kept his gaze on her as he walked out of the room, leaving her with the rest of the team. As she watched him go, her heart sinking, Ward approached her. "Your hands," he said, completely mechanically. When she offered them, she was handcuffed and led to one of the interrogation rooms to wait.

She had expected something more… _more_. But instead, she didn't hear from the team for what felt like hours before, finally, she was brought to Coulson's office. He was facing away from her, staring at an old map when she came in. But when he didn't react to her joining him, she let out a breath and took a seat, wallowing in her own self-pity. "I didn't mean—"

She stopped short, though, when he held up his hand and picked up a small black box from where it rested on his desk. "You've got two choices, seeing as I can't trust you," Coulson said as he brought the box to her. "You can take what's in this box, or we can lock you up for the rest of your natural life."

"Is this more dark cloak and dagger super spy stuff?" Skye asked, but the little bit of humor she had fell flat when he responded with nothing but that stoic gaze that he was famous for. She tipped her head down and reached out for the box. "What does it do?"

"Whatever we program it to," Coulson replied as she took the silver bangle out of the box to examine it with a sinking sort of feeling.

If Coulson hadn't been _looking_ at her the way he was, she might have tried to make a joke. It was on the tip of her tongue — promise bracelets… something — but he definitely didn't look like he was joking. And considering the alternative was the jail time she knew she'd avoided by joining the team in the first place… she decided the best option was simply to wear the silver bracelet thing — and try to at least show him he could trust her.

When the lock snapped shut, a little digital readout flared for a moment then went back to silver. "I think you'll find hacking into any file system higher than your clearance level won't be fruitful."

She stared at him for a moment and then back at the bracelet before she closed her eyes, took a centering breath, and let it out again. "So," she said. "Does that… mean I can't help hack into Raina's files?"

"No, not at all," Coulson replied, though his expression remained stony. "I expect you to do exactly that, but you won't be working alone. Fitz will be keeping an eye on things while you're working on the computers for us."

She tried for a little smile. "Not bad as babysitters go."

"You haven't seen his 'betrayed' face yet," Coulson replied.

"Really? Because that… whole… _thing_ before? That felt like the 'betrayed' face," Skye pointed out, quickly adding, "Which I am really, _really_ sorry for, did I mention?"

"You did. And Skye? I'm hoping that this all ends up being a needless precaution, because I can't afford to have someone going against me at this stage of the game."

Encouraged by the slightly softer tone, she grinned up at him. "Don't worry about a thing, AC," she promised. "This thing'll come off in no time flat. Really. You'll see."


	18. Chapter 17: The Viper's Strike

**(A/N): Welcome back! We're here with our Friday update, back with some more of our tributes for this year as we take them to the Capitol to prepare for their Games. This chapter features the return of pekuxumi and Harper Row as this amazing writer and character kicks us off for this round.**

 **Thanks to our writers who reviewed (we love seeing the support!) as well as to ThatOneGuy875 and Slim Summers2002. We agree that the Coulson staredown was so, so fun, and we're glad that the introduction of the Tahiti and non-Tahiti sides of things in the Capitol is such a hit. :) And yes, Bruce and Alfred are the BEST, as is Clint. (They're all hilarious to write; we had fun.)**

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen - The Viper's Strike**

 **Train**

 **Harper Row of District Two**

 **written by pekuxumi**

* * *

 _One day, one day I am gonna grow wings_

 _A chemical reaction_

 _hysterical and useless_

 _-Radiohead, Let Down_

* * *

The train had started moving slowly, the noises gliding into a rhythm as District Two passed behind the thick glass.

Glass too thick to kick in or break for an escape, Harper could see in the thickness of the window frame. As she sat on a sofa that was more comfortable than anything she had ever sat on, parting from District Two became unbearably hard. She had always dreamed of leaving this place, dreamed with Steph and Cullen about adventurous flights and brave escapes, even though none of them had ever pretended to have a destination. Where else was there to go? District Thirteen was in shambles, if it even existed at all, and there was nothing outside of Marvel, at least nothing they knew about. The Capitol was hardly a choice, and there was almost no better district than Two... failing in Two, basically, made you the biggest loser.

And now she was leaving Two for the Capitol, and not even of her own accord. To be slaughtered in a murder arena, probably by a twelve-year-old who was better at sword fighting than she was. With every mile the wheels rolled, her homesickness grew. At least Two meant relative safety. Dangers she could name and knew how to fight. _Biggest loser ever._

They'd need about half a day to reach the Capitol. Usually, there were faster trains that made the trip in a couple of hours, but all the high-speed gear was used to get the tributes from the outer districts in as quickly as possible. Travelling from Twelve in a slower vehicle sometimes took three days, not to mention any delays likely during such a long journey.

If it weren't for her travel company, Harper would have loved to have three days on a train before being slaughtered. At least her proximity to the Capitol, for heaven knows what other good it had ever done to her, spared her from being confined in a relatively narrow space with the people who got her into this misery too long: the desperately-trying-to-be cheerful Silver Sablinova, the mentors, and her weird district buddy, Harvey Dent.

Just as that thought crossed her mind, Silver came in, without knocking, and announced in her high voice that a late breakfast was about to be served, and the group was finally coming together after the first very awkward hellos when they were ushered in.

Harper slowly followed — what use was there in not eating breakfast? — half-heartedly listening to Silver. "You know, Harper, so many of the other escorts from lesser districts tell me how glad they are for the train time. Their tributes finally see real food, get the good stuff from the Capitol. Of course you from Two will not find it special, but I always say 'eating is a social activity', so we should definitely keep meeting for lunch and dinner and—"

Harper didn't point out that she had never seen a breakfast table like the one in front of her. There were various baskets filled with different sorts of bread and pastries, a thousand spreads — jams, honey, butter, cheese, sausages, other... sorts of... spread?, milk and cornflake cereals over cornflake cereals, pancakes, beans, grilled vegetables, and a million differently prepared eggs, some still held over a small flame to keep them warm. On a train next to the food table was a smaller one full of cans and glasses, inviting her to drink teas, coffee, milk, juices, water... with at least five types of everything. At home, Cullen and Harper's breakfast was made out of bad coffee and stale bread they ate while leaving for work and school. Coffee was a luxury, but they decided to afford it to be at least somewhat social before noon.

Harvey Dent was already sitting at his place between Taskmaster and Bobbi Morse, waving at her and flipping his coin at the same time. Ophelia Sarkissian had just entered from the other side of the room, and as their eyes met, Harper's whole body got the chills. It had been Mockingbird who had called her name on the stage, but when they gathered at the train station, Sarkissian had greeted her with a smile made of ice and venom. Morse was quiet, kept her distance from Harper, but the Viper clearly enjoyed having the defenseless Harper around.

Silver pushed her forward to the table, though, not leaving any room for an early argument, and sat down right next to her. "Well, then," she said in her annoying voice, "let's eat, and then we can watch the other Reapings!"

Interestingly, Silver apparently tried her best to look at everyone, except at Harvey's covered face. Did she know what was beneath? Harper had heard so many rumours but never met (or heard of) anyone who had really seen him without the bandages. Maybe the people involved in the Games had had to see his face? But then why hide it now?

"Harper," Harvey suddenly addressed her as she reached across the table for the pastries and tried to name at least five of the different cheese sorts. "I see your hairstyle wasn't only a show-stopper for Reaping Day!"

He wasn't eating or grabbing any food, only playing around with his coin almost unconsciously. He probably had to take off the bandages to eat properly... so he, too, regarded eating as 'social activity'. _Greaaat_.

"I like it, actually."

Next to her, Silver winced as she took a sip, and Harper heard a sound that sounded awfully close to a heart breaking. That had probably been the moment when Silver realized they weren't going to be bffs, braiding each other's hair, and she wouldn't be able to ignore Harvey by focusing on Harper. The ghost of a smile appeared on Bobbi Morse's lips as she wordlessly sipped coffee.

"Blue and violet?" he asked, amused.

"Yeah."

"At least you won't have any issues with the crazy Capitol coloring."

"Like you?" she asked back — and realized how Harvey's mentor flinched.

Harvey didn't, though. "Ah, well. They can use whatever color they want for my bandages; they will find some side of me to bring out shiny and pretty."

"Let's talk about your training schedules; we don't have that much time," Tony Masters, Taskmaster, broke in, obviously uncomfortable. Harvey, disappointed, mumbled something about "almost more than two syllables at once," but the bandages muffled out the rest.

"Harvey has had profound training over the last year and then the usual training center experience. We will keep mostly to basic muscle training and concentrate on spotting poisonous food in various environments, building traps, the deep survival training that's sometimes neglected in the school."

The adults at the table nodded in unison, and then Silver grabbed the remote control. "Let's watch the other Reapings! So exciting to see your other friends for the first time!"

"Wait," Harper said, though Silver had already pushed the button, and a TV as big as Harper herself lit up at the other wall. "What's my training schedule going to look like?" She glared at Viper and then Bobbi Morse, who at least had the decency to look disgruntled and bit the inside of her cheek. No answer, though. "What are my strengths? Which one of my talents should we encourage, or even hide from the others?"

She hadn't been able to keep the sarcasm out of her voice at the end, but the adults' reactions of staring at the table or glaring back at her made it very obvious that they knew that she had figured it out. So Steph's hunch had been right. She had been chosen as a victim tribute. A warning for all citizens of District Two: if you don't play our game, if you think you can make it without training centers and academies, your children, brothers, sisters, and friends, will end up like her. We still have the power to take away your child; don't feel too comfortable. Morse and Sarkissian hadn't bothered to even muster up a training schedule for her.

The only one looking honestly interested and surprised, judging from the way he wildly looked from one to the other, was Harvey. He wasn't even moving the coin in his hands. So he hadn't been told.

"We'll train your survival skills," Morse ground out at last. "Traps, how to find food, how to heal yourself as well as possible. Then basic fight training."

"And you don't want me to show off my talents?" Harper asked, her bitterness translating into first-class cynicism again. "You mean as a surprise for the scores?"

"Exactly," Viper pressed out behind thin lips. She was having none of Harper's sass.

" _You know what?!"_ Harper suddenly yelled and threw her palms at the table to make the towers of jam and honey shake, " _To hell with you!"_

Silver quickly turned on the volume on the TV, and the anthem of Marvel played out in the background. She had meant it as de-escalation to shut them up, but to Harper, it was the icing of the shit cake. What better background music for this little trash party they were throwing here?

She leaned over the table, closer to Viper. Unfortunately, the table was too large for any scary too-close-in-your-face action, but, well... "I will _not_ work with you. You can tell your puppet masters they won't have to spend any more of their precious money on someone like me. In fact, I don't even want to see you or them ever again."

In the background, the anthem of Marvel slowly morphed into Thanos' usual speech, which made Viper's and Harper's glare-off even cooler, and then she leaned back, grabbed her full plate (because damn them if they thought they could so much as ruin her breakfast), and made a wordless exit to her room.

For what it was worth, it felt pretty epic.

* * *

An hour later, Harvey was coming towards her, to her sacred window place, and not even Harper's best practiced glare scared him away. Well, so much for surviving the arena; that had been her best weapon.

.. and whoa, Cullen would have had a field day, had he known that she considered her face a murder weapon. Damn that little squeak for sneaking into her brain like that.

"Hello? Mysterious two-syllables-except-when-mad girl?"

Harper was startled out of her thoughts by a light touch on her shoulder. Dent had, apparently, spoken to her already. She pulled her upper body away from him and wrinkled her forehead.

"Aw, sorry," he said, pulling his hand back, and pointed at his face, or rather at the bandages covering it, "I'm used to being the center of the party with my crazy fashion statements. Usually, the girls can't get their eyes off me. So, as I was asking..." He made an overly-exaggerated gesture that would normally be called smooth and wiggled his eyebrows underneath the bandages for comic effect. "You come here often?"

"Is there any point in you talking to me?" It came out rougher than intended; she had meant it as an honest question, considering that, well, they were soon going to murder each other.

Underneath the bandages, one corner of his mouth pulled down. "...I guess that answers my next question, and you won't meet me for a coffee sometime?"

Harper stood up and left, wordlessly. She really didn't need that.

He called after her, "Ok we can go to the amusement park, if that's more to your liking!"

As she crossed the threshold to the dining car to grab more coffee, Ophelia Sarkissian was leaning against the wall.

"He's the last one you need to take your frustration out on."

Well, so much for never talking to or seeing her again.

"It's none of your business. Consider _me_ none of your business." She wanted to turn around and just walk away, regardless of what Ophelia called after her (epic exit strategy number two), but Ophelia's next words made her blood freeze and boil at the same time.

"I knew your brother would have been less work. He'd be lapping up my wisdom right now."

Harper whirled around. " _What?!"_

Viper smiled wickedly, enjoying the loss of temper she'd managed to arouse. "Oh, and I thought you had figured it all out."

Cullen was her sore topic. Her berserk button. If Viper thought she was ever gonna let a comment about him, in such a place, go, she was very wrong. " _What does this have to do with Cullen?"_

"Cullen would have made such a convincing case, much more dramatic than you will. But Masters wanted Dent, thought he owed Dent, so we needed a female tribute." She made a hand gesture into her direction, _et voilà._

The missing pieces clicked in Harper's head. Of course, why target her specifically? Cullen was a possibility with much more potential. A sweetheart, with his sympathetic shyness with strangers. He would have been eager to learn anything in these short days separating him from the arena, whether he understood the role he was playing or not. Everyone would love Cullen; everyone would mourn Cullen. He was not as bratty and resentful as Harper, didn't have her strength to push away people.

A much easier tribute to work with, all in all. And he was safe because of Dent, because that idiot had wanted to be here, had the connections to be here... and didn't know what he had done for them by being here.

Viper looked at her, shaking her head sadly. Obviously, her rejection didn't hit her too hard; she had no intention of letting her get close when she was about to get maimed in the Games. As she turned around, this time leaving her still stuck on her spot, Harper wondered if she hadn't unintentionally, against all odds, given her a tip at last: " _He's the last one you need to take your frustration out on."_

Harvey wasn't in on the Kill-the-Rows-plan. And he must be strong, had the character to be well-liked, had good connections. Whatever the hell was up with his face.

Careers and district tributes worked together in the arena until some point. It was a shot into the dark, but maybe there was something for her in being nice to Harvey Dent. It was weird, but she felt like she owed him now, too.

Harper found her way to her district partner, made an honest attempt to smile, stopped it, and sat next to Harvey, facing the TV. He jumped in fake-shock, made a big show out of staring at her, and then turned back to the TV. It was the reaping of Eight, the batshit crazy couple kissing. He had rewatched them all, patiently playing with the coin in his fingers.

After a few uncomfortable seconds, Harper spoke up, and this time, Harvey flinched for real. "I wonder how the stylists will rein in that hair. And that lipstick?"

"Err..." Dent looked around but saw no one but him. "Are you talking to me? Have I been chosen?"

Harper looked at him dead-seriously. "I was just extra annoying to Sarkissian, so I can fit you in my schedule for this afternoon."

Harvey snickered, a weird sound thanks to the bandages, but oddly likeable.

"Sorry I snapped at you earlier," she said, to make sure. "This isn't as easy for me as it is for you."

"Easy?" The incessant coin flipping stopped in surprise.

On the screen, District Twelve was shown, or the shambles they called Twelve.

"You seem to quite enjoy yourself. I'm more like scared shitless and pissed."

Harvey expelled a deep breath. "It's not that simple. On the inside, I'm screaming. I'm just good at hiding this side of myself."

 _No kidding_ , Harper thought. "Sarkissian told me you volunteered as a tribute. If it hadn't been for you, my little brother would have been chosen." The thought still made her head spin. _Cullen, in the arena. Unfathomable._ "We kinda owe you."

"Yeah. I was shocked they picked your family. I didn't know."

Harvey blinked at her through the bandages, obviously curious, so she told him the whole theory. When she finished, he looked livid, grabbing the coin hard in his fist.

"This is not the way it's done," he hissed, crossing his arms in a sulky manner, as if personally insulted. "They should feel ashamed! To use the Games for something so... So..."

"Political?"

"Unfair! And in _our_ district. Unbelievable."

Now it was Harper's turn to wonder about the other boy. Was he serious? His emotions were hard to read sometimes, though his voice had an eerily honest quality. He was genuinely mad about the way Two had handled the Games this year, as if they were something worthy of respect.

"You really mean that, do you?" she asked, therefore, and startled Harvey out of a deep contemplation. "You actually see something in this slaughter."

Their conversation had reached a deeper level; they both felt it.

"The Games... They're meant to symbolize how strong all of the districts have grown, you know? How well they treat and prepare their people. So they're important — maybe not for the killing, but definitely to prove ourselves, bring honor to the districts and stuff."

"Is that why you volunteered?" Harper pointed at Harvey's bandages. "To bring honor to your training center?" He was a training center prodigy, after all, but maybe his weird injury had worsened the center's reputation.

Harvey got defensive immediately; his stance changed, and his gaze swept away from her face. As if arguing with himself on what to tell her, he needed more than one attempt to formulate the sentence. "I... No. We, I don't... _We_ wanted..." He stared hard at his coin, turning it around and around, until finally, he stopped and settled on an answer. "There was an accident. The center is not at fault. But the way I look now, I need a little bit of help to be accepted again."

Harper swallowed. So he was disfigured, and hoped that winning the Games brought him enough respect and adoration to make people ignore his looks. "Well, what do you look like?" she asked, curious.

But Harvey's cockiness was back, and he just shook his head, a smirk visible beneath his bandages. "Naw, you'll have to wait like anyone else for my grand revelation. Also, I need the stylists to be perfectly rested after you tear through them."

"Hey," she protested, grinning. "They won't bother much with me. I'm a victim tribute, and everyone knows it. Why waste time and energy on me when they can have you?"

But Harvey wasn't happy with this flippant answer, and he grabbed the coin in mid-flight and gritted his teeth in anger. "No. You won't go down just like that. Two will have a great pair of tributes with us."

"Whatever you are, I don't have a chance."

"We don't know that. The Quarter Quells need to be great. We'll find a way to make them respect you."

Harper's heart beat louder now. There was something in this boy's intensity, in the fire with which he believed in the integrity of the Games, the system, that swept her along. He was a leader. If he believed in her, she had her first ally — and district etiquette, which he obviously believed in, would at least protect her in the beginning.

"Stick to me," he said when Harper wouldn't answer. "We'll figure something out."

He had made up his mind. Unfortunately, Harper had been at the short stick of too many deals with rich people from Two to believe him that easily.

"Why should I trust you?" she asked without malice in her voice. "I don't even know what you look like."

This made him stop dead in his tracks, his face turned away from hers again, and a restlessness came over him. The coin appeared again, and flew hastily through the air. Cullen, Harper remembered, had a bad habit of pulling at his hair when he was nervous. In stressful times, it became a constant pulling and tearing until actual strands of hair fell to the ground. Whatever plans Harvey had for his grand revelation, he definitely wasn't happy with talking about his injury to one sole person.

"I'm sorry," she said, readying herself to go. "I shouldn't push."

He sighed, loudly. "Alright."

As she looked up, surprised, Harvey was working at a knot beneath his chin. After he loosened it, the coin always tucked tightly in his right hand, he carefully unwrapped the bandage covering his mouth while pressing the other hand to the bandages over his nose firmly.

Finally, a piece of skin became visible, then a chin, and then... Harper swallowed hard, staring. Right from the middle of his chin, up to his lower lip, scorched and burned skin tissue became visible. He had stopped unwrapping, clearly showing that this was all he would let her see for now: his jaw, or what was left of it. While the right side of his chin was smooth and pink skin, a beautifully curved lip, the right side was black, reddish and sickening. Half of the lip must have burned away, and the bits of tissue she could see from his cheek... his former cheek… showed rips and holes that allowed her look into his mouth, to see his teeth.

It was horrible, and if the rest of his face was burned the same, no glorious Avenger Games in the world would restore him back to society.

Harvey nodded and rewrapped the bandages with a few quick, professional flicks of the wrist. "Pretty, huh?"

"Uh... Half as bad as I expected?" she suggested, thinking about all the two-halves-jokes he had made so far. Now they made much more sense. He was silent for a second, then barked out a loud laugh. Harper smiled, relieved.

"With the right side of my face, and the left side of your hair, we could actually make a cool tribute!"

Harper laughed, making herself more comfortable. "So we'll need to walk sideways to the cameras all the time."

* * *

Only two hours later, Harper sighed deeply and dropped the notes from her hand to the ground. Harvey had left an hour ago to take a nap before they arrived at the Capitol, but Harper had stayed awake to catch up on the other tributes' Reapings.

It had been comfortable, Harvey and Harper sitting next to each other and watching TV, commenting on the tributes and the mentors. They noticed different things, drew attention to details the other wouldn't have noticed. Harvey's behavior had calmed down significantly after a few minutes of enjoyable company, his jokes becoming less frequent. He was a nice guy, all in all, obviously desperate to be liked and therefore going over the top at first. Well, they made a good team at that, since Harper usually didn't do enough to be liked. After they had warmed up to each other, their banter never ceased but became less forced.

Harper had started to write down their observations while the Reapings went by on the TV, ink filling page after page. She didn't even know how to ever learn the names of the tributes, while Harvey had already memorized them and got intel from his mentor about age, weight and social background. Being a decent guy, he had given her a copy of the files, not even leaving out his own file. Harper had wondered whether or not he had seen that they had a tragic experience in common: both of their mothers had been murdered years ago. If so, he hadn't let it show. Must be a Two thing.

On the screen, the small boy from Ten was called on stage. Cold anger seized Harper again, as it did every time she saw the scene. He was barely a legal tribute, and a flea — even through the screen, she could see that he didn't weigh anything. His scared, wide eyes... why would anyone choose to throw in such a little boy?

Nothing about these Quarter Quell Reapings were as Harper had expected them to be. With a growing headache, Harper had realized that there were quite a few untrained tributes, victims of politics like her or chosen for some personal, perverse vendetta. The tributes were of a more colorful batch than Harper had expected. She had expected a group of highly-trained and smooth killers; instead there were little children, attention whores like the couple from Eight, and in contrast, unprepared victims like the girl from Eleven that tripped on her way to stage. Harvey suspected a show, a deliberate act to make people underestimate her, but to Harper, it had seemed real. The mentor who had called out the pretty girl from Ten hadn't even known her name. What a confusing mess. Harper didn't know how to make sense of anything.

It struck her mostly that she wasn't, surprisingly, the weakest link. There were several tributes that were stronger than her, no doubt, but while they talked it through, realization had dawned upon Harper that she might have a chance to at least put up a fight.

Harvey had told her about the districts' specialties and the different training center methods... none of which, as Harper had found quite astonishing, involved electricity. If she was right — and boy, did she have to pay attention to that during training — all the trained tributes were fighters, destroyers. Harper, on the other hand, was an engineer. She knew how to _create_ things. Even though chances were high the arena wasn't going to be a mechanic's wonderland, the Gamemakers had their gadgets and power connections and electronic traps all over the place. If she could use those... she might have a chance.

Harvey had grinned madly beneath his bandages as she had voiced that thought out loud. The incessant coin flipping had picked up in speed. Only after he had left and Harper missed the sound of the flipping coin did she realize that this was going to be his token... _his token_.

Harper hadn't thought that far ahead when she left Two. She was allowed to bring a token to the arena, of course a heavily-regulated item, no weapon, no poison, nothing to be used in advantage to the other tributes... but maybe she could trick the Gamemakers.

She got up slowly, looking around the room on the train. Several TVs, stereos, lamps, cameras. She probably wouldn't be lucky enough to take a battery with her, or a generator... but if she dismantled the light bulb and took out the copper wires, she might be able to bend them into an ugly earring, a ring, maybe a piercing. The Capitol probably wouldn't wonder about her weird fashion statements anymore.. and in the arena, she could use them as coils, as a first item for a transformer. Or maybe she could find magnets here, which would help a lot if she ever needed a generator…

Harper smiled. Time to get to work.


	19. Chapter 18: Painted Roses

**(A/N): Here we are, back with our Tuesday update! This one features the return of the lovely and talented Abby Well and Pamela Isley.**

 **Thank you to all of our writings who reviewed; please continue to support each other and be so amazing! Thanks also to ThatOneGuy875 for your review; we hope you continue to enjoy the story.**

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen - Painted Roses**

 **Stylist Introduction**

 **Pamela Isley of District Eleven**

 **Written by Abby Well**

* * *

 _"What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have never been discovered."_

Ralph Waldo Emerson

 _"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."_

Elizabeth Appell

* * *

Pamela was reclining in a huge marble bath, having her hair washed by Barda, one of Starling's team members. Barda was a very tall, muscular, dark-haired woman who didn't talk much, instead concentrating on her task, which Pamela appreciated, as she was still lost in her own thoughts. She had moved through the beginnings of the makeover process like a girl possessed, letting Starling and her team pull her this way and that.

None of it seemed real; it was all too bright, too luxurious, too shiny, like a dream that might just turn out to be a nightmare if you looked a bit too closely. Despite her resolution to actually _try_ rather than giving up before the Games had even begun, she couldn't help but hope that any moment, Everett Ross would come bursting in and announce that it had all been a mistake, and would she get back on the train home while they brought in a more suitable female tribute? A vain hope, she knew. She would only be moving forward from here, not backward, until either the end of the Games or the end of her life. She was trapped.

That being said, she was rather enjoying the bath. Despite being the largest and most intimidating woman Pamela had ever seen, Barda had a surprisingly gentle touch when it came to washing hair, and her large hands massaged Pamela's scalp in a way that almost made her relax in spite of her fears. The tub, filled with sweetly-scented bubbles in a swirl of pinks and blues, was wide enough that Pamela's toes didn't reach the other side, and deep enough that she could have sunk completely beneath the surface and hid if she'd wanted to.

Although Barda would probably have had something to say about that.

Finally, the hair-washing was over with, and Barda got to her feet from where she'd been kneeling on the floor behind Pamela's head. She towered above the bathtub, easily six feet tall and then some, and it made Pamela feel very small. This wasn't helped when, seconds later, Barda offered her one huge hand — Pamela took it, grasping tightly with pale fingers that looked tiny in comparison, and stepped out of the bath onto the fluffy white rug beside it. Fortunately, she barely had time to start shivering before Barda bundled her up in a soft white robe.

"Much better," she said approvingly, pulling on the gold gloves that she'd removed for the sake of the bath. They actually went well with the rest of her outfit, a bodysuit of bluish chainmail with a strange metal bikini over the top. Her voice was low and melodic, with a trace of an accent somewhere underneath; not the Capitol accent Pamela had been hearing, but something from further afield. She picked up a large towel from the pile next to the tub and motioned to Pamela to flip her head upside-down, so she could twist her hair up in the towel and gather it on top of her head.

Pamela had to admit, as she followed Barda into the main room of the suite, leaving a trail of damp footprints in her wake, she felt the cleanest she had ever been in her whole life. A stray curl snaked its way down from the towel-turban, and she wrapped it around her finger — Barda's miraculous deep-conditioning treatment had left it silky smooth. She couldn't remember the last time she'd actually washed her hair properly, rather than just rinsing it and letting it air dry.

Waiting in the middle of the room was Starling, accompanied by the two other members of her team: a soft-spoken woman with bright white hair named Dove; and Gypsy, who wore so much gold jewellery she jangled when she moved. Starling herself was armed with a large sketchbook and a determined look in her eye. She had removed her purple coat, and Pamela wasn't surprised at all to see that her entire left arm was tattooed, all the way up to her neck: a snake, a bird, leaves, roses… It looked good, though, the bright colors and patterns standing out vividly against her dark clothes.

"Great job, BB, as usual," she said by way of greeting. She beckoned Pamela to come forward, then opened the sketchbook with a flourish.

* * *

 _The journey had been long and quiet, strained silence interspersed with overly rich food and fitful sleep on a bed that was far too soft. Despite Sam's efforts to engage her in conversation several times during the trip, Pamela had only spoken a single word since boarding the train: "Plants," which she had said in response to him asking what she was good at. She could tell it annoyed him, but she didn't really care; she was still wondering over and over why she had been chosen above every other eligible girl in District Eleven, why Sam had thought she would be a good choice for the Quarter Quell. She could have asked him, of course, but she didn't want to question his choice in front of the strange Crane boy. Jonathan, Sam had called him._

 _He unnerved her. He seemed far too enthusiastic about everything, almost relishing it. Something about his eyes, maybe_ — _the point being that she didn't want to question herself aloud in front of him, because it seemed like he would latch onto her doubts and fears and never let go. So she stayed quiet, thinking, wondering what was waiting for her at the other end of the journey. She knew some of what happened to tributes in the run-up to the Games, having watched it on TV; there was the parade, of course, and the interviews, but the training was never televised. What if she couldn't do any of it? What if she floundered for three days with no idea how to use any of the weapons, and went into the arena with nothing gained?_

 _She glanced at Jonathan, wondering if she could ever gather the courage to ask him to help her in training. He looked like he knew things, knew how to hurt people. He was wearing that funny little straw hat on top of his messy hair again, an odd choice of token_ — _he wouldn't be able to wear it into the arena, she didn't think. She didn't know for sure. Instinctively, she gripped her own token, rubbing the smooth metal of the leaf between her thumb and forefinger. If she kept doing that, there'd be nothing left of it by the time the Games began._

 _Finally, the train came to a stop, and tributes, victor, and escort disembarked. Stepping carefully down onto the platform, Pamela couldn't help but stare around at the Capitol station. It was a cathedral of chrome, with a high vaulted ceiling and not a single natural thing in sight. She swallowed hard, running her tongue around the inside of her mouth to gather moisture in case she suddenly had to speak._

 _Two people were waiting for them after they had been introduced to their rooms and had the chance to really drink in the grandeur of the Capitol. She realized after a moment that they must be the stylists. Ross confirmed this for her seconds later: Evelyn Crawford for Pamela, and Chato Santana for Jonathan._

 _They were the most exotic people Pamela had ever seen. The man, Santana, was almost completely covered in black tattoos, swirling across his torso, up his neck, and across his face, where the design resembled a skull, mimicking what was under his tanned skin. Pamela assumed_ — _correctly_ — _that the tattoos were all over his body, continuing under his clothes. He was wearing a white tank top and loose gray pants; perhaps he felt that his clothing didn't need to be so eye-catching, with his skin so richly decorated._

 _Evelyn Crawford was more flamboyantly dressed, in a long purple coat with a thick fur collar, a halterneck bustier, and a pair of black leather pants so tight it was like they were painted onto her shapely legs. The collar of her coat stopped just shy of her chin, revealing the tip of a tattoo on her neck, though Pamela couldn't work out what it was. She was beautiful, oozing confidence; she had shiny brown hair swept back in a sleek ponytail, brilliant blue eyes, and full lips painted a dark shade of red, which curved into a smile when the four of them approached._

 _"Sammy, you're a gem," she cried, her gaze sweeping quickly over both tributes. She appeared to like what she saw. "The year you get to choose is the year we get not one but two white tributes? I knew you had our best interests at heart." She shot him a wicked grin._

 _Sam remained stone-faced. "I didn't choose them for your sake, Starling. They're the faces of District Eleven this year_ — _don't make fools of them."_

 _"Wouldn't dream of it," she replied, though her expression was speculative. She turned to Santana. "What are you thinking, ése? How shall we beautify them this time?"_

 _Santana was quiet, staring thoughtfully first at Jonathan, then at Pamela herself. Suppressing the shock that the woman before her had the audacity to call the great victor of District Eleven 'Sammy', she looked back at him. His eyes were black_ — _but then he blinked, and she thought she saw a flash of orange. She must have imagined it; or maybe it was a surgical thing? There was no telling how far these Capitolites would go to change themselves, and he'd already gone way overboard with the ink._

 _"The girl needs color," he said at last, with a soft musical quality to his words, "or with that skin, she'll look like death."_

 _"Tatts?" Starling asked, as if this were a standard question. "I'm thinking vines for Ginger..." She spoke as if the tributes weren't there_ — _which they may as well not have been, dressed as they were. Nobody would want to look at them like that._

 _"Nothing permanent."_

 _To Pamela's surprise, Starling acquiesced to Santana's words easily, and she wondered if perhaps she'd been wrong about who was the more dominant of the two. She had no more time to think about this before she and Jonathan were whisked towards an elevator like a huge egg made of glass and silver. She stared, wide-eyed, and then the doors opened with a whoosh, making her jump. Just behind her, Jonathan snickered._

 _"Haven't you ever seen an elevator before?" he scoffed, just quiet enough so she was the only one to hear his voice._

 _She turned and looked up at him, her green eyes reproachful. "I lived in a bungalow," she murmured. Her first words in the Capitol. She said no more, stepping quickly inside the elevator and facing away from him. They didn't speak again as they rode up to the eleventh floor, and then there was another whirl of movement as Starling began to guide Pamela away, in the opposite direction to Jonathan. With a sudden lump in her throat, she threw a quick glance over her shoulder at the last walking, talking remnant of home she could cling to before being immersed in the madness of the Capitol_ — _but he wasn't looking back at her. All she saw was the back of his little straw hat._

* * *

Starling was waxing lyrical about the outfit she'd designed, flicking through the pages of the sketchbook as she did so — Pamela caught glimpses of a green corset, green tights, a long cape, but she couldn't quite make out how the whole thing would come together. She hoped she wouldn't look stupid — but then, she probably had a vastly different idea of what classified as 'stupid' compared to the Capitolites, and she wasn't being dressed to impress herself, after all.

"We want you to look like you've just picked up a garden and thrown it 'round your shoulders," Starling enthused. "Not too much; we're not going for 'talking salad'. There's a fine line to be drawn. I want a green goddess, a bright and blooming Mother Nature incarnate — away from the dark, as Diablo said to me."

Pamela stared at her. "Diablo?"

"Santana," she clarified. "Diablo's just an affectation, but it suits him." She smiled, but it disappeared quickly. The sketchbook was closed with a sharp snap and then tucked under Starling's arm, and she clapped her hands twice. With the gentlest of touches, Dove led Pamela over to a large chair, which looked like something from a torture chamber but turned out to actually be very comfortable. She felt herself relaxing into the cushions, allowing Dove, Gypsy, and Barda to take up their well-practiced positions.

They began by taming her hair, Barda meticulously blow-drying each curl until they fell around Pamela's shoulders in a soft cascade of scarlet. She then carefully fluffed up the hair on top of her head into a sort of bouffant, pinning it tightly in place.

Pamela could feel her pinning and tucking, clipping things into her hair, but she had no idea what it looked like. She glanced over at Starling, who was watching approvingly — it must have been going according to plan.

Her attention was drawn elsewhere, unfortunately, when Dove and Gypsy set to work on waxing her legs. This was an entirely new experience, and not a welcome one at that. With each tug, her fingers clenched tightly around the arms of the chair, and she grumbled internally at the thought that Jonathan wouldn't have to deal with any of this. He was probably reclining in a chair with a cocktail, having his nails buffed. If Starling's drawings were anything to go by, nobody was even going to _see_ her legs, so why the hell was this necessary?

It was over soon enough, though, and she was grateful when the team moved on to less painful tasks; Dove got to work on Pamela's hands and feet, massaging the skin with an unctuous cream that smelt like lavender and lemons, then filing and shaping her short fingernails. Gypsy was apparently on face duty — she talked all the while, filling the room with a stream of innocuous chatter as she worked. Pamela let the rapid-fire words wash over her as her mind wandered, taking her far away, back to her garden. She couldn't believe it had only been a matter of hours since she'd been happily working there. She'd thought she could simply go to the Reaping, watch someone else be chosen, then retreat to her sanctuary _. Ha._

Reclining in the chair with her eyes shut, she lost count of the number of different creams and powders that were applied to her face. When it was all done, amazingly, it didn't feel like she was wearing any makeup at all.

Starling suddenly clapped her hands again, and the three stylists immediately got up and stepped away from Pamela, who remained where she was, unsure what to do next. Starling laughed and held out one hand — she was now wearing a pair of short, black, leather gloves. She waggled her fingers, beckoning. "Come on. It's my turn now."

Barda, Dove, and Gypsy all looked thrilled at the prospect — their mistress was going to work, completing the transformation from caterpillar to butterfly. Pamela, on the other hand, felt her legs shaking as she went through yet another door with no idea what was on the other side. With a dismissive wave, Starling sent the other three off to clear up, then followed her through and closed the door firmly behind them.

"Strip," she ordered suddenly.

Pamela stared at her, uncomprehending. "I… what?"

"Strip, change," Starling repeated, eyebrows raised, then tutted when the girl didn't move. She pointed sharply at a set of lingerie that was hanging on a long mirror. "Listen, honey, baggy cotton is fine for whatever the hell it was you did back home, but _here,_ we want a bit more structure and scaffolding. Take off the robe, put that on. You can duck behind the screen if you're feeling a little shy."

Pamela's gaze traveled to a large folding screen that closed off one corner of the room. With a lump in her throat that she fought to swallow down, she picked up the filmy underwear and retreated meekly behind the screen. The bath had been alright; there was nothing unusual about taking your clothes off for that (although she'd never actually had a proper, hot bath in her whole life), but something kept her from willingly stripping down in front of Starling.

* * *

 _"Where are you taking me?" she asked, laughing breathlessly as he pulled her through the trees. She stumbled and almost stuck her foot down a rabbit hole, so fast were they going, but he kept a tight hold on her hand and stopped her falling._

 _"Not much further," he called back, swerving into a sudden left turn between two apple trees. This section of the orchards was empty_ — _as she didn't work there, she didn't know how he'd managed to find it. It was always a new place with him. The sun was setting, and as soon as she had finished her garden shift, he'd been there, waiting for her, like every other day. Now, they were stealing what time they could together before the curfew came into force._

 _"Jason…" She giggled. "What are we doing here? You're being so_ — _" She was cut off when he spun around to suddenly kiss her deeply. One of his hands entangled itself in her hair, tugging gently until it came free of its ponytail, tumbling over her shoulders. When the two of them broke apart, she felt breathless and flushed, smiling up at him._

 _He gazed down at her indulgently, and she felt her heart flutter in her chest. They had been together for weeks, and she still wasn't sure why he wanted her, though she had tried not to question something that thrilled her and made her feel special. He was so handsome, for a start, with stylish, short, black hair and an intelligent, sculptured face, and at nineteen, he was the youngest man ever to work in his field. He was beginning to move in distinguished circles within District Eleven, occasionally dropping the names of high-ranking officials into conversation_ — _even the mayor's, on one occasion_ — _and what was she but a lowly gardener, with scruffy overalls and permanent lines of dirt under her fingernails? An ordinary man wouldn't have looked twice at her; but the brilliant Jason Woodrue wasn't an ordinary man._

 _"God, look at you," he breathed suddenly, then swooped down and captured her with another kiss that left her mouth tingling. She leaned against him, wanting more, but he held her back with a hand cupping her cheek, his thumb tracing along the curve of her full bottom lip. "You're so beautiful, Pamela…" He was walking her backward while he spoke, and soon, she felt rough bark pressing against her back. With Jason's body pinning her against the tree, she couldn't have moved away even if she'd wanted to._

 _She blushed, pale skin turning pink from her neck to the roots of her flaming red hair. "No, I'm not," she murmured, looking down at her feet._

 _He lifted her chin with his finger, making her look him in the eye. "But you_ are, _" he insisted, "and darling, you have so much potential. You're almost sixteen, and you could do anything."_

 _"And what if I get Reaped next year?" Pamela asked, her forehead crinkled in worry. Like every other eligible person in the district, thoughts like this were always at the back of her mind even at the most inopportune times_ — _like when her boyfriend was trying to sneak kisses in the trees after work. "What if I get sent off to the Avenger Games and don't come back? What if I never see you again?"_

 _"That wouldn't happen," Jason said with absolute certainty. "If you were Reaped, you would win. You're the most intelligent woman I've ever met; you could easily outsmart everyone else in the arena and come out on top. Why do you think I'm with you, darling? You dazzle me every day, with your mind, your knowledge, your promise…"_

 _He kissed her a third time, then again, and again, murmuring praise to her in between each one. "And when you came back, you'd live in the Village, and then we could be together all the time." Resting his forehead against hers, he looked her in the eye questioningly. "If you'd have me, that is. Would you… would you have me?"_

 _She didn't even think about it. "Of course I would. Yes. Always." Her voice was fervent, and she suddenly surprised both of them by standing on tiptoe and pulling him down to her. Moments later, they were on the ground, Jason's long and lean body looming over her, his dark eyes burning in a way that made a shiver run down her spine. She could feel her heart thumping hard and fast, and she bit her lip nervously. The tiny movement drew his hungry gaze down to her mouth._

 _He leaned down to kiss her throat, soft lips ghosting over her skin, then whispered in her ear how beautiful she was, how much he wanted her, how he couldn't resist her. His hands found the zip that ran down her overalls. She didn't stop him, even helping him push the fabric down her arms to expose the grey vest she was wearing underneath. He pushed it up, and she lifted her arms obligingly, revealing herself to him piece by piece._

* * *

Staring at her reflection, Pamela didn't recognise herself. At all. Where had all that hair come from? Those eyes — had they always been so green? And her lips, glossed and painted with a shade of red so vibrant it seemed to glow… She shook her head vigorously in disbelief, accidentally dislodging some of the green and gold decorations Barda had put into her hair. "That's not — that's not me," she heard herself say. "What did you do?"

"We took what was there and made it shine," came Starling's voice. She was crouched behind her, doing something to the long cloak Pamela was wearing. "That's all you, Pammy. Polished and primed, but still you."

"I…" Pamela's voice caught in her throat, and she stopped trying to speak. She hadn't known she could look like this. As she continued to stare at herself, little details jumped out at her: the makeup around her eyes, Gypsy's expert handiwork, like leaves so realistic she felt she could reach out and pluck them off her skin. Her glossy red lips made her want to pout. Her face, neck and decolletage were dusted with a green powder that twinkled when she shifted from side to side, the skin underneath smooth and pale as porcelain. She glanced down at the outfit Starling had wrangled her into. The corset had been designed to look like her body was covered in leaves, as if they had just grown that way, emphasising her curves and cleavage in a way she'd never seen before. Her legs were sheathed in deep green tights decorated with a vine pattern, and after some cajoling, she had finally been convinced to wear her first pair of high-heeled shoes. Her white shoulders were bare — the cloak was attached to the back of the corset — but Starling had wreathed them in a spray of ivy for decoration.

If she had to choose, the cloak was probably her favourite part; layers of gossamer-thin fabric swept down to the ground in a long train, fading from light green to bright red, embroidered with flowers and leaves. It floated and rustled when she moved, and having it streaming behind her made her want to stand up a little taller. She looked… good. For the first time in her life, she was looking at herself properly, and she felt beautiful, more beautiful than her parents had ever told her she was, more beautiful than Jason had ever made her feel with all his posturing and lies.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, a different sensation washed over her, and she almost fell over. She felt sick, saliva pooling on her tongue, stomach roiling. Her hands began to shake, and she wobbled in her high heels. Concerned, Starling got to her feet and faced Pamela's terrified reflection. "What's wrong?"

Pamela swallowed hard. She suddenly felt ridiculous, painted and stiff, a flower forced into the wrong soil. What had seemed beautiful only seconds ago now looked false and over-the-top. It was like a different person was looking back at her in that mirror, a person who was never meant to exist, and wouldn't have existed at all if she hadn't been chosen for a reason she still didn't know. The questioning, the nerves, the enormity of exactly _why_ she was getting all dressed up; they overwhelmed her until she felt like she might faint or throw up all over Starling's creation. Her arms wrapped around her stomach instinctively, and she bent over, focusing on the luxurious cream-colored carpet beneath those stupid shoes. "I don't belong here," she gasped out. "This isn't me. I thought I could do it, but I can't… I'm gonna… I want to go home..." She realised with horror that she was crying, and her pallid face flushed pink with embarrassment. How pathetic she was. The tears flowed down her decorated face, and she felt her bottom lip trembling as she tried to take a deep breath.

"Hey, hey, Pamela, don't worry," Starling murmured, helping Pamela stand up straight so she was looking her in the eye. She put her elegant gloved hands on the girl's shoulders and turned her to the mirror, so she was facing the new version of herself. The not-real version. "Come on, don't cry. Nobody ever told you how pretty you are before, huh? Look at that face. Look at that girl. What do you see?"

"A doll. A plaything that the Capitol will laugh at. No one will want to sponsor me; they'll see it's all an act, that I'm not worth anything, I can't do anything. I mean I'm just a gardener, I—"

"Stop." Starling shook her head so her ponytail swished from side to side. "No more, no more; you'd make me cry if I hadn't been fixed. That's not what I see at all. You're gorgeous, you've got the best hair I've ever seen, you're wearing what I would say is my greatest work. It's fine, you'll be fine…"

"How can you say that?" Pamela cried. "It's the _Avenger Games,_ I'm going out there for — for one reason…"

Starling nodded slowly, thinking over her next words. "True. Let's take it one step at a time, though, okay? First, you're gonna head downstairs, ride in that chariot, and show the whole of Marvel exactly who you are and why they should pay attention to you."

"But… I don't even know why I'm here," Pamela whispered mournfully.

"Who cares _why_ you're here? The point is _you are_." Starling gave her an exasperated shake. "I know it's the damn Avenger Games. Kind of an unavoidable fact. Point is, Sam must have had some reason for choosing you — so how about you stop racking your brains trying to think of it and actually deal with being a part of this? Being all dreamy and absent is fine when you're getting your hair done, but from now on, you need to _think_. The other tributes will sense any weakness you have. Stop crying, stop panicking, and get your Game face on, yeah? Or at least avoid breaking down unless you're alone. Otherwise, you're done for."

They were frank words, but they did the trick. Pamela hiccoughed, the tears having now subsided and miraculously not disturbed her makeup, and tried to smile. Even if Starling was just saying it to get her out there so everyone could see her work and she wouldn't be out of a job, effectively leading her to her death like a glittering lamb to the slaughter, she gathered up the words and held them close.

She knew she couldn't afford to lose herself before she'd even entered the arena. The Sword of Damocles was already hanging over her perfectly coiffed head; no point making it worse. Just a matter of hours ago, she'd promised herself that she would try, fight, win, get home to her parents, and what had happened? She'd let herself get carried away on a wave of perfume and panic, forgetting all of it. "I'm sorry," she murmured, not entirely sure who she was talking to.

Starling rolled her eyes, then sighed in an almost affectionate way. "Don't apologise, for God's sake. You're not the first breakdown I've dealt with, and I doubt you'll be the last if I keep my job. Hell of a thing, the Games, and you're still just a kid… I don't blame you at all." Her lips pressed into a sudden, hard line, and she ducked back down to adjust Pamela's cloak once more.

There was a knock on the door, and Dove popped her head into the room. "Sam's here," she said in her breathy voice. "Time to go."

"You ready?" Starling asked, looking up at her tribute with one eyebrow arched.

Pamela took a deep breath, then turned resolutely away from the mirror. "As I'll ever be," she replied, her voice just on the cusp of trembling. She gritted her teeth, squared her shoulders, and began to walk.

They emerged from the suite to be greeted by Santana and Jonathan. The boy had been dressed in a black one-piece suit and a long coat that brushed his ankles, the hood of the coat kept down and cradling his neck. He was wearing a mask that covered his whole head, a sort of cross between a skull and a burlap sack. Looking closer, she could just about see his eyes through the holes in the mask, and that he was wearing contact lenses in such a bright shade of yellow they almost glowed. The lips of the mask were loosely stitched together, Jonathan's white teeth still visible underneath. He was smiling at her. Pamela didn't ask why, because her gaze had been drawn back to that suit. It was black, yes, but a shade of black so dark it seemed to absorb all light… she couldn't work it out. It looked like someone had cut a Jonathan-shaped hole in reality to show the empty space behind. It looked _wrong._ She frowned.

"You're staring at me," he said, his voice slightly muffled. Those yellow eyes looked her up and down speculatively, then narrowed as he peered at her face. "Have you been _crying_?"

Pamela felt Starling's hand resting on her back, and she knew what to do. She stepped up to Jonathan, holding her head up high, and stared him down. "Of course not," she said coolly. "Let's go."


	20. Chapter 19: An Alien World

**(A/N): And here we are, back with our Friday update! This one features the ever-spectacular Unlucky Alis and Kory Anders as our tributes get their first glimpses of each other...**

 **Thanks, as ever, to the writers who reviewed. The warmth and support between this group of amazing people is one of our favorite things to see every morning when we go to do these updates :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Nineteen - An Alien World**

 **Chariot Parade in the Capitol**

 **Kory Anders of District Twelve**

 **Written by Unlucky Alis**

* * *

" _Have you ever watched a leaf leave a tree? It falls upward first, and then it drifts toward the ground, just as I find myself drifting towards you."_

Beth Kephart

* * *

Kory's mind was reeling. Since stepping off the train, she felt she had suddenly traveled to another world. Now, the sound of Capitolites shouting and cheering beyond the tunnel where the chariots were situated sounded so far away, but she knew as soon as they went outside, it would be deafening. At the moment, it was distant. Everything felt distant, alien. Or she was the alien here.

Being from Twelve, Kory's chariot was last, and she could see everyone from the other districts lined up in front of her. She closed her eyes and took a moment to drink it all in: the chatter, the feel of her costume, the sound of the horses stamping their hooves. She smiled; it was all so amazing.

When she opened her eyes, she wasn't all that surprised to find someone staring at her. Usually, whenever this happened, Kory's first thought would be about how she could tease them. For once, that came second, because for a moment, she was caught staring back at him.

It was the male tribute from District Seven, and he was handsome. Tall, dark-haired, and he had the bluest eyes she had ever seen. His skin-tight costume accentuated his lean muscles in just the right way, a blue bird the same shade as his eyes spreading its wings across his chest.

Her body moved on instinct, one hand drifting to rest on her bare waist, cocking her hip, and biting her lower lip. Thankfully, the boy was too flustered over being caught staring to realize Kory had been just as surprised as him.

Kory didn't look away until his district partner nudged him and forced his attention elsewhere. The girl had black hair and blue eyes too. Kory vaguely recalled Ian stuttering and mumbling about the other tributes during the long train ride. If she was remembering right, the District Seven tributes were siblings, but one of them was adopted. She couldn't tell who.

The girl's costume was a bodysuit as well. There was a thick band of purple down her front, framed by grey on her sides. Two black stripes intersected at the base of her throat to create a cross design.

"This is exactly how you want it?"

Kory's gaze snapped to her stylist, a man named Noh-Varr, who was referring to her costume. He had a headphone in one ear and was swaying slightly to whatever song he listened to. Kory was impressed he could hear it above all the other noise.

"Yes, thank you." She smiled at him.

"Okay, then it's time for you to go. District One's chariot is already leaving," he said.

Kory smoothly stepped onto the back of the chariot beside John. It jerked sharply as the horses starting walking forwards, tossing their heads and building up to a trot. The noise outside swelled each time a chariot left the tunnel. As the horses of her chariot stepped into the light, Kory closed her eyes once more and felt the light's warmth on her skin.

* * *

" _Whoa." The word came out as a soft gasp as Kory leaned towards the window. Even seeing the Capitol from a distance was amazing. She couldn't believe how tall some of the buildings were, stretching up and up into the sky. She was surprised there weren't clouds circling the highest floors._

 _Kory knew that, other than the chariots and the interviews, she and the other tributes would be confined to the building that would serve as their home up until the Games. But she ached to explore and vowed to see as much as she could. And try as much food as she could. The Warlords used to tell her all about the delicacies the Capitol had to offer._

" _John, isn't it beautiful?" Kory asked._

 _Her district partner moved to the next window and looked out. "Yeah, until you remember that it's all built on the slave labor from the districts."_

 _Kory glanced at John. He obviously wasn't smiling, but he wasn't frowning either, just staring out at the city._

 _She turned her gaze back outside and smiled widely as they neared the station. There was a sea of Capitolites in brightly-colored ensembles, their heads bobbing up and down as they walked to make rainbow waves. There were some people that didn't dress as boldly or look as exuberant, and Kory watched them just as much as she watched everyone else._

 _When people started pointing at the train, she waved, winking at the boys and men staring in her direction and sending suggestive smiles and half-lidded glances at the ones that blushed when she did. She didn't expect Capitol boys to be so easy to tease._

 _Kory giggled in excitement. She had no intention of dying in the Games, but she knew it was a possibility. She wasn't one for daydreaming, and that reality had set in quickly during the first few minutes of the train ride, and she had all night to dwell on it. But if she did die, she had better make the most of her last free days_.

* * *

" **And here we have the tributes for District Twelve!** "

Kory opened her eyes at the sound of Taneleer Tivan's voice.

" **A very fitting costume on John Constantine, but I must say Noh-Varr took a daring approach with Kory Anders. Isn't she stunning?"**

Kory grinned and waved at the stands when she saw herself displayed on the large screens. Noh-Varr had liked the bold statement she made during the Reaping and wanted to keep it going, but this time, the only similarity was the deep purple shade. Her shirt was essentially a thick V of fabric, covering what needed to be covered while exposing everything else. The front and back were connected to a belt resting over her short skirt. There was a gem set into the middle that looked like a smoldering piece of coal. Matte gauntlets covered her forearms, and she wore tall boots to accentuate her height.

Kory knew her main weapon in getting sponsors was her beauty. This costume was perfect for drawing the attention of inappropriate older men with lots of money.

John beside her wore a more conservative ensemble. Baggy miner's overalls with a button-up shirt underneath, the top buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up. Coal dust was smeared into their light hair, giving them the dark streaks all miners had. Too bad Kory hadn't ever thought of doing that back in Twelve so she could properly sneak into the mines.

John's overalls, along with Kory's belt and gauntlets, were a deep black. But as they started moving, the colors changed. Kory's flickered, like fire, but John's overalls seemed to match whatever was in the background. If someone wasn't paying attention to him, he could fade completely out of mind.

He was staring up at the screen, just like her, and his gaze jumped from Kory to the cheering Capitolites. Whenever she waved, the noise swelled. He nudged her discreetly, and Kory looked to her district partner.

"Would you mind giving me one of those smiles? If I'm worth a smile from you, then maybe people will think I'm worth being sponsored."

Kory gave him her most dazzling grin. "Of course."

" **You know, looking over this year's line of tributes, I've noticed something interesting** ," Taneleer said, drawing away from the commentary about stylists and costumes.

" **What's that?** " Uatu asked.

" **This is now the twenty-fifth year of the Avenger Games, and frankly, it's been some time since we've had two white tributes from District Eleven.** "

Kory focused on the tributes ahead of her. The girl was wearing a corset and leggings, goth green, and a cape that trailed down her back, fading from green to red. Everything was covered in designs of ivy and flowers, even her bare arms. She looked like a walking garden. For a moment, Kory wondered if there was such a thing in the Capitol, and how amazing it would be to see, but it was probably too far-fetched even for this place.

The boy was wearing a long trench coat, the hood hanging off his shoulders. Kory wasn't very impressed with the ensemble, having expected more from Capitol stylists. Her opinion changed completely when the District Eleven chariot appeared on the monitors.

It looked like he wasn't there. The suit underneath his jacket was made from a fabric so black it looked like someone had simply cut his body away and replaced it with nothing. If it weren't for the coat and the mask on his head, Kory would have thought he wasn't truly there at all.

The mask itself was almost terrifying. It was molded around his face but looked like it was burlap rather than skin. There were gaping black holes over bright yellow eyes and crooked stitches over the mouth. As Kory watched, the boy's head twitched, and the mask started flaking away. He had been standing rigidly before, but now he turned his head towards the camera as his face was revealed.

He was white, like the commentators said, but Kory wasn't sure why that mattered. It didn't change the fact that someone had hand-picked them from a crowd of children knowing they would probably die.

" **You are absolutely right. With the tributes chosen by the victors this year, I wonder if someone from Eleven is trying to say something?** " Uatu inquired.

" **That may be so, but —** **oh, what's this? It looks like there's something wrong with District Two's Harvey Dent.** "

The chariot was too far ahead for Kory to see, so she looked to the monitors. The girl from District Two wore a black jacket and blue shirt, with some sort of dark armour over her torso. There was an electric blue mask over her eyes and a matching streak in her hair.

Harvey wore a crisp, dark suit and had bandages expertly wrapped over half of his face. Or they were supposed to be expertly wrapped but instead were slipping, revealing bright red skin that was pocked and puckered. He must not have noticed until Tanaleer announced it, because his gaze jumped up to the monitors, and his eyes widened. He reached up to the bandages and attempted to force them back into place, but that only made things worse.

Kory wasn't sure if anyone had ever physically jumped off the chariots and fled during the procession before, but she was starting to think Harvey would until he plunged a hand into his pocket. The camera didn't zoom in, so she couldn't see what he pulled out, but it glinted in the sunlight. His thumb flicked upwards, and then he snatched the item out of the air. Harvey looked down at his palm and visibly relaxed, shoving the item back into his pocket.

Instead of trying to fix the bandages, he simply looked up into the crowd and smiled, letting them fall away to reveal a horrible burn that covered half his face.

" **There must be a good story behind a scar like that** ," Uatu said.

" **When it's interview time, maybe we'll get to hear it**." Taneleer chuckled, and they both started throwing out ideas of how Harvey got such a scar. They moved as the procession continued, District One's chariot reaching the square before Thanos' mansion.

Kory gaped at the sight of it. She always thought her home back in Twelve was large. Compared to others in the district, that was certainly true, but she had a hard time thinking of this building as a house. It rose up above them. While far from the height of some of the buildings Kory saw from the train, it was nonetheless a looming giant up close. Shadows were thrown across the front façade from the parade light, and the balcony facing the square was well-lit.

Directly under a spotlight was the podium where President Thanos would speak, though he had not approached it yet.

The first chariots had already settled into formation; all twelve would be lined up in two neat rows, six by six. Kory took a moment to scan her fellow tributes before the president could appear. There was little she could see from the back, but a few things stood out. She could see District One's chariot clearly, and a good side view of the male tribute.

He looked formidable in a black and grey armored suit and a skeletal-looking mask that was half gray and half orange. He was looking up at one of the cameras and raised a hand to his temple, giving a quick two-fingered salute.

Kory hadn't watched the Reapings live, but she did occupy her time with the recaps during the train ride. The boy from District One had given the same salute after he was chosen, and Taneleer was saying as much now, questioning who it could be for. Kory ignored the commentary as she looked to the tributes from District Four.

The girl had a crown on her head, which intrigued Kory. It was a delicate addition to her red and blue costume. Her partner was nearly bare-chested with very few adornments, on the other hand, except for tattoos all the way up his arms.

District Five's tributes had matching red capes, but besides a flash of blue, Kory could see little else of what they wore. They both stood with their fists resting on their hips, in what Kory supposed was a somewhat heroic pose.

As her and John's chariot pulled up, Kory was disappointed to see she could not admire the boy from Seven without leaning back to look past the line of tributes. Even then, her view was blocked by a flowing purple cloak wrapping around the girl from District Nine. Buffeted by some unseen source of wind, the fabric did not settle as the chariots stopped moving.

Kory was drawing her gaze away when she glanced at District Ten. The boy, dressed in a purple and black suit, was small and young, maybe twelve or thirteen, and his skin and hair had been dyed green. He was looking around in a mixture of wonder and fear. When their eyes met, she gave him an encouraging smile.

"Welcome to the twenty-fifth Avenger Games, the first Quarter Quell." Thanos' voice boomed across the square, and Kory's gaze snapped forward. President Thanos was a large man, and Kory found it oddly fitting that he lived in a large mansion, regardless of its status as a symbol of power. "You, our tributes, have been given the honor of being personally chosen by your mentors. One of you will carry that honor through to victory."

The crowd cheered, already eager for first blood. The cameras were drifting over the tributes, showing them off as Thanos spoke. The boy from Eight was very eye-catching when he appeared on screen. Adorned with a purple suit, orange waistcoat, and green dress shirt, it was hard not to stare. He was smiling widely, though it was more unnerving than pleasant. The girl beside him seemed to be hanging off his arm.

"Do right by the men and women that have chosen you. May the odds be ever in your favor!"

The camera settled on Kory and John's chariot with Thanos' final words, and she gave a sultry smile. She was debating whether blowing a kiss would be overkill when the camera moved on, and the chariots started back towards the training center.

" **Truly, a man of words**." Taneleer said.

" **Absolutely** ," Uatu agreed. " **I for one am eager to see what kind of fighters our victors have chosen for us. I see a few surprising faces in our lineup, and some none too intimidating."**

" **Let's just hope they'll surprise us**!"

Kory grinned. She was certain Taneleer and Uatu were including her among the unintimidating number. After all, she was just the pretty-faced daughter of a merchant. But she was _definitely_ going to surprise them. The Warlords may not have been able to teach her weaponry, but they did teach her how to take down a grown man with her bare hands, and she would not be trifled with.

Blackagar was waiting for them when their chariot returned to the training center. He gave a satisfied nod, which Kory supposed meant they had done well during the procession.

She stepped off the chariot and stretched, the fabric of her shirt pulling tight against her body. She could feel someone looking at her. Maybe Blackagar—though she doubted it; he didn't seem like the type—or John, or even the boy from Seven. But she didn't know for sure. She was too busy enjoying the pull of her muscles.

Kory had never really considered how long the chariot procession and prep work really took until she was a part of it. She was a very fit person, but standing on her feet for hours without any kind of movement to distract her would make anyone sore.

She let her arms drop and looked around. People were lingering, stylists congratulating their tributes, mentors telling them what they did well, and what they shouldn't have done. She glanced back at Blackagar and wondered what he would say if he could speak, and whether she would like it.

Kory shook her head. She got the feeling it was probably for the best.

Noh-Varr had gone off and was talking to a woman, probably another stylist, in a bright yellow jacket. They were discreetly holding hands, and for some reason, that surprised her. Capitolites were regular people. But they were so bright and colorful that Kory forgot that. Thinking of Capitolites in love was odd to her, but it was there.

"We should head upstairs."

Kory almost jumped at the sound of John's voice right next to her. She hadn't noticed him move. It was like that on the train too. He could be so still and move so silently that it was like he was hidden. Thinking on it, Taneleer was right. John's costume _was_ fitting.

"Yes, I suppose. But there's something I want to do first." Kory walked up to the Eleven's chariot and stood in front of the boy. There was an excited glint in his eyes, and Kory got the feeling she was being examined, but not the way she normally was. It was an unfamiliar sensation.

He had shed his coat, so now he just looked like a head floating above a dark nothingness.

"Good timing, Jonathan; too bad you were upstaged by District Two," his stylist, who looked to have more tattoos than skin, was saying.

"Excuse me, but what is that made out of?" Kory asked, pointing to the boy's — Jonathan's — suit. She laid a hand on his arm, almost expecting there to be nothing there.

"It's vantablack," the stylist said. Kory looked at him expectantly, waiting for more. He said nothing.

"You're pretty," Jonathan said.

Kory was about to smile and put on her usual tactics, but Jonathan stopped her.

"It's merely an observation," he said. "You're very pretty, but you also look angry. How did someone like _you_ end up being chosen?"

Kory stiffened, immediately thinking of Komander, and she could feel her anger building. At Jonathan for inadvertently bringing her up, at Komander for betraying her so harshly, and at Blackagar for accepting whatever bribe Kammie gave him.

"Interesting," Jonathan muttered.

She spun on her heels and walked away, fuming.

"What was that about?" John asked.

"Nothing," she snapped.

John said something else, but Kory was distracted when she saw a girl standing toe-to-toe with Victor Creed. She was wearing very short shorts with fishnet leggings. Her hair was up in pigtails, one of them dyed bright turquoise and the other a vibrant hot pink. She was less colorful compared to her district partner, but Kory was almost certain this girl was on the District Eight chariot.

The girl leaned forward and straightened the lapels of Creed's jacket. Kory couldn't hear what she was saying, but judging by Creed's expression, it wasn't a compliment. The rest of the District Seven group stood behind him, and Kory noticed the male tribute was grinning.

He looked good when he smiled like that, and Kory's anger melted away.

The girl patted Creed's chest, saying one final thing before she actually pinched the man's cheek and left.

The boy from Seven broke down laughing and shouted, "That was beautiful!"

The group started moving towards the elevator, while Creed stayed behind. The girl that spoke to Creed was shouting something else, but Kory wasn't listening anymore. Only Logan, last year's victor and one of the mentors for Seven, and the two tributes were getting in the car. As the doors started to close, Kory had a brilliant idea.

"See you upstairs," she shouted back to John, then darted forward. John called out after her, but she didn't hear him. She slipped past the girl that had been talking to Creed, accidentally bumping her shoulder.

"Easy does it, lady!" the girl shouted. Kory ignored her.

She reached the elevator just in time, sliding her hand between the doors before they could fully close, and forced them open again. The black-haired boy stared at her with wide, surprised eyes, that delirious and adorable smile still on his face. Logan simply raised an eyebrow in her direction. "Headin' up, you comin'?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you." Kory stepped inside and looked over her shoulder. She saw Blackagar glaring at her over heads of the other tributes, and she waved as the door shut.

"Hello," she said when she was facing the boy again, his mentor and district partner well out of mind.

"Hi," he said.

"Kory Anders, but just Kory is fine."

"Um, hi," he repeated, and Kory giggled. His face immediately flushed. "I mean, I'm Dick."

"Helena Wayne," his district partner said, and their mentor just smirked and shook his head, pointedly looking away from all three of them as Helena gave Kory a rather skeptical look. Then, she focused on her brother, ready to say something — and her expression changed into something less identifiable.

Clearly, her brother was feeling something different than his usual flirtatious self. Helena's eyes flashed back to Kory, more curious now.

"Hello," Kory repeated, smiling brightly at Helena for a moment, before returning her attention to Dick. Despite there being ample room inside the elevator, she stood directly beside him so their hands were brushing.

Up close, she was easily able to admire the way his suit clung to his body, showing off every muscle. Kory was staring, and she didn't bother trying to hide it, instead very obviously looking Dick up and down. He was watching her, either waiting for her to say something, or too stunned to speak. Judging by his expression, it was the latter.

Kory met his eyes and smiled at him, tugging on her lip with her teeth. Standing this close to Dick, she was very aware of how exposed she was. Her costume covered very little. She wasn't embarrassed about it, but she could see Dick's eyes jumping from her face to her body. It was probably hard not to stare. For some reason, it made her face flush.

The elevator dinged as they reached the seventh floor, and Logan grabbed Helena's arm and stepped off immediately.

Helena looked back at her brother. "Dick, I think maybe—"

"Take it to the roof!" Logan called, sweeping Helena out of the elevator more swiftly than she expected.

Dick sputtered, a number of weak protests falling from his lips, but he didn't move as the doors closed again. He looked at Kory and gave what she thought was meant to be a suave grin. It wasn't, but she loved it anyways.

She wanted to say something to him, but she wasn't sure what. Flirty, honest, complimentary? For once in her life, Kory did not know how to get what she wanted. Instead, she leaned around Dick, brushing against his chest as much as possible, and pressed the button to open the doors. The hallway was clear.

Dick hesitated a moment before stepping out, and Kory was hit with the sudden urge to make him stay, though she wasn't sure why. There was just something about him; he wasn't like the other boys she teased.

She leaned forward and grabbed his hand, making him stop. She only held it a moment before pulling back. As the doors closed, she gave him a genuine smile. "See you around, Dick."

He smiled back, and then she was alone.

Kory leaned against the wall and hugged herself, her fingers brushing lightly against her exposed skin. She had goosebumps, but her face felt warm. It only took her a moment to realize what made Dick different from the others, from the boys she flirted with at the Hob and from John. He made her blush.

To some, that wouldn't be a big thing. People blushed all the time. Pretty girls that didn't know they were pretty did it. But Kory Anders knew she was pretty, and she used it. She flirted and teased, but she never blushed.

Kory buried her face in her hands and willed the redness away. She had finally met someone that made her want to stop and stare the same way so many people did with her. It was just her luck that they might end up killing each other.


	21. Chapter 20: The Monster You Made

**(A/N): And we're back with our Tuesday update! This time, we're bringing back Jason Todd, written as always by the talented Savy160.**

 **Thank you again to all of the writers who reviewed the last chapter. It's so much fun to see the excitement building as we get closer to the Games. :) And thanks to Slim Summers2002 for your review on the two most recent chapters... and for making us laugh out loud.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty - The Monster You Made**

 **Post-Chariots in the Capitol**

 **Jason Todd of District Six**

 **Written by Savy160**

* * *

 _"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."_ – Theodore Roosevelt

 _"Can you remember who you were before the world told you who to be?"_ \- Unknown

* * *

Jason pulled at the tight black collar stretched around his neck like a hangman's noose. The teenager couldn't wait to free himself of the flashy costume. He was practically suffocating. The thing was nearly smothering him as he followed behind Darcy with Angela beside him. Having to wear the prissy, tight uniform while being forced to smile and wave at those in the crowd so disconnected with what was actually happening in the world around them was making the boy sick to his stomach. And the makeup was ridiculous. Honestly, he just felt ridiculous parading around in the skintight cat suit. Yet, his first evening would only get worse. He'd have to deal with Johann Shmidt next.

Jason glanced over at his fellow district tribute, who merely engaged Darcy in polite conversation. Jason resisted the urge to roll his eyes; like he couldn't see right through Angela's little innocent act. It had taken a little while for him to realize that they'd met before in a fight between his Outlaws and her street gang. What was one of the most elite of their district doing in a gang?

She was a great fighter, though. Jason would admit to that. Crossbones had trained her well. Angela also knew how to work people. Not that it mattered; Jason might have lacked people skills, but he made up for it with street smarts and brute strength.

Darcy continued, "And now we're going to catch up with Mr. Johann Schmidt so you can get ready for the Games," bringing Jason back to reality.

The Red Hood barely managed to swallow the bile that had suddenly come up at the back of his throat. Jason would give up anything if it meant never having to set eyes on the crispy monster ever again. Red Skull was the embodiment of evil, fear, and horror. Just the mere mention of Johann Schmidt brought back nothing but bad memories.

* * *

 _Jason couldn't breathe. Struggling soon followed as the hands of time ticked slowly by. He'd been under too long. Fingers clawed out at nothing as he struggled to find anything to grab. Jason was dying. He could feel it. He knew it. The water pulled and clawed at his open mouth, filling in all the cracks and forcing its way down the boy's throat as strong and muscular hands held him firmly in place. Everything began to fade to black._

 _All of a sudden, the water was gone, and Jason was left dry heaving on the grass beside the pond. As his vision cleared and the sputtering stopped, Jason slowly gazed up at the red hot face glaring at him in anger._

 _"It had only been three minutes. You should have lasted longer."_

 _"Y-you tried to drown me," Jason accused._

 _Red Skull angrily replied, "You should have stopped me."_

* * *

"Are you okay?"

Jason snapped back to reality as he found Darcy and Angela several feet ahead, both staring back at him. Jason just nodded before regrouping with them. Angela gazed at him curiously, while Darcy went on with her schedule.

Darcy continued babbling on, with Angela hanging onto her every word, or at least pretending to be, until they eventually reached their room. Jason exhaled slowly before following them inside the expensively-decorated room, with plush leather furniture, marble walls, and intricate architectural designs. Jason felt even more out of place as the three joined Red Skull over at the mahogany table.

The red-faced demon reclined in his plush chair with his back to the fireplace. Naturally, Schmidt had chosen to go with his signature black leather look. One hand held a glass of the most expensive alcohol money could buy, while the other held an even more expensive cigar.

* * *

 _Jason's gaze frantically flickered back and forth before the boy lifted the cigar to his mouth. A bright flame lit up the pitch-black prison as the match was held against the butt of the cigar. The fire was then extinguished as smoke wafted towards the ceiling._

 _It was satisfying. The scent that burned his nostrils, the thick smoke filling his lungs, the thought of actually stealing something from the old skeleton himself. Jason smiled to himself before dropping the cigar to the floor as the door to his tiny prison was thrown open._

 _Jason's blue eyes widened as Red Skull marched himself into the tiny room that only contained a single mattress. Jason instantly mumbled an apology as Schmidt knelt down in front of the boy and plucked the still smoking cigar from the floor._

 _"You know, smoking is bad for your health," Red Skull snarled before extinguishing the stolen cigar on Jason's arm. "No one steals from me."_

 _The scent of burnt flesh replaced the scent of smoke._

* * *

"Sit down," Red Skull commanded.

Darcy immediately sat down next to the animal, suddenly a bit less obnoxiously bright, while Angela took the seat across from her, leaving Jason to face his mentor.

Darcy arranged her face pleasantly as best she could before she announced, "First, we'll order dinner — and then Mr. Schmidt will share his tips on how to win the Games." For a moment, she glared at Red Skull. "How does everyone take their steaks?"

Red Skull rolled his eyes before extinguishing his cigar. "Bloody."

"Burnt," Jason growled, earning a pair of narrowed eyes from his mentor.

Darcy cleared her throat at the two glaring at each other. "Anyway, Mr. Schmidt, please go ahead with your advice. I'm sure Angela and Jason are anxiously awaiting what you have to say." She sounded pleasant but was giving Red Skull a pointed look.

The charred man took a sip of his expensive drink before saying, "Try not to die."

Angela and Jason just stared at the insane man before Darcy burst into a fit of laughter. "Oh, Mr. Schmidt! You're hilarious!" The laughter ended abruptly. "Seriously, though. We're waiting."

Jason actually did roll his eyes. Darcy was probably the only person on the entire planet that would tell Schmidt he was funny. Honestly, was she blind during his entire time in the Games? Red Skull had been one of the most dangerous competitors ever. Ever. The man was insane!

"Play nice with the other children for now. When you actually enter the Games, earn their trust and then slaughter them all at their weakest moments. Show no mercy. Show no weakness. Only the strongest will fight for the best weapons in the Tesseract. Therefore, I should hope that you both make an impression in there. Only the weakest flee for their lives. I would hope that the two I chose are not weak," Red Skull snarled as the grip on his crystal glass increased. "Remember that all alliances come to an end. Be the one to turn on the others before they can turn on you. Above all, make them all suffer."

"Alrighty then." Darcy laughed nervously before looking at Angela and Jason. "Any questions?"

Angela asked, "What should we do for the training assessments and evaluations?"

"Do not show off. You will have plenty of time to murder your opponents without creating a target on your back," Red Skull replied before looking at Darcy. "Are we done?"

"Almost. We should talk about creating possible alliances. Angela, Jason, have you two maybe found anyone that you'd like to consider having an alliance with?"

The two tributes exchanged glances with each other before shrugging. It was only the first day. Who had the time to establish an alliance or an enemy yet based on the parade alone?

Then again, Jason had automatically despised the tributes from District Eight. Those annoying laughs and shit-eating grins had to go. Honestly, the kid from Ten seemed alright, but he was the youngest. No way in hell was the poor kid going to last long. The circus brat wasn't that bad either, but he was more of goody two-shoes, pain-in-the-ass older brother, based on what the commentators were saying in the parade and Reaping. The chicks from Four, Five, and Twelve were extremely hot, but Jason didn't need the distraction.

"Alliances are a waste of time. You are only going to end up murdering them all anyway," Red Skull mumbled.

Completely ignoring Red Skull's statement, Darcy cheerfully added, "No matter now. We'll worry about that later."

Red Skull snarled, "I believe we are finished now."

Darcy smiled at the two tributes before finally agreeing with Red Skull. She explained that the two would be getting much-needed rest before their training day tomorrow. Angela, Darcy, and Jason rose to leave before Schmidt called Jason back and instructed him to have a seat.

Jason could practically feel the bile creeping back up his throat again as he stared at his mentor, who sat there calmly drinking the night away. He swallowed hard before shooting his mentor his best glare. The teen's proud, sharp look never wavered.

"I thought I told you to work alone?" Red Skull asked after a tense moment.

Jason's thoughts immediately went back to Artemis, Bizarro, and Tim. He should have never brought them into this. If he would have just stayed on his own, Red Skull would have no interest in them whatsoever. They'd be safe. They wouldn't be caught in the crossfire like they were now.

The teen replied, "They were necessary. You got the shipments you wanted and more, after all. I needed Bizarro's brute strength, Artemis' charm and fighting skills, and Tim's brains. Besides, the Outlaws are tied to me. Everyone believes that the Red Hood and Red Skull have no relation. We took the heat off you."

The charred man drummed his fingers against the wood before reaching for a cigar. The flame of the lighter reflected off his skeletal face as Red Skull studied the boy before him. Exhaling thick, ashy smoke, Red Skull merely raised an eyebrow at Jason.

The older man drawled, "So it would appear. Are we still clear on the plan?"

"I'm pretty sure you beat it into me a thousand times, so yeah. I'd say I know what the hell to do."

"Excellent. Any questions?"

"What of my partner? Why'd you pick her?"

Red Skull narrowed his eyes at the teen before him and spat out, "I have my reasons."

"She expendable?"

"This is the Avenger Games, boy. Everyone is expendable, including you. You'd best remember that. You fail me, and your Outlaws die in a far gorier manner than any possible way you could die in that arena. Rest assured of that."

Jason clenched his teeth before grinding out, "They don't mean anything to me. I got what I needed out of them. They served their purpose."

"Have you now? Keep in mind that if you perish, Timothy will take your place."

Jason leaned over and explained, "He's not trained. He wouldn't last five minutes out there."

"I am a patient man. I shall wait until the boy is deemed just as worthy as you were. Tell me, should I start with the electronic shock therapy? Hold him under water until the last possible second? Perhaps I shall teach him how to properly return a limb to its socket once I have popped it out… No? Would you rather I slash his pretty face open before branding him? You tell me. I would hope you still remember all those fun times we had together."

"You're sick."

Red Skull merely settled back in his chair into a more comfortable position before reaching for his glass of cognac. He took a small sip before replying, "I have always had a thing for theatrics. We both know it."

Jason resisted the urge to murder the smug monster in front of him. Red Skull merely smiled darkly at the teenager in front of him before he took the last sip from his glass. Dark eyes flickered over to the full bottle of cognac before gazing back at the boy.

Jason uncorked the bottle before pouring his mentor a full glass. Jason's knuckles had begun to turn white from the way he had clenched his fists in anger. Setting the bottle down with more force than necessary, Red Skull frowned at the chestnut-colored liquid that appeared blood red, due to the light, soaking into the silk linen.

After a single tense and silent moment, the charred man spoke. "Tell me something; do monsters make war, or does war make monsters?"

The boy leaned onto the table and gazed into his mentor's beady eyes. The silence was so intense, he could have heard the noise of the factories back in District Six from their position. The two glared at each other before Jason finally spoke up.

"I'm not the monster you think I am. I'm worse. I'm the monster you always wanted me to be."

"I would hope so. I have no use for disappointments. Now get out. I'm done with you for the moment."

Jason turned away from his smug torturer and immediately stalked into his temporary room. After slamming the door shut, Jason slid down against the door and released the breath he'd been holding. What in the hell was he supposed to do?

The teenager tore the elaborate costume from his body before flinging it off to the side. He'd had enough of the Capitol. He'd had more than enough of dealing with Red Skull. More than anything, Jason just wanted to go home.

With shaking hands, the teen reached for the package of cigarettes in his pocket. He had to get out. He desperately needed a smoke more than anything. The walls were starting to cave in as Jason silently shook at the nightmares plaguing his head.

* * *

 _"I am nothing like you!"_

 _Red Skull smirked at the comment. A second later, he snatched the boy up by his shirt collar before slamming him against the wall. Jason's eyes widened momentarily before he glared at his mentor._

 _"I'm not afraid of you," Jason said with a little less force than his previous statement._

 _Leering into the boy's face, Red Skull sneered, "You should be."_

 _"Why don't you just go ahead and kill me?"_

 _"You are far too valuable to me at the moment. You and I are the same, boy. We were both unwanted by our parents. We both watched our mothers die. You and I share the same sadistic sense of humor. We both share the same destiny. One day, you shall understand. One day, you will avenge what was mine."_

 _Jason was then tossed to the floor, with Red Skull's knee pressing into the boy's back to keep him still. Jason's arms were pinned by the skeleton as his shirt was rolled up. The boy continued to struggle as a small symbol of a skeleton face was branded into the boy's flesh on his lower back._

* * *

"Um hello?"

Jason looked up as Angela stood in his doorway. The teen was just sitting in the middle of the floor, half-naked, with a smoking cigarette in between his fingers. His elaborate costume lay strewn off to the side, leaving him in a pair of boxers. Jason took a long drag from the so-called cancer stick before looking at his fellow tribute.

"What do you want?" he growled.

Angela asked, "Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You've seemed off all day."

"I've seemed off? You don't even know me…but I know you."

Angela kept her cool as she pleasantly asked, "And just what do you mean by that?"

"Not too many little rich girls like you are in gangs. Crossbones has trained you well, I'll give you that."

She raised an eyebrow in surprise before saying, "Uh-huh, and just what are you getting at?"

"Sweetheart, I'm the Red Hood," Jason replied before reclining against the rich carpet.

"Why would you tell me that?"

"Why not? We're probably both going to die in the end. All I'm saying is that you're just as shitty as I am. We might as well help each other out before stabbing each other in the heart. We're all going to die anyway."

"You might, but dying isn't exactly an option for me."

Jason snorted before taking a long drag from his cheap cigarette. Blue eyes swept over the skinny figure before him as a smirk crept across his face. Jason smirked. "I don't plan on dying either."

Angela moved closer to Jason until she was glaring down at his smirking face. She couldn't figure the older boy out, and he knew it. He could practically see her mind working: What exactly was he up to? What was his plan? More importantly, what was he afraid of? Everyone had to have a fear. Everyone had to have a weakness, but what was Jason's?

She asked, "You don't fear death, do you?"

"Nope."

"What exactly are you afraid of?" Angela inquired.

Jason took a long drag from his cigarette before humoring his district partner. He raised an eyebrow and said, "You tell me."

"Johann Schmidt, for one, but I'm not exactly sure why yet."

Jason shrugged. "Have you seen the man? He's practically the Grim Reaper."

Angela studied the older teen for a moment before adding, "You know, I think you're not as dark as you want people to believe."

"And just what makes you say that?"

She shrugged. "Probably that kid you seemed so fond of when you were waiting in line for the Reaping. You seemed very focused on making sure he was okay. The piggyback ride was adorable, by the way. I hope you said your goodbyes. It'd be a real shame to leave the kid all alone once you've died."

Jason's smirk vanished as he took the cigarette away from his lips. Angela smiled at his discomfort.

She added, "I struck a nerve, didn't I? So, who's the kid? How much does he mean to you?"

"I think you'd better go. I'm tired of playing mind games."

"Fine. Just one more question."

Jason growled, "What?"

"Why did Red Skull choose you?"

"Because we're the same."


	22. Chapter 21: Little Fish in a Big School

**(A/N): Here we are with our Friday update! This one features Garfield Logan, written as ever by the talented abrokencastiel, and shows our tributes getting to grips with the training ahead of the Games.**

 **Thank you, seriously, to all the writers who reviewed. Your support and love is what makes collaborating worthwhile!**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-One - A Little Fish in a Big School**

 **Training Day One**

 **Garfield Logan of District Ten**

 **Written By abrokencastiel**

* * *

"Listen to me, Morty. I know that new situations can be intimidating. You're looking around, and it's all scary and different, but, you know, meeting them head on, charging right into them like a bull, that's how we grow as people." ― Rick Sanchez, _Rick and Morty_

* * *

"Whoa." Gar could never have been prepared for the hustle and bustle that met his eyes as he entered the cavernous room. Even after seeing the glamor of the Capitol, he could never have imagined that the clean, futuristic, incredibly bright training area could be _that_ clean, futuristic, and bright.

He whistled and turned a cockeyed grin to his district partner. "It's like they ran out of colors before they designed this place."

Jade gave him a withering look, emphasized by her having to look down at him.

"It's a big difference from Ten," he continued to blab, glancing around the room again. "No sky or grass or animals. But check out the climbing station! It has trees. We can get back into some green and. . ." Jade had already turned and walked away. He raised a hand and waved at her retreating back with a wide smile. "Ok! I'll catch up with you later, district buddy!"

The girl didn't acknowledge him as she seamlessly disappeared into the crowd. Most tributes had already dispersed to the different stations, anxious to learn everything they needed to for the Games. The only ones still standing around were Gar and the odd couple from Eight.

"Mistah J, ain't we gonna do somethin'?" The girl was hanging off her district partner with both arms around his neck. "I'm bored of just standin' here."

"Then go find some way to entertain yourself." The tall tribute waved a hand dismissively without moving from where he leaned against the wall. His skin was still covered in white makeup like he'd worn in the parade, and his bright green hair was slicked back.

Gar put a hand to his own curls, which had been dyed green with the rest of his body by his stylist. _To make friends, it helps to have something in common, right?_ The small boy straightened his shoulders and briefly ran a finger over his bracelet as he moved a bit closer to the couple. "Great minds think alike," he said as he pointed between their green hair.

The older teenager looked down with an arching eyebrow for a second before rolling his eyes and turning away.

The girl disengaged from her partner and bent over with her hands on her knees to Gar's level. "Don't take it personal-like, sweetie. Mistah J is real deep in thought right now." She tapped her temple. "He's got a lot of plannin' to do so he can win this thing. Ain't that right, Puddin'?"

Mister J, or whatever his name was, kept his bright green eyes on the room. His bright red lips were resting in a smile that didn't seem genuine.

"Come on, we better leave him be. You know how boys get." She winked and skipped away.

The green boy decided to follow her lead, turning his attention to a much more important task than trying to win over the strange man. His immediate need was to find the person Steve had mentioned. He wandered over to a station with only one tribute tying together sections of rope. A tall, bald man was standing over the blonde boy that silently worked. Gar immediately noticed the large scars over the man's left eye and right cheek that made Gar's own eyes widen in wonder.

"'Scuse me." Gar gave him a little wave to attract the trainer's attention, trying to look like he wasn't staring at the man's scars. "Can I ask you a question real quick?"

"It's part of my job to answer questions." The man kept his eyes on the working tribute, wordlessly pointing out a mistake the boy immediately corrected.

"Right. Guess it is. Um, I'm looking for Greer Grant? Any idea where she is?"

The man pointed to the section with trees. "Climbing."

"Thanks!" Gar gave the man a quick smile and hurried over to the climbing station. _Of course she'd be there. It's the only place that feels like nature._ The inkling that he was going to like Greer was solidified when he saw her orange-and-black-striped body.

The woman was intently watching a girl with blue hair attempting to scale the tree. "Always know where you're going before you reach. You want to have two moves already planned out so you don't get stuck. Better."

Gar bounced on the balls of his feet, not wanting to interrupt despite his impatience. After a few more moments of observing the climbing tribute, she turned to the small boy.

"There are plenty of trees; you don't need to wait for my permission to use them."

"Nono," Garfield said, the words rushing out in an incoherent babble in his excitement. "IwastoldbyStevetofindyou. YoulookreallycoolmaybeIshouldhaveaskedforapatterninsteadofjustgreen."

Greer's dark eyebrows arched, and she cocked her head, her red-orange hair falling to one side. "Try that again."

Gar scratched the top of his head with an apologetic laugh. "Sorry, I kinda talk too fast sometimes. I'm Gar from Ten. Steve told me to find you when I got here. Steve Dayton. Also, you are super cool-looking. Is that real fur?"

"It's the Capitol's idea of real." She stretched out an arm for Gar to feel.

He lightly ran his fingers over her forearm. "Whoa. It's so soft! I wish I had done that instead of just dying myself green. Or maybe gotten scales."

"It takes a long time to do a complete skin change. There's no way you could have gotten it done in just the few hours your stylist had. It took months for the full coat to grow in correctly." She crossed her arms and looked him up and down. "So, Mayor Dayton told you to find me?"

Gar nodded sharply. "Yep! Steve said you could help once I got here."

"Of course he did."

A call from the girl in the tree drew Greer's attention away. "Hey, lady, I finished getting up here. Now what?"

"Now cross to the next tree and find your way down. Don't give me that look, Harper. There's going to be no one helping you in the Games, so you're going to get no help here." She waited a moment to make sure the girl was moving before turning back to Gar. "I can't treat you any differently than the other tributes. It wouldn't be fair."

The boy's green eyes widened. "Oh, no, I don't want to cheat or anything. I just don't even know where to start. Hank suggested I spend time learning close combat skills, Charles said survival skills, Jade — well, Jade didn't tell me her plans. Steve said I should trust you, and I trust him, so I'll do whatever you say."

Greer's features softened, and she let out a small chuckle. "Everything is important, but there isn't going to be enough time to learn everything. My advice is to focus on a couple of things and learn them very well. If you're nervous, start with something you know for a little bit. Just remember: you don't have a lot of time to waste."

"Gotcha." Gar nodded seriously. He glanced around the room and scrunched up his face. "Is there anything with cows? Or other animals?"

"There's hunting."

A vehement head shake demonstrated Gar's disdain. "No hunting. I know Hank says I might have to, but. . ." He shuddered.

"Of course." The tiger woman's lips twitched. "Maybe edible plants would be more your speed, then."

"Yeah! I know lots of plants." His mouth was already watering remembering the fresh plants of his home pasture. Greer pointed him in the right direction, and he set off with newfound purpose.

Two dark-haired boys were sparing in hand-to-hand combat on a mat as he passed, and he paused to watch for a minute. He couldn't remember what districts they were from off-hand, but then again, he didn't know where most of the tributes were from. He was so distracted by their duel he didn't notice the Eight girl hanging upside down from a set of metal bars behind him.

"Fancy meetin' you again, pipsqueak. Ya followin' me or something?" She smiled, her blue- and red-dyed pigtails dangling on either side of her face.

"Naw," Gar laughed. "I'm actually on my way to plants."

The girl jutted her chin toward the mat. "And then you got distracted by those hunks." She giggled and winked. "Same happened to me." She let out a wolf-whistle that earned a cheeky grin from the slightly slimmer boy. The brief moment of distraction created an opening for the other boy to knock him to the mat. The loud thump earned the trainer's attention, who hurried over with a frown to remind them of the rules — no injuries.

"Oof." Gar winced in sympathy. "Guess that's over."

"Guess so. Ya goin' off to study rabbit food now, greenbean?"

"Gar."

"Gesundheit."

He giggled and shook his head. "No, that's my name. Gar, short for Garfield."

An upside-down hand was extended. "Harleen Quinzel. You can call me Harley."

Gar shook the offered hand as best he could.

"Now, scram, pipsqueak. Yer blockin' my view." She waved Gar away impatiently.

Within moments, the small green boy was sitting at a giant table with a wide variety of plants. A muscled, blonde man welcomed Gar after a quick once-over.

"Greetings, I am Ka-Zar. I will be teaching you the ways of identifying edible plants."

Gar sat at attention. "And I am Gar. I'm super stoked to learn."

The dark-haired boy who'd been knocked down at the mat earlier slid into the seat next to Gar with an easy grin on his lips. "Mind if I join?"

"Ka-Zar welcomes all," Ka-Zar assured. "What is your name?"

"Dick Grayson. And you're Gar and Ka-Zar, right?" he asked, pointing to each in turn.

"Correct. Now listen. Ka-Zar has much to teach and little time." Ka-Zar's large hands hovered over the multitude of stems, stalks, and flowers until he decided on a white, five-petaled flower with a yellow center and black lines along the petals. "This is—"

"I already know what this is." Gar cut in happily. "That's starlight."

Ka-Zar's forehead creased. "The green one is mistaken. This is wood sorrel."

"No, it's starlight. See? You can tell 'cause it looks like a star at night. It kinda tastes like a potato."

Ka-Zar grunted with a frown. "Do you know this one?" The man pointed to a fuzzy green weed.

"Easy. Green caterpillar." Gar quickly named the next few plants he pointed out as well. "Cowtails, purple raindrops, Jill's favorite."

Ka-Zar's eyebrows rose. "Jill's favorite?"

"Well, yeah. She loves eating it."

Another grunt, though this one was accompanied by a nod.

A raised hand from Dick paused the conversation. "Um, should I be taking notes?"

A rumbling chuckle emitted from the large man. "No. Ka-Zar believes he understands. Did you name the plants yourself, green one?"

Gar grinned sheepishly and scratched the top of his head. "I guess I did, now that you mention it." His forehead creased in a frown. "Do I have to relearn all the names? Is there going to be a test?"

"No," Ka-Zar chuckled. "As long as you know what will not kill you, it does not matter to Ka-Zar."

"Phew!" Gar dramatically gave Dick a relieved face. "I can't remember the last time I took a test. I don't think I would do too good."

The older tribute leaned over in a conspiratorial whisper. "Last test I was _supposed_ to take was graduation day. _Technically,_ I got a zero, but only 'cause I skipped," he said with a crooked grin. "Bruce was so mad. Totally worth it, though. Best day at the lake ever, and it's not like I failed the class either. And nobody cares about grades in Bruce's circles..." He leaned in even closer. "Or he'd be in trouble too."

The smaller boy laughed. "Is Bruce the angry guy from your district? The one with the puffy hair?"

"No, Bruce is my — well … he's my old man," Dick said after a pause. "The guy you're thinking of is Logan."

Gar perked up. "That's my name!"

"I thought your name was Gar."

"Well, my last name's Logan," he corrected himself. "My first name's actually Garfield, but—"

Ka-Zar cleared his throat, still holding a delicate flower on display. "Should Ka-Zar continue?"

"Sorry!" they said simultaneously, refocusing on the trainer as he continued talking about dandelions.

The two boys studied with Ka-Zar for a while longer, Gar contributing his own names or hints at identification while Dick grinned wider with every new nickname. It was nice to actually feel like he knew what was going on. The Capitol was a jarring change, to say the least. Even the plants and animals appeared unnatural.

* * *

 _Gar flopped back on the huge bed with a sigh. He was_ exhausted. _He hadn't felt so tired since the time he spent a full day looking for a lost lamb that had gotten stuck in some mud. At the end of that day, he'd curled up next to Jill, still covered in mud, and slept so hard he missed the morning milking. This time, there was no warm cow to cuddle with. There was just the quiet room without any mud or hay._

 _The parade had been excitingly overwhelming, with the enormous crowd, loud noises, and strange buildings. That wasn't even considering the whirlwind of commotion that had preceded the event. Not that he didn't have fun. It was pretty cool to be celebrated by a bunch of people, and he'd shown up on TV. The best part was meeting the chariot horses that chewed on his green hair and nuzzled his hand._

 _The boy raised his hands and examined his new, green color for the hundredth time. "I bet Jill would try to eat me if she saw me now," he giggled to himself._

 _He rolled to his feet and stripped off his jumpsuit, leaving it in a crumpled mass of purple and black on the floor. Digging through the closet, he found a large night shirt and was slipping it on just as a knock sounded on his door._

" _Come in!" he called, struggling to find the right hole for his head. A pair of hands assisted him, and soon, his head popped out to see Hank McCoy. "Thanks," he grinned._

" _Anytime." The mentor held out a bowl of fruits and veggies that Gar happily took. "You left before dinner."_

" _Sorry," Gar said through a mouthful of some brightly-colored lettuce. "I'm just a little worn out."_

 _Hank gave him a smile. "I imagine you are. It was quite a busy day."_

 _The boy nodded quickly. "It's way different from Ten. I don't think I've ever seen that many people before. And the buildings are_ huge _. Even bigger than Steve's house. Even bigger than_ your _house!" He waved widely with his hands to demonstrate the size. "It's crazy!" He plopped to the floor with crossed legs, continuing to munch on the bowl's contents._

" _It's a lot to take in," Hank agreed as he settled to the floor as well. He was still wearing his suit and loosened his blue tie. "I hate these things."_

" _Me, too," Gar immediately agreed. "Who ever thought it was a good idea to wear a lasso?"_

 _Hank chuckled and nodded. He waited for the boy to finish a few more mouthfuls before asking, "Are you handling it alright? Moving to the Capitol?"_

 _Gar shrugged, his cheeks full of grapes._

" _It's alright if you need to take a bit to adjust. I know I had trouble the first few days. The city was much more . . . enclosed than I was used to." The mentor watched his tribute with caring blue eyes._

 _A loud swallow preceded the boy's reply. "It's not so bad; it's just that everything is weird. Nothing seems real." He frowned, trying to corral his thoughts. "Like, the horses were cool and really nice, but they didn't seem like normal horses. They were too nice and well-behaved, and not just because they were well-trained. And the food tastes funny. Even this stuff." The remaining fruits and veggies shuffled as he shook the bowl. "There's too much flavor. That doesn't make sense at all, does it?"_

" _I completely understand. Everything is over-the-top here. Even the people."_

" _Especially the people!" Gar giggled. "Did you see the lady with the pink hair that was almost as tall as me? It was like a tornado on her head."_

" _I missed that, but I did see a man with a literal birdbath in his hair." The pair laughed, the noise acting as a catharsis for the boy._

 _They fell into a comfortable silence, and Gar gave him a confident smile. "I'll be okay. I just gotta adapt. I'm already working at fitting in with my dye job." He pointed to his own green face._

" _You would blend right in with the Capitolites." He ruffled the boy's dark green hair as he stood. "Let me know if you ever need anything, Gar. I want to help in any way I can, even if it's just to talk. Now, get some rest. You've got another long day tomorrow." The tall man left quietly after giving him a last smile._

 _Gar crawled up onto the bed and pressed a few buttons on the remote that changed his window into different scenes. He settled on a field that was similar to his home pasture at night. With a yawn, he pulled the top blanket off the too soft bed and piled it on the ground near the image. The blanket worked like a nest as he curled up into it, his hand wrapping around the cow-hair bracelet on his wrist._

* * *

After Ka-Zar had finished his presentation, Gar reluctantly got up. "Guess it's time to try something new."

"I think I need a break from 'new' after all that. I don't know how you remembered all those plants." Dick stretched as he stood.

"Jill's a really good teacher," Gar laughed.

"You are, too. Thanks for all the pointers. It's a lot easier to remember 'fuzzy caterpillar' than 'amaranth'." The taller boy's eyes settled on something across the room. "I think I'm going to try my hand at archery. I'll see you around." He clapped a hand on Gar's shoulder as he passed.

The green boy considered tagging along but decided against it. He didn't want to crowd what he hoped was a new friend. Instead, he wandered to the martial arts area that Dick had originally been at. There were already two female tributes sparring under the watchful eye of the instructor, who stood with his arms crossed over his chest.

 _What did Dick say his name was? Danny? Yeah, Danny with the dragon tattoo._ Trying to be inconspicuous, Gar craned his head to try to get a look at the man's chest.

"I would start stretching if I were you," the man said suddenly and without looking, making Gar quickly pretend he wasn't ogling him. "You two can have a go in a minute."

"Two?" Gar turned and was surprised to see his district partner by his side. "Jade! You're going to learn with me?"

"Looks that way." She sat and began stretching.

Gar did his best to mimic her moves while they waited for the girls to finish.

"You guys ready? This match is going to be over in three, two, one." As the man finished his countdown, the blonde dropped the dark-haired girl to the ground and pinned her, albeit a lot gentler than how Dick's fight had gone down. "Next time, watch your feet, Angela. You lost your balance, and your opponent used that opening," Danny instructed. "Kara, good job, but you got sloppy when you went to take her down. Keep your elbows in."

Kara helped her sparring partner to her feet, and the girls moved off to the side, clearing the mat for Gar and Jade to take their places.

"You guys ever tried martial arts before?"

A smirk crossed Jade's lips, but she shook her head. Gar considered for a moment before answering. "Does animal wrestling count?"

"Okay, since you're both beginners, we'll take it slow." Danny demonstrated the beginning fighting stance and walked them through a few attack and defensive moves. Jade appeared to be getting the hang of things much quicker than Gar. Danny seemed to notice as well. "You're sure this is your first time?"

Jade shrugged and moved seamlessly into the next stance. "I'm a quick learner."

After a few more run-throughs, Danny stepped to the side, and the district partners faced each other. "Remember," he said. "No actual hitting. No hurting each other. Taps only. I've already had to deal with one pair getting too rough, and I don't need it to happen again."

Jade moved first, quickly striking at Gar's chest. The boy skittered to the side while he tried to keep the correct stance.

"Whoa! You're fast." He attempted to dance out of reach again, but she tapped him in the ribs before he could get away.

"Broken ribs," Danny unhelpfully informed him.

Gar frowned good naturedly. "Thanks for the heads-up."

"Keep your head in the fight," Jade hissed, kicking out at his legs.

The boy abandoned all pretenses of form and rolled away from her. As soon as he got to his feet, she lashed out again and almost got him. Biting his lip in concentration, he waited for her to try again before giving her his own return tap on her back as he danced to the side.

Jade didn't look as enthused by Gar's recovery as Danny. Instead, she performed a few quick jabs in succession that Gar avoided by sheer force of will.

"Have you ever seen sheep fight?" Gar asked as he deflected a hand aimed at his chest. "How funny would it be if that's how we fought? Just put down our heads and rammed each other?" Gar giggled at the thought.

He attempted to sweep her legs, but she jumped over his leg with ease. They exchanged a few more attempted blows without actually landing any. Gar was barely staying ahead of his partner, but she was getting frustrated. All he had to do was hope for her to mess up.

The moment Gar had been waiting for happened as Jade misplaced her foot and left her ribs exposed. He slipped forward to give the finishing tap, already triumphantly looking toward Danny. That was when he saw the most beautiful creature he had ever seen appearing through a cloud of smoke. The pale girl's arms moved ethereally as she waved the vapor away.

"Whoa," he whispered right before a strong arm clotheslined him to the ground.

"I told you to get your head in the game," Jade said, squatting next to him and helping him sit up while he spluttered.

"You okay?" Danny asked, jogging over and hauling Gar to his feet. "Jade, I said no hitting."

"If he had been paying attention, he wouldn't have gotten hurt," she retorted.

"I'm good. Don't worry," Gar coughed, his normally raspy voice momentarily hoarser. "She's right. It was my bad. Sorry. I'm just going to take a break for a little bit. Thanks for the fight, Jade. We'll have to do it again sometime." He shook the tears from his eyes as he tried to nonchalantly walk by the illusions station, where the mystery girl was working on another concoction.

She seemed to become more beautiful the more he looked at her. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't think of anything. _Come on, Gar, you've gotta step up and take the bull by the horns. Live a little before you die._ He took a deep breath and let it out quickly, rubbing Jill's bracelet for good luck.

It took five slow walk-by's before she glanced up and made eye contact with him. He instantly pivoted mid-step and joined her, flashing a — hopefully — dashing smile. "Hey there."

"Hi," she said shortly, turning back to her work.

Unperturbed, Gar leaned back against the table and propped himself up with his elbows. "The name's Gar." He waited expectantly for her reply, maintaining his smile and wagging his eyebrows encouragingly.

"Rachel, but you can call me Raven," the dark-haired girl eventually replied.

His eyes widened. "Like the bird?"

A quick nod was his answer as her hands deftly added a final few ingredients to her mix.

"That's so cool," he gushed.

Her pale hand hesitated, poised to throw the pouch to the ground. "What?"

Gar gestured animatedly with his hands. "That's super awesome! Ravens are so smart. I've seen them use sticks to dig bugs out of trees, and one even lined up seeds so a cart would smash them when it passed by. They're also really, really pretty."

Raven considered him fully for the first time, a ghost of a smile pulling at her lips. "Would you like me to teach you how to make a smoke bomb?"

"I would love that," he said, his voice breaking in his excitement as his heart beat a bit faster.

Purple smoke bloomed up into the air as the pouch hit the ground, briefly concealing her. Gar took the moment to do a small victory dance before the smoke dissipated. Raven collected the pouch from the ground with a contemplative frown. "Maybe Zatanna can give me some pointers on how to get the cloud to last longer," she mumbled as she returned to the workbench.

Gar sidled up next to her. "So, are you enjoying your time at the Capitol?"

The girl glanced at him sideways as she gathered the materials she required. "I guess it could be worse. How about you?"

"I'm liking it more with each passing second." He bumped her shoulder lightly with his own, glancing to gauge her reaction.

To his delight, Raven blushed. The action made her look even cuter, and Gar's heart did another backflip. He tried to focus on what she was explaining to him, but he kept getting distracted trying to think of conversation topics that would pique her interest. _I'll have to ask Hank. He'll know what I should say._

"Are you paying attention?" Raven asked, pausing mid-pour from a bottle of something.

"Totally." Gar nodded and frowned seriously.

"Good, because there's going to be a quiz at the end." She gave him a small, but genuine, smile when she saw his appalled face. "I'm joking," she assured him. "But seriously, pay attention."

The green boy complied, unable to contain his wide smile. _Jill, I think I'm in love._


	23. Chapter 22: What Makes a Leader?

**(A/N): Here we are with our Tuesday update! This one focuses on the Career pack for this year and is written by Seas and Shadows, our writer for Harvey Dent!**

 **Once again, thank you to all of the writers who reviewed. It's amazing to see you all coming out to show your support for each other, and we hope you'll continue to do that as the Games start coming on...**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Two - What Makes a Leader?**

 **Careers Meeting, Evening Day One**

 **Harvey Dent of District Two**

 **Written by Seas And Shadows**

* * *

 _"Better to lose with the right team, than to win with the wrong team." -Ogwo David Emenike._

* * *

 _"Thea!" Harvey called out. The small girl twisted instinctively, freezing like a deer caught in a searchlight when she saw who it was._

 **Well, then. This is exactly why I had the bandages on in the first place. Why did I take them off again?**

No, you're wrong. I chose to, remember? We flipped on it. This helps build honesty. We need honesty.

 _"How're you coming along with the training?" Harvey asked, sidling up beside her. He gave Thea one of his old winning smiles that used to charm the pants off anyone._

 _Then it occurred to him that he now looked like the lovechild of Wade Wilson and that Carnage monster the Gamemakers rigged up last year, and that his smile would be more demented than charming._

 _Thea looked down, avoiding any possible eye contact. She seemed absorbed, almost lost in the large stack of documents she was going through. "I don't really know," she muttered quietly, which Harvey figured was probably Girl for_ 'Please go far, far away from me and never talk to me again.'

 _Slightly wounded, he racked his brain, trying to think of a way to make a connection. He had to do this. Thea Queen was going to have to be part of the Career Pack, and that meant he had to get to know his future team as well as possible._

 _Tony Masters needed him to do this. He'd put all the time and effort into preparing him, after all._

 _"Well, that's perfectly fine! It's the just the first day, so don't worry about it!" he said cheerfully. This time, he tried his best not to look like a monster from the depths of hell when he smiled. "What do you think of the Capitol so far, huh? Pretty cool, isn't it?"_

 _Thea glanced up at him, turning back to the sheets of paper in her hands. "Yeah…" she said quietly. "I haven't really had a look yet."_

 **Can we just kill her already? Please, all I'm asking for is some contribution!**

Just keep trying. Ask her if you can show her around later.

 _Harvey decided to go with the logical option._

 _"Better fix that, then, Thea, shouldn't we?" Harvey asked quickly. Masters had once told him that saying somebody's name more frequently made them like you easier, and he really needed some trust right now._

 _"Hey, how about I show you around at some point later tonight, after the Career meeting? You know, the game room, the, uh, cafeteria…" Harvey glanced over his shoulder to make sure nobody was there in the hallway with them. "Would you be free afterwards?"_

 _Thea looked determinedly at her papers, pointedly not focusing on him. "I don't know," she repeated, and Harvey fought off the impulse to smack his head against a wall in frustration._

 _He took a deep breath, trying to come up with a better alternative to just standing there uselessly when she was so determined not to give him anything. "So. What're you reading there?"_

 _Thea didn't respond at first, and for a moment, Harvey was sure that she hadn't heard him. Just as he was about to repeat the question, she started talking. "Reports on all the past arenas in the Games," she said quietly. "Reed Richards lent them to me for the day, so I need to finish them now."_

 _"There are documents of those?" Harvey said in wonder. "I never knew that."_

 _"The Fantastic Four made them themselves," Thea muttered._

That's even cooler.

 _"Hey, do you think Richards would let me borrow those too, sometime? Harvey asked._

 _Thea looked back, giving an awkward, stiff shake of her head. She glanced at Harvey's hands, like she was worried he was going to grab for the documents. Thea paused, looking as though a dozen calculations were running through her head, and before Harvey could blink, Thea had vanished, hurrying into the elevator._

 _What was he supposed to do in a situation like that?_

 **Follow her and keep trying until she cracks,** _one of the voices advised._ **I really want to see those papers.**

She's not going to do anything, _the second one said._ Just go talk to Diana and Kaldur. We can check with the One victors later on.

 _He drew the coin out of his pocket, rubbing the surface with his thumb._

Heads, we leave her alone.

 **Tails, we go after her.**

Plink, _went the coin._

 _Heads._

 **Again? This stupid coin hasn't flipped tails once! How is this supposed to be fair?**

 _It's just a coin, he told himself as he entered the elevator. You can't rig a coin. Something like that relies just on chance. It's_ fair.

 _He pushed down that niggling suspicion as he pocketed his coin again, punching the flashing number four on the elevator wall._

 _As the doors closed, Harvey prayed that the others wouldn't be as problematic as Thea had been._

* * *

"Thea wasn't interested in talking to you." Tony Masters said. He shifted forward, placing his elbows on his knees on the small wooden chair. They didn't have much time before the Career meeting, but Masters had ordered him to update him on the other children in the pack, report in, give his assessment. So that's what he was doing. "Do you think they'll get over it before the klaxon rings? Or do we need to start devising ways to make them into cannon fodder?"

Harvey pinched his brow. "I'm getting to that," he said, choosing to not mention that no, in fact, he didn't have any idea why Slade and Thea were acting so strange.

 _ **I bet you Queen's not on board all the way because of the papers,**_ one voice said.

A moment passed, and the other voice chimed in. _Bet … who, exactly?_

"Well, make sure you do," Taskmaster said. "You screwed up with asking her for those notes. Next time, just tell me, and I can go talk to the Fantastic Four," he sneered.

Harvey straightened hopefully. "So you can—"

"Not yet," Masters said. "Richards is showing more favoritism than usual with this one. He'll be keeping them away from me with a ten-foot pole."

Harvey looked at his feet guiltily.

"You have the Career meeting. That's when you can address this properly," the victor pointed out. "Maybe you can still keep them all together, kid. Just don't mess it up."

"Right," Harvey began. "I can do that much."

* * *

 _Harvey turned his coin to one side, and then the other, inspecting the engravings carefully._

 _On one side – Heads. Thanos' purple skin was silver on the coin, making him seem almost human._ _(Almost.)_

 _On the other side… Heads? President Thanos' metallic face scowled up at him, like the world's worst surprise._

 _Harvey's heart stopped for a minute._

The coin's not fair.

 **It's not fair.**

IT HAS TO BE FAIR.

 **MAKE IT FAIR!**

WHY ISN'T IT FAIR?!

 _Harvey rubbed his temples, trying to fight off the impending headache, and searched the room frantically for something to fix his dilemma._

 _Ropes and knots at one station._ Completely useless. I know how to tie a knot already. Waste of time.

 _Either very realistic or actual trees at the climbing station, which was again,_ **pointless. We lived in the mountains. I know how to climb stuff.**

 _Throwing knives, alongside bows and arrows, down at the archery station. Diana Prince was trying her hand at a particularly fancy bow. Harvey wasn't exactly good with a bow. He'd practiced with them before, of course, and he knew how to shoot one and all, but he was nowhere near to becoming the next Hawkeye. The knives, on the other hand, were another story. While Harvey was already dangerously good with a pair of blades, he had a different use for them in mind._

 _He came over and went through the knives, trying to find the sharpest one in the blunt, worn batch._

 _Diana eyed him as he picked up one of the blades and started scratching at the surface of one of his coin's sides. "What are you doing?"_

 _Harvey gave Thanos' face one last cut across his bulbous chin before turning back, hiding the coin behind his back. He gave her a sheepish grin. "Nothing."_

 _The District Four tribute rolled her eyes, nocking another arrow onto the red bow. She pulled back her arm and released smoothly, letting the sharpened projectile fly._

Thunk.

 _Harvey cocked an eyebrow, distracted from his task. "Whoa. Not bad." He eyed the arrow, which was sticking out from the target's bullseye. Out of the ten she had shot, eight of them were in the center. He experimentally flicked the throwing knife in his hand towards it, smirking as it landed next to Diana's. He had been going for the middle, but hitting the border between the second and third rings out of the blue was still really good, even for Harvey. "How's that for Two talent, huh?"_

 _Diana fought back a smile. "Humility is clearly one of your strongest attributes," she said, walking towards the target to replenish her arrow supply._

 _Harvey pouted. "Hey, now, you don't have to be so nice. I'm just making conversation." Diana raised an eyebrow, deliberately leaving the knife in the target for Harvey to get._

 _At that, Harvey frowned. "Now, that's just mean." He realized Diana was going back to her previous spot and hurriedly went after his knife before she started shooting again._

 _He tore the throwing knife out of the target and quickly moved out of the way. Immediately, Diana let an arrow fly into the bullseye once again._

 _He watched her shoot with the bow some more. "Why are you even bothering with a bow? We already have Thea Queen with us, remember?"_

 _Diana gave him the evil eye, and Harvey backed off, raising his hands to show he wasn't going to say anything else. She released another arrow, landing it dead center. Again._

 _She turned back to Harvey, a smile tugging at her lips. Harvey cocked an eyebrow and tossed his knife at the target for another try. It looked impressive, but in reality, Harvey had a horrible, horrible knack of throwing too far to the left._

 _Diana frowned at the target, seeming to take to her quiver more quickly as a competition began to shape up. "Angle your body a bit more to the right. It will correct your angle."_

 _"So," Harvey said, nobly battling the smug grin creeping onto his face as he watched her try again. "If you're so good at archery, why are you still practicing here?"_

 _The other tribute glanced at Harvey and let her arms relax; the arrow slipped out of her fingers, sinking itself into the third ring. "A blade that is sharpened but is not used for its purpose will rust just as easily as one that has never found its edge." She gave him an appraising look and then raised the bow again, pulling back to full draw. "A true warrior must always hone their talents, lest they lose them entirely."_

 _"Well," Harvey drawled, picked up a bow and testing its draw weight. "I'm a pretty good shot myself, and I haven't practiced archery for a couple months." Once Taskmaster had discovered Harvey's talent with knives, he'd stopped trying to improve his work with arrows and turned to throwing knives. He stole one of Diana's arrows and, in one fluid movement, pulled it back and shot it at her target. The arrow sunk into the outside of the sixth ring, and Harvey scowled, feeling betrayed._

 _Diana tried to hide the amused smirk. "I see."_

 _Harvey shrugged, trying to play it off. "Hey, we have you and Thea Queen, and there's only been one bow in the last three Games. I think I'll stick to my knives."_

 _The District Four tribute stared at Harvey, temporarily forgetting about their archery contest. She frowned, looking at Harvey with something akin to disappointment, but she said nothing, drawing back the drawstring of her bow once again._

 _"Hey," Harvey said. "If there's something I'm doing wrong, tell me. If I'm going to be leading the Career pack, it would be better for all of us if you let me know about any problems now."_

 _Diana glowered. "Boy, I am a warrior of Four, with the might of Tyr herself at my back. Despite your prodding and preening, I will not relinquish my right as leader."_

 _Harvey put the bow back on the rack, grimacing. "Right. Talk to me up on the rooftop. We'll sort this out then, got it?"_

 _"Come to terms with what you must. I'm sure this conversation is far from past us," Diana said dismissively, turning away from him. She shot another arrow, and it flew straight into the target's center, shaving off the edge of one of the older arrows._

 _"Trust me." Harvey said, fingering his newly disfigured coin. "I know."_

* * *

"Kill her." Tony Masters declared. "The moment she turns her back on you in the Games, stab her in the neck."

"What'd you think I was gonna do, let her leave the pack?" Harvey asked. He ran a hand through his remaining hair. "She isn't a fan of boys, either. Too much stuff is adding up against me, with her. I'm pretty sure she hates my guts."

Taskmaster stood up, creasing out the worry lines in his forehead. "So you've got a kid who who's too creeped out by you to be a proper Career, and future dead meat."

He looked back at Harvey, sliding back his hood. "Right. What about the other Four tribute? How would he react if you cut Prince's throat?"

Harvey chewed on his lip, comparing Kaldur to Diana. "…Not too bad, I think. You'd need to give them a few days together, but I reckon they'll be tearing into each other pretty soon already. I'd be doing Kaldur a favor."

"Speaking of which," Masters rumbled, sitting back down onto his chair again. In the low lighting of the room, he looked unnatural, like a bone-white Grim Reaper. "How's the boy reacting to you? Tell me about him."

* * *

 _After the lunch break for the tributes, Harvey found Kaldur lounging in the pool, lazily swimming laps alone. The Four tribute didn't seem to notice Harvey there until he joined him, and even then, it was only the slightest of nods as he continued on his way. Harvey hissed a sigh of relief as his burned face and upper shoulder went underwater, blissfully letting the wounds soak._

 _"You know, some people are using this time to learn skills they didn't know before," Harvey said at last, when it was clear that Kaldur wouldn't give him a second glance unless he did something about it._

 _"Mmm." Kaldur stopped his backstroke, flipping over and starting to tread the water with ease as he began to watch Harvey. "And you think I should be like the others."_

 _"I'm just saying." Harvey pointed out. "You already know how to swim."_

 _Kaldur let out a breath that vaguely resembled amusement, slowly swimming toward the opposite wall. Harvey began to follow him. "You have no need to bother yourself with what I choose to do with my time here. If you wish to begin a futile struggle to learn skills you cannot possibly grasp in four days' time, that is not my concern."_

 _"It is my 'concern' if we're going to be in the Career pack together," Harvey insisted._

 _Kaldur reached the wall, draping his long arms over the pool's edge. "Do not worry yourself. I am Four."_

 _"Yeah, and I'm Two. What, is that supposed to make you an amazing fighter?"_

 _"It means I know how to deal with sea snakes," Kaldur said, narrowing his eyes._

 _Harvey pushed one of the floating side barriers down, balancing on top of it. He held up his hands defensively. "Hey, I'm just trying to get to know the pack. No need to take it badly."_

 _"Yes." Kaldur said, his eyes still thin slits of suspicion. "I have seen you flitting about the training room running your campaign."_

 _Harvey met the gaze head on. An idea popped up in his mind, and he decided to try it out. "Yeah, you would have seen me talking to your district partner earlier. She wasn't bothering to learn anything new, either, just wasting time at the archery station."_

 _Kaldur's eyes flashed ominously, but his expression didn't change. "She is capable, easily as much as the others," he said. His voice sounded distant._

He put Diana apart from everyone else, _a voice pointed out, being helpful for the first time all day._

 **The pupils dilated, too,** _the second voice commented._ _**A microaggression. Against… girls?**_

No… _Harvey squinted, recalling how Kaldur had treated the other female tributes as fairly as he had males._ This is a Four feud. And in the Reaping videos, he was the only one to bow down to Odin, right? That means—

 **There's some sort of political thing going around. I don't think they even realize it yet, but Diana and Kaldur probably won't get along too well,** _the voice finished. Harvey silently filed that nugget of information away to muse over later._

 _"Well, if you ever want to learn something new…" Harvey said. "I was trained at the Avengers Academy. I'm always available for a few pointers."_

 _Kaldur snorted._ Way to hurt a guy's self-confidence, _one of the voices commiserated. "I have already learned all I need to know about these Games," he said shortly. Before Harvey could ask what exactly he meant by that, Kaldur had pushed himself off the wall and went back to swimming at a pace Harvey just couldn't match if he was going to maintain a conversation._

 _Harvey stared flatly at the swimmer. "Yeah. Good talk, Kaldur," he grumbled, clambering out of the pool. "Really got to know you better. See you tonight, I guess."_

* * *

Taskmaster cocked an eyebrow. "Dilating pupils and a scary face," he said flatly. "That's your concrete evidence."

"It's more than that," Harvey argued. "I set up the lines and everything. There's something going on between the Fours, and I bet you that neither of them will want to stay in the pack when the other one's there."

"Did it get through to your thick skull that maybe Ahm doesn't like _you?_ " Masters asked.

Harvey lifted a finger to rebut that statement and froze halfway, letting the message sink in. He put his hand back down again, not saying anything.

 _Stupid._

 _ **Stupid.**_

 _Stupid_.

Masters crossed his arms. "Now, tell me how Harper Row's doing. She's your district partner. You two had better be cooperating."

Harvey shrugged. "Actually, I think we've been getting along pretty well. I have high hopes for her."

Masters kicked up his feet, resting one foot on his other knee. "Shoot."

* * *

 _"Hey," Harvey called out in greeting, kneeling down beside Harper Row at the snares station. The girl was elbows-deep in a large, complicated, electronic mess of wires and metal, miniscule strands of copper wiring poking out underneath rubber coverings._

 _Harper looked up, a smudge of what appeared to be grease underneath her right eye. She broke into a grin. "Oh, hey, Harvey. What're you doin'?"_

 _"You know, the usual," Harvey said, stretching out next to his partner. He picked up a much simpler trap from one of the large, plastic tubs, untangling the mess of electric cords. "Training. Eating. Practicing. Training. Eating. Practicing."_

 _He glanced over at Harper's monstrosity of a snare. "You really like to go over the top, don't you?"_

 _Harper shifted her body so that she was blocking her creation from Harvey's view. She grunted something that could have been interpreted as an affirmative._

 _Harvey frowned. "Hey, it's a compliment. Being a high achiever isn't bad." He stretched out a trio of cables that were entwined together, frowning at the different colors. "Wait, what's the green one supposed to be?"_

 _Harper looked over, absentmindedly twisting a dozen of her copper strands together in her hands. "That's the earth cable, dumbass. If there's a malfunction with the electricity, it shuts the whole thing down so nobody gets blown apart." She tried to subtly look at the damaged side of Harvey's face as she talked, acting like she wasn't looking. She wasn't a very good actor._

 _"You think the Academy back at Two didn't have earth cables, don't you?" Harvey asked bitterly, picking up another group of wires with his other hand. "Because there must have been no other way somebody managed to blow up a mine without one, huh?"_

 _He glanced at Harper, watching her expression carefully. She was tugging on her lip with her teeth anxiously, looking anywhere but him._

 _Harvey turned back to his snare. "Well, you are one hundred percent right. I've never heard of an earth cable in my life."_

 _His district partner snorted, fighting back a smile. "I can see that. You gotta connect it to the green screw, not the red one."_

 _Harvey looked down at his work and groaned. He started picking out the copper wiring with his thumbnail, wincing as the metal tips dug into his skin. "A little late?" he asked._

 _"Better late than never," Harper declared. She tilted her head, like an idea had just come into her mind. "Hey, coin man."_

 _Harvey tugged out the last remnants of the earth cable from the positive-charge screw, doing his best to let the nickname slide by. "Yes?"_

 _"Is it possible to boil the poison out of toxic plants?" She looked down at the wired monstrosity before her, which would have been rigged to spark a thirty-five degrees Celsius flame, which would then be used to ignite fifty milliliters of gasoline, or in this case, the watery replacement the trainers used to prevent real danger before the Games themselves. If this had been the Games, the whole thing would have created a fiery explosion of death._

 _One didn't tinker without letting the mind wander a bit._

 _Harvey stopped, running over a number of scenarios in his head. "Yeah, you could do that with some plants." Harvey said, trying to remember more than just the plants' appearances. "I think the most major ones wouldn't work though. You'd have to stick to boiling the simple stuff. Like nettles."_

 _"Those are the spiky weed things, yeah?" Harper asked. "The ones that keep growing everywhere in the mountains? And hurt like a bitch when you touch 'em?"_

 _"The one and the same," Harvey said cheerfully. He pushed back memories of Taskmaster making him pick the stuff with his bare hands and making him cook it right there on the mountainside. "After you boil it, it's not actually that bad. It's really healthy, too, which is good, since it grows everywhere."_

 _"Not here," Harper grumbled, finally noticing the smear of grease on her face in the reflection of her snare. She tried to smudge it off with the back of her hand but only succeeded in spreading it. "I haven't seen a single plant since I came."_

 _"That's because they're not green." Harvey said, finally taking pity on his partner and handing her a slightly oily rag. Harper took it eagerly, trying to wipe the grease off of her face. "They look like they're made out of plastic, too. The Capitol grows everything here, but they make it look different with their labs. I talked to one of the gardeners this morning. He said that they inject the…" He frowned, trying to remember. "The… Klor-something. Klor, kloral? No wait, chloroplasts, that's it. They inject the chloroplasts with some kind of dye."_

 _Harper blinked. "Wuzza chloroplast?"_

 _"I don't know," Harvey admitted. "But hey, it makes me look smart."_

 _Harper sniggered again but stopped herself before she could get carried away. "Okay, but serious time now. What's going on with the Careers?"_

 _Harvey furrowed his brows, thinking. Kaldur, Thea, Slade, and Diana… Four people with completely different personalities and viewpoints. "It's… Well, it's complicated." He looked up at Harper. "We're all going to be working it out tonight, though. I think we should be good."_

 _"Wait, it's tonight?" Harper asked excitedly._

 _Harvey frowned. "Harper. You were right there when Tony Masters said it. Last night."_

 _Harper blinked, and Harvey gestured with his hands. "Remember? Right after the chariots?"_

 _The girl cocked an eyebrow. "I never listen to what those dicks say; haven't you noticed?" She went back to her electronics. "Thanks for the heads up, though."_

 _Harvey's eye ticked uncontrollably. He figured if he stayed any longer, he would probably be executed for killing a tribute before the Games._

 _He stood up, feeling the cracking of vertebrae in his back. He swung his shoulders back and forth, stretching his spine. "Head up to the roof together then?"_

 _"Yeah, that's awesome," Harper said absentmindedly, caught up in her project again. "So I'll see you later."_

 _"Definitely." Harvey replied, heading off. "Have a good time, Harper."_

* * *

"Well, then." Masters said, appearing uncharacteristically satisfied. "Sounds like that's going nicely for you, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Harvey smiled. "Harper's doing great. I think she's going to go far, honestly."

"Really, now?" Masters continued. "Maybe even farther than you?"

The tribute chewed his lip, thinking. "Actually, yeah, maybe. She has a really good chance."

 _"You idiot!"_ Masters bellowed. In the blink of an eye, he had gotten to his feet, whipping a hand at the good side of Harvey's face. Harvey instinctively bent backwards, but not fast enough to avoid the blow.

The victor bared his teeth in a mixture of rage and disappointment. "I taught you better than this, kid. You see somebody who's a threat, what do you do?"

Comprehension dawned on Harvey's face. "Oh. _Oh._ You mean—"

Masters grabbed Harvey by the shoulders, staring into his eyes. "Never, and I mean ever, trust somebody who acts like that girl. They will _crush you._ Do you get that, boy? They will stomp on your heart and leave it for dead."

"What have you got against Harper?" Harvey asked, feeling confused. "What – But–"

" _Don't._ " Taskmaster seethed, his yellow eyes burning into Harvey. He took a deep breath, pinching his brow. He crossed his arms, turning his back to Harvey. "Slade Wilson from One. He's the last of the Careers. Tell me about him."

* * *

 _Slade cracked his neck, eyeing Harvey warily as they circled each other. He flipped the training sword, exchanging the blade between his hands._

 _Harvey maintained his gaze, making sure that he could match his shorter blade against Slade's with each pass he made._

Whenever you have the shorter weapon, you have to get in close, _Taskmaster's voice echoed in his mind from a training lesson several weeks ago._ Make it so they can't move without stabbing themselves.

 _He dove, rolling at Slade Wilson's legs, flicking the sword upward. Slade sidestepped, swinging his wooden blade down at Harvey's unprotected side as he went, and Harvey pushed himself against the floor, letting the sword pass harmlessly above him._

 _"If I swung down, you would be dead," Slade rumbled, whipping the blade at Harvey again._

 _Harvey jumped to his feet, countering the blow before twisting the sword in the circle, forcing Slade's sword the ground. He pushed down at it and leapt over Slade's arm, swinging the blade at his foe's head._

 _"Yeah, but you didn't swing down." Harvey smirked, ducking as Slade tried to stab Harvey in the back. Harvey froze before the force of his momentum would have brought him to Slade's blade and then turned to smack the sword out of Slade's hands. "Overarm swings leave you open for almost anything. Sword training 101. And now you're…"_

 _He moved to poke his sword into Slade's chest, but the bigger boy was already gone. "Dead?"_

 _Harvey whirled around just in time to see Slade Wilson pick up his sword and jab it into Harvey's sternum. "No. Not me."_

 _Harvey frowned, mentally smacking his head against a wall for forgetting to watch Slade. "Rematch?"_

 _Slade nodded, his eyes locking onto Harvey's._

 _The smaller boy cleaved his sword through the air, swinging sideways. Slade ducked easily, lunging forward for a jab. Harvey automatically stepped backward, escaping Slade's reach. His mind raced, trying to latch onto something that could distract Slade before he lost again. "So, your last name's Wilson."_

 _"Yes. And?" Slade replied, spinning his sword in a makeshift shield. Harvey tried to go after his face again, but his sword smacked uselessly against Slade's._

 _"Just curious." He grunted, skipping sideways to try to move around Slade's defense. The other tribute moved with Harvey's pace, matching his speed easily. "Any relation to the Wilson from last year?"_

 _"I don't think so," Slade commented, blocking Harvey's second attempt at an attack. "I'm not interested in dead distant relations, if he even was that."_

 _"Huh," Harvey wheezed, trying to keep up. He dropped to the floor, trying to roll underneath him. Slade stabbed down, cutting him off halfway. "Learned your lesson." He smirked. "Dead. Again."_

 _Harvey raised an eyebrow, trying to prise the wooden sword from his chest. When he got no result, he swung his sword at Slade's shins, whacking him until the bigger teen let him off the ground._

 _"Okay, you win." Harvey sulked, nursing his bruised ego._

 _The older boy shook his head. "Don't sound so surprised." The two boys deposited their swords, heading off to the empty food station._

 _"You heading down here too?" he asked._

 _Slade nodded. "Not many other options.."_

 _Harvey smiled. "Me too." He looked at a propaganda poster of Director Fury, posing dramatically for SHIELD. "How do you think you'll do for the training assessments?"_

 _"Guess we'll have to wait and see," Slade said, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes. He stared at Harvey, focusing on the slight tightening around the younger boy's mouth. He rubbed his beard stubble. "That what's got you twisted, kid?"_

 _"It's nothing," Harvey said, looking down. "I'm just worrying a bit about the Fours."_

 _"Prince?"_

 _Harvey jolted, surprised. "How'd you guess?"_

 _The corners of Slade's mouth tightened. "She's a hard one to handle."_

 _"Well, that too." Harvey said. "She more or less told me she's going to challenge me for leadership. And if that happens…"_

 _"She breaks off from the pack," Slade completed for him._

 _"Actually, I was thinking I'd get stabbed in my sleep," Harvey said. "But hey, separation works too."_

 _Slade sped up for the last few steps into the cafeteria, cutting into the kitchen. He opened one of the fridges as Harvey watched, digging through the contents. "That could happen too."_

 _Harvey opened up a cupboard door beside him. He reached inside, grabbing a few protein bars. "I won't let her take control of the pack," he said as he tore off a wrapper, taking a bite out of a Chocolate-Raspberry Super Bar._

 _"We'll see," Slade said, and Harvey realized that the cold expression on his face was Slade's version of amusement._

 _"Yeah, tonight," Harvey said flatly, popping the rest of the Chocolate-Raspberry Super Bar into his mouth. His cheeks stretched as he chewed._

 _Slade closed the fridge door as he took out an egg carton. He balanced the egg carton on the edge of the crowded metal serving counter of the cafeteria, taking out an egg. "You know, these things really shouldn't be left in a fridge."_

 _Harvey swallowed his Chocolate-Raspberry Super Bar, a disgusted expression plastered on his face. "You're gonna eat those?" Taskmaster had gotten Harvey to eat raw eggs for almost his entire time under his wing. Despite having used them as breakfast for just under eight months in a row, Harvey still hadn't gotten used to their disgusting taste._

 _Slade peered at Harvey, holding the egg above his head. A sparkle of mirth glittered in the corner of his eye. "Yep," he said, before cracking the egg and swallowing the whole thing raw._

 _Harvey grimaced. "God, I hate those things." He looked down at his remaining protein bars, wondering which one he'd have next._

Oooh, strawberry and white chocolate. Those are always nice.

 **Wait, wait, berry crumble. It has blueberries. And crushed almond!**

But the white chocolate one has strawberries. It's as good as the berry one, but it has chocolate too.

 **Not blueberry. Or almond. We want almond!**

Well, we want strawberry!

 **Berry has strawberry!**

We want chocolate, too, though!

 **Berry!**

Chocolate!

 **Berry!**

Chocolate!

 _Harvey glanced at Slade, who was busy cracking another egg. "Would you shut up?" he whispered angrily to himself._

 _Slade looked over. "What?"_

 _"I'm sorry?" Harvey asked, trying to look innocent._

 _The voices in his head were literally fighting over energy bars, he realized dispassionately. The back of his mind started wondering what would happen if he used the coin to decide._

 **Yes! Use the coin! I'll be right!**

Of course. We'll get to be fair. We'll get to make the right choice. You'll get to have chocolate.

 _Harvey dug the coin out of his pocket, admiring its silver sheen. Who knew that such a small object could solve all of the feuds in his head? He tossed it into the air, catching it with his other hand._

Clink.

 _Tails._

 **Berry crumble it is,** _the voice said triumphantly._

 _Slade frowned, dropping his cracked eggshells into a waste bin. "Thought I heard you say something."_

 _"Well." Harvey said, his mind frantically searching for an excuse. "I guess I was … uh… I was just thinking about the alliance. I mean, it's the Quarter Quell. This is huge." He looked up at Slade, throwing out the first explanation that popped into his brain. "What am I gonna do when Diana starts getting in the way?"_

 _Slade let out a small chuckle. "Don't worry about it, okay? Just find somebody else. There's always someone out there who'll listen to you if you say the right things."_

 _Harvey stared. "Holy crap. I know what I have to do."_

 _Slade smirked. "Got it all figured out, have you, kid?"_

 _"You'll find out up on the rooftop. You'll see me then. Talk to you later."_

 _Harvey bolted away from the cafeteria, heading into the elevator. An idea, a wild, crazy idea, was forming in his mind._

 _He had to find Jack Hamill._

* * *

"Jack Hamill," Taskmaster said flatly. "You were late to meet me because you were talking to—" He massaged his forehead, trying to iron out the rapidly forming wrinkles. "You were late so you could talk to that joker?" He snorted, falling into his chair with a thud. "Okay, what's the punchline."

"There isn't one," Harvey grumbled. "He's a great guy. He practically has 'Career Material' written on his forehead."

"He's a psychopath."

"He's _trained_."

"He's not trained. He's a gang leader."

"Exactly! He already has experience for this sort of stuff!"

Masters squinted at Harvey, like he was trying to perceive what was going on in Harvey's mind.

 _ **Heh. Good luck with that.**_

A silent battle of wills raged for a moment before settling down.

"Alright," Masters said, getting comfortable in his chair. "Fine. You think Hamill could be a replacement for when you get rid of Prince?"

Harvey nodded quietly.

The weary mentor sighed. "Okay. Maybe there's something I'm missing."

"Could be bias," Harvey suggested. "I don't think there's ever been an Eight in the Career Pack before."

" _Exactly_ ," Masters growled. "I'm telling you, kid, if you screwed up here, I won't be dragging your sorry ass back to Two."

"You'll like him," Harvey said reassuringly. "He's going to be a great guy for the Careers. I'm telling you, this guy was born for this."

"Then get started," Taskmaster said, warily eyeing the clock. "We've got half an hour before you have to meet the Careers. Make it count."

* * *

 _Down in the common area, most of the kids who weren't about to go up to the roof for a meeting were spread out, watching TV, playing games, and so on. But there was one door leading to a lounge area that seemed to have a brightly-lipsticked bodyguard, and that was where Harvey knew he'd find Jack._

 _Harley Quinn tipped her her head to the side as she gave Harvey a slow appraisal that ended with a gentle poke in the center of his chest as she cracked her gum. "Can I help you?"_

 _Harvey tapped his foot impatiently. "Listen, I have an offer for him. One he can't refuse."_

 _"Well, aren't you a whole lot of crazy in one messed up package?" Harley chuckled. "And believe me._ _I know crazy._ _And he ain't got time for your kinda issues."_

 _"Just give me two minutes." Harvey said, almost desperately. "He'll agree, I can pretty much promise."_

 _Suddenly, the door behind Harley Quinn cracked open. An eye appeared in the gap. "Harley, who is this? Why didn't you tell me I had a guest?"_

 _Harley turned back, her blond ponytails bobbing up and down. "It's the OCD multiple personality disorder chump," she said, putting a hand on her hip. "He says he's got an offer, but I think he's makin' promises outta his league."_

 _"Actually, all I want to do is talk to you for a bit." Harvey said over her shoulder. "I won't take up much of your time, I swear."_

 _The door opened a bit wider, and Jack Hamill's face became visible. "Interesting," he said, opening the door wider for Harvey. "Well? Come inside."_

 _"Thanks," Harvey said happily, slipping past the door._

 _Jack eyed Harley, who was looking up at her district partner with a confident smirk. "Don't go wandering off now, sweetums. Daddy needs a moment to hear this…_ offer _,_ " _he purred, closing the door in her face._

 _"Now then," the other tribute began, leaning against the door to face Harvey. "What's this offer I can't refuse?"_

 _"I want you to join the Careers." The words tumbled out of Harvey before he could honey them up, a mixture of franticness and excitement._

 _"Really?" Jack asked, stepping forward. "_ Moi _?" He said, spreading a hand against his chest in mock flattery._

 _"Yeah," Harvey said, looking around the room warily. "Listen, I don't have much time, but I'd like it if you could meet up with the rest of us tonight. Ten o' clock, up on the rooftop."_

 _"I'll certainly take that to heart," Jack said happily. He looked back at the door, and his cheerful demeanor warped in a heartbeat into something Harvey found a bit more… unsettling. "Tell me something, Harv. Is this little soiree…_ invite-only _?_ "

 _"No," Harvey said, shaking his head. "I mean, you can bring your partner if you want. If you're going to be a Career, she's probably going to be one too, but this whole thing's completely up to you."_

 _"As it should be," Jack said, tipping his head in a satirical bow. "I like to be in control of what's going on around me, I'm sure you understand." He cocked his head to the side. "I mean, look at you. Of course you like to be in control; it's written all over your face." Jack lightly bopped Harvey on the nose before spinning, settling on a couch. "Now, do tell me more about this meeting," he said as he kicked one foot into the air, dropping it on his other knee._

 _"Can't really say much," Harvey said, walking up to stand beside him. He realized he was slouching and stiffened his posture to something more befitting of one of SHIELD's major lieutenants. "All the other Careers are going to be there. Harper, Slade, Thea, Diana, Kaldur… Honestly, I think the Fours aren't going to take to you joining up very well, Jack, but—"_

 _Jack let his head fall down against the couch's cushions. "Two birds with one stone…" he muttered quietly, almost too quietly for Harvey to hear. "Don't worry about that, Harv. Carry on."_

 _He blinked, realizing he was getting carried away. "But yeah. We're all meeting up at ten, on the rooftop. The mentors have got it all figured out."_

 _"Sounds like you thought this out really well," Jack commented. He pushed aside a small basket of bread on the center of the table in front of him, toying with the butter knife inside of it._

 _"I try," Harvey smiled, soaking up the praise. "I mean, it's a traditional thing. Every year, they use the same spot, but—"_

 _"But?" the District Eight tribute asked. His long, spindly fingers danced along his knee, moving like a chessmaster. "Harvey, I'm hearing a lot of 'but's and 'if's from you. I don't like hearing those." When Harvey didn't say anything in return, Jack returned the butterknife to its resting place. "Is something_ wrong, _Harvey?"_

 _Harvey let out a long sigh. "I'm not sure if all the other Careers are gonna cooperate up there."_

 _"So?" Jack snorted, running his fingers along the couch's edge. "Block 'em. If they don't have our vision, Harv, that's just their loss, isn't it?"_

 _"I can't do that," Harvey protested. "How's that supposed to be fair?"_

 _Suddenly, Jack's attention swerved towards Harvey, almost pinning him in place. Cold, analytical eyes scanned him from head to toe in a new light, and Harvey felt like the other boy was looking deep down into his very soul._

 _"Fair…" He trailed off, and that strange, sadistic glint appeared in his eye again. Harvey shuffled uneasily, feeling slightly put-off._

 _And then the moment was gone, and the Joker was shaking his head playfully, slapping a hand against Harvey's knee. "Hah! Good one. Fair. What are you, some kinda lawyer?" Jack shook his head. "I mean, it's a great comedy schtick and all, but you don't really wanna be a lawyer. Nobody likes those guys, you have to understand. Nothing funny about them at all."_

 _Harvey thought about his old childhood ambition and nodded, not saying anything._

 _"Anyway," Jack said, practically bouncing off the couch, leading Harvey to the door. "Thanks for the invite. Career meeting, ten o'clock, rooftop."_

 _"Right, right, and right," Harvey said, starting for the door._

 _Jack Hamill gave him a cold, cruel grin. "It's been a pleasure having you, Harv."_

 _And before Harvey could react to the sudden cold chill running up his spine, Jack had ushered him toward the exit and was growling under his breath on spotting Harley nearly perched on the arm of Clark Kent's chair._

* * *

Tony Masters grunted and looked at Harvey, openly reassessing the boy. "Well then. You got one of _those guys_ to join up with the Careers?"

Harvey smiled. "Yeah, see? He's one of _them_. You can tell just by looking at him, he's Final Four material."

Taskmaster reached up, patting Harvey on the shoulder. "If you can get a guy like him on your side, you just might have this. They burn through the tributes, kid, I'm telling you. There's no stopping Final Four material."

"I called it," Harvey said, trying to hide the smug pride rising up inside of him. "I told you you'd like him."

For a second, Harvey could almost see pride in Masters' eyes. But then the man moved, looking at the clock once again, and it was the cold, harsh victor that met Harvey's gaze again.

"Meeting starts in ten," Taskmaster grunted. The older man stared at the floor. "Knock 'em dead for me."

Harvey got up, stretching his legs. He looked back one last time at Tony Masters. "I will. Don't worry. I'll make you proud of me, just you watch."

And as Harvey left the room, shutting the door behind him, Masters stretched his lips into a smile. "You already have, kid."

* * *

"Everyone here?" Harvey asked as he stood up from his plastic chair, leaning on the battered table in front of him. "Alright. I'm assuming most of us all know each other, but I'd like to introduce someone else to the Career pack for this year."

He waved his hand in Jack's direction as he made his peacock-like appearance, puffing out his chest with his thumbs hooked under his lapels and Harley warily watching the group in his wake. "Everybody, meet Jack Hamill of District Eight. He's going to be working with us for the Quarter Quell."

Harper blinked. "Um. Hi…" She paused, thinking. She looked at Harvey. "Did you say he could bring the girl, too? Barley something?"

"Harley," the sassy little blonde corrected, over-annunciating. "The name's Harley Quinn." She looked back at Harvey and blew him a kiss, winking his way. "Long time no see, sugar."

"Now, now, Harley, play nice," Jack said with a little smirk, all but shooing her to a chair nearby. "We're guests, sweetums. Try not to eat them alive just yet."

"Fine, whatever you say, Mistah J," Harley replied before she bounced over to perch on the edge of the wall near Kaldur, grinning widely as she looked him up and down. "Heya, big guy."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harvey saw Diana's jaw stiffen angrily.

Slade's judging gaze bored into Harvey. Thea frowned at Jack, clearly disgusted. Harvey hoped Slade wouldn't think poorly of his sort-of-brilliant backup plan for the Fours.

Harvey looked up again to meet Diana's smoldering, furious gaze, and gulped, covering the action by clearing his throat. "Anyway." Harvey said, trying to ignore the looks. "This is Jack. He's one of the Careers now. Jack, do you want to say anything, or…?"

Jack waved cheerfully, grinning from ear to ear in a way that could only be labeled as 'disturbing'. "Oh, no. Not yet, at least."

Kaldur grimaced, and Jack swerved to face him, his giddiness gone in an instant. "Why so serious?" he asked eerily, stepping far too close to Kaldur for anybody to be comfortable. "You're one of the Fours, aren't you?" Jack said. He bent forwards, sniffing audibly. "I can still smell the dead fish and seaweed on you." He sneered. "You've heard of a shower before, right?

Kaldur clenched his fists. "I will not hide behind perfumes and forget home, the way you hide behind your painted face and forget your sanity."

Jack Hamill sneered, prodding a finger into Kaldur's much broader chest. "Oohoo! Mister Holier-Than-Thou came down from his mountain to _play_!" He leaned forward. "You should really turn that frown upside-down. Or I might do it for you, if you don't feel like being nice." Jack looked as though he would very much enjoy it if Kaldur didn't comply.

"You can only try."

Diana grimaced at the display. "Who authorized these… charlatans to be here?"

"Um," Harvey said, frowning in her direction. "I did."

The District Four tribute got up from her position by the edge of the rooftop, putting her arms on the table across from Harvey. "You do not have the authority for an action like this."

"You're wrong," Harvey said back. "Everyone does. There's no hard and fast rule. There was a Twelve in the Careers last year, remember?"

"That man is a depraved _lunatic_ ," Diana ground out.

"That depraved lunatic is right here." Jack said witheringly. "Unless the dainty little _princess_ has forgotten."

The rooftop went silent save for Harley's delighted cackle as Diana froze. The female tribute's right eye gave an involuntary twitch. "Take that back this instant."

"Whatsamatta, honey? Can't take a little competition?" Harley asked with a growing smile.

Jack gave that trademark cold smile again, this time directed at Diana. "Or what? What are you going to do about it?"

Kaldur growled, stepping forward, but Diana blocked his path. "Don't," she told him. "Save it for the Games."

"Sounds more like you're too scared to do anything," Jack taunted her.

 _ **Two birds with one stone…**_ one of the voices recalled.

 _He's getting rid of the Fours for us_ , the other one realized.

Thea Queen shook her head. "Jack, we're supposed to be working together here. Like allies."

Jack cocked his head to one side, his latest playthings forgotten. "Now, now, little Queenie. Like my good friend, the Honorable Attorney Dent says…. There's no hard and fast rule."

Harley chuckled. "A Queen and a princess. Ladies and gents, I do believe we are in the presence of _royalty_ tonight."

"As far as you are concerned, you are," Kaldur said, seemingly surprising even Diana with the response.

"Is that you admittin' you're her manservant?" Harley asked, wide-eyed. "You throw down dead fish everywhere she walks, honey?"

Kaldur stopped cold, and Diana sucked in the cold rooftop air, pushing down her rage. She turned back to Harvey. "Why would you let _vermin_ like them into the _Careers?_ "

Slade looked like he might agree with her, sending Harvey questioning, skeptical looks, leaned back in his chair with his feet kicked up as he watched the battle of words in front of him.

 _She's challenging your leadership._

 _ **Show her who's in charge here.**_

Harvey looked Diana right in her eerily blue eyes. "Because I said so," he drawled, stepping around the table. The cold, windy air danced along his neck, raising the goosebumps on his skin. Harvey bristled. "Do you have a problem with that, Prince? Or should it be Princess now?"

Harper slowly stepped up behind Harvey, a sense of unease flickering across her face. Kaldur followed Harper's actions, walking up right beside Diana, folding his arms.

"I think I do," Diana answered, stepping forward until she was directly in front of him. The tension was becoming so thick, Harvey could have cut it with a spoon.

Diana looked over at the Ones, who were watching from the sidelines. "Why are the pair of you permitting such insults?" she asked them, pointing a blaming finger at Harvey. "Look what decisions this fool has already made!"

Thea and Slade shared a quick glance, seemingly going through an entire conversation in a few seconds. Slade waved her down. "I'm not looking for enemies or rivals just yet. By all means, have fun."

Thea nodded. "I mean, it _is_ called the Games."

Harvey sighed. He had to give the Career alliance one last try. "Diana, trust me; this is one of the best ideas I've ever had."

Diana stared at him. " _Jack_ is one of your best ideas."

"Um, _yes?_ " Harvey said, irritated. "Haven't you seen him at training?"

"I have." Diana shot back. "And I will not let you do this."

"Really?" Harvey growled. "Are you sure you want to make enemies before the Games even start?"

Diana bared her teeth. "Are you threatening me, Dent?"

"Maybe I am," Harvey answered, stepping closer. "Or maybe I'm making sure you know your place here."

"My place?" Diana snarled. "My place is at the head of my people. Not dallying with the pitiful excuses for tributes Two has put forward this year." Behind Harvey's shoulder, Harper furrowed her brow in newfound anger.

Diana stepped forward, coming closer to Harvey. "Were we in Four, you'd know to hold your tongue and know your _place_. If not, you would not live to see the morning."

Kaldur stepped in like a tidal wave, pushing in between the two people with obvious ease in order to hold Diana back from outright throttling Harvey. "Not yet," he reminded Diana in an undertone.

Harvey backed up, confused. "Why are you guys so against Jack being here? We don't have to be so choosy over who's in the Careers.

"Of course we do! These are to be our allies, and I for one could not abide spending the Games waiting for this... this _imbecile_ to turn on us," Diana replied, natural authority in her tone, elbowing her fellow tribute out of the way. "We must settle this if there is to be any hope of an understanding here, let alone the trust of allies."

"Settle what?" Harvey challenged. "Do you think you're the one in charge here? Because I hate to break it to you, but that spot's _mine_."

Harper frowned. She tiptoed up to his shoulder to whisper in his ear. "I thought this was about James."

Harvey glanced back. "His name is Jack. And he is more than capable enough to work with us."

Kaldur frowned. "Hamill is not like us. He has no sense of honor, no pride in his district."

"What?" Harvey looked back and forth, confused. "What are you talking about?"

Kaldur's olive-grey eyes bored into Harvey's. "That man is a murderer. He is a liar. He is a coward and a bully and a thief."

Harvey nodded, waiting to hear Jack's negatives.

"What? You think you're gonna win holdin' hands and playin' footsie with the princess?" Harley said, barely holding back the laughter. "That ain't gonna happen, sweetie."

"Better than walking in the shadow of a madman." Kaldur glared Harley's way and then gestured at Harvey, and he realized that he had to say something.

"We need him, Kaldur," Harvey tried to reason. "Would you rather have this guy with us, or against us? Come on, this is simple. Yes or no. Tell me what you'd rather have."

"Would I rather fight against evil or side with it?" Kaldur shook his head. "The choice is clear. Why do you falter?"

Diana pushed her way into the conversation again, and Harvey fought back a groan. "No. Do you hear me? Kaldur and I – We will never work with a monster like that. Accept it."

Harvey glared coldly in her direction. "No. I'm the leader here, and I say he stays with us."

Diana's upper lip stiffened in disgust. "You're nowhere _near_ worthy to be a leader of _anything_ , boy."

"And who do you suppose should be the leader here? You?" Jack questioned, popping in. Hamill pulled out one of the plastic chairs and lounged backwards. "I hate to point it out, but there is no way someone like _you_ could lead someone like _him_ ," he said, pointing a long finger in Harvey's direction.

Diana ground her perfect teeth together in frustration. "No." She looked to the others — Slade and Thea and even Harper. "I would lead those that are not lost. And leave you—" She glared at Harvey. "—to the fate you _deserve_."

 _THAT. IS. IT._

Harvey had expected Diana or Kaldur to leave the pack, but he hadn't considered both of them. Harper was still standing by his side, but she was just one untrained, eccentric electrician. And the Ones – Harvey had been anticipating that Slade would join him, not turn all neutral and deceptive after Jack started talking–

It was quickly becoming too much to handle.

"Alright, _fine_!" Harvey shouted angrily. "You don't want me as the leader? Fine. _FINE. Jack_ can lead the Career Pack."

 _ **It's not like you have any other options right now** ,_ one of the voices commented.

 _What about Harper? And Slade, why didn't we choose him_ —

 _ **A girl with no training and a guy who just said he wants nothing to do with this,**_ the voice replied bluntly. _**Yeah, great choices.**_

Kaldur looked furious, and this time it was Diana's turn to hold his arm to keep him back. "You insolent—"

He was interrupted by a loud whooping sound from Jack as he spun in between Diana and Harvey. "Yes! Brilliant choice, Harv, just brilliant. I just knew at least some of you guys have brains in your heads."

Diana met his eyes, an icy glacier confronting a ship entering new waters. "No," she said evenly.

"What?" Harvey questioned. He gave a thin, victorious smile. "You said you wouldn't follow me. So, I choose Jack instead."

"You choose Jack for yourself," Diana said stubbornly. "Let him lead you into destruction. I will have no part in it.

"Nor will I," Kaldur agreed, one hand on Diana's shoulder. Harvey's heart backtracked for a second. He had anticipated an outburst from one of them, or even both of them, but the united front he was seeing was something he simply hadn't expected.

Diana's jaw stiffened. "Choose, Dent. Abandon these painted, empty whispers, and I'd be willing to ally with you. Cling to them, and I cannot."

Harvey blinked, looking at Diana and Kaldur, and then back to Jack, who had stopped his victory parade in exchange for a sad, pleading expression.

 _Jack. We need him more than these guys._

 _ **Diana and Kaldur have better training, though. We need that. We have to keep this pack together.**_

 _The coin,_ the voices whispered.

 ** _Get the coin_.**

Harvey rummaged through his pockets anxiously. He couldn't find it at first, and his heart quickened even more before Harvey realized it was in his back pocket. He picked up the coin, flinging it into the air.

 _Plink._

Heads.

"I choose Jack," Harvey said.

Diana's face darkened. "On your own head be it," she said, striding the length of the roof without a second glance. Kaldur followed in her wake, shaking his head at the entire situation. "Enjoy being led to the slaughter."

And without a word, before Harvey even realized what was going on, Slade was gone too, with Thea at his heels.

Harvey stared as the Ones vanished, then looked back to Jack, who had stopped his victory parade in exchange for a sad, pleading expression, rubbing fake tears from his eyes as they left. "Aww, boo, hoo," Jack said in a whiny, falsely childish voice before it became much wilder and more vicious. "GO ON! WE DON'T NEED YA ANYWAY!"

All that was left on the rooftop was Harvey, Harper, Harley and Jack.

 _Are they even going to be part of the Career Pack?_

 _ **Are they choosing Diana over us?**_

 _Maybe they're just tired…?_

 _ **They said they were neutral. Oh no; they're not gonna work with us, are they?**_

Harper slumped down onto one of the chairs. "Oh, God," she whispered, putting her face into her hands. "Oh my God, they're going to kill us, and we don't even have a proper Career pack anymore, and we're all gonna die—"

 _ **We are so screwed.**_

 _I don't have enough people._

 _ **We're going into the arena with a four-man team.**_

 _No, the Ones are still with us, right? … Right?_

And suddenly, an idea sparked inside Harvey's mind. It was crazy. It was something completely unorthodox. If it didn't work, it was very likely suicidal.

Taskmaster had often told Harvey that those were his three best qualities.

Harvey grabbed her by the shoulders, looking Harper straight in the eyes. "No," he said. "No, we've got this."

He turned towards Jack, who was absentmindedly toying with a piece of lint from his pocket.

"Jack, we're going to need replacements," he began. "We're going to need more people to fill in for us."

Harper looked up from her hands, trying to take deep, calming breaths. Jack rose to his feet, coming up to Harvey's side.

"Don't worry," he grinned. "I know just the right people to talk to. Meet me later, and I'll introduce to you the brand new Career pack." Jack leaned in conspiratorially. "Oh, and by the way, thanks for making the right call, Harv. You were smart, back there. Well done."

Harvey grinned, raising his hand in a mock salute. "Hey, it's no problem. Just make sure you prove that you deserve it, yeah?"

Jack smiled eerily. "Oh, I will, Harv. I will."

* * *

In was well after midnight as Tony Masters bent down in front of Harvey, his creepy yellow eyes boring right into his soul.

Harvey's mother had used to say that people who looked at you straight in the eyes were people you could trust.

He didn't exactly believe her. Judging people based on their eye contact seemed pretty pointless, not to mention untrue. His mother had been dead for three years.

Trusting people hadn't exactly saved her, now, had it?

Taskmaster gritted his teeth. A low, guttural growl escaped from his throat.

"You're late."

"I have a perfectly good reason for that," Harvey began, but Masters cut in.

"Dent." He snarled. "Twenty minutes ago, I had _Odin_ of all people come and tell me that his tributes wouldn't be part of the Career pack."

 _Uh-oh._

"And then, just _minutes_ after he leaves, Reed Richards came to me and said they were making plans for the exact _same thing,_ " the victor seethed.

 _ **Uh-oh.**_

Masters took a deep breath, clenching his fists furiously. When he turned back to Harvey, his skeletal face had turned the slightest shade of red with anger.

 _We are in so much trouble,_ one of the voices gulped fearfully.

 _"What the hell did you do?"_

* * *

 _Before he went down to talk to Masters about the fiasco of a meeting, but after Harper and Jack had left, Harvey sat down in one of the small, plastic chairs, admiring the city lights of the Capitol._

 _He checked to make sure nobody was still around before pushing the chair aside and kneeling down on the ground, worming his fingers into the large crack in one of the tiles in the flooring._

 _The tile had been a fake one – some kind of secret stash. Harvey had discovered it when he was scooping out the rooftop, checking what was there._

 _Inside it lay a couple crumpled, weather-worn papers and notes beyond recognition, along with an almost empty golden wine bottle of something called_ _'Le Flambeau'._

 _Diana and Kaldur weren't going to be Careers._

 _Jack Hamill was leading the pack._

 _Slade and Thea had an entire other plan hidden away that Harvey didn't know about._

 _Harper was (apparently) plotting to wreck Harvey's life._

 _Tony Masters was going to skin him alive when he came back._

 _He was going into the Quarter Quell._

 _Harvey clambered to his feet, breathing in the Capitol air. After a moment, he picked up the bottle of_ Le Flambeau, _uncapping it._

 _This had been a long, long night._

 _Harvey raised the bottle to his lips and started chugging._

 _And then: "Ugh, God, this tastes like crap! How do people like this stuff?!"_


	24. Chapter 23: Fealty Makes The Heart Grow

**(A/N): Welcome again to our Friday update - First things first, before we get too far into things, please take a moment if you can to keep two of our writer's families in your thoughts and prayers as they suffered a tragic loss in the family. robbiepoo2341 and BandGeek24601 - you're both in our prayers, as I'm sure you know.**

 **As always, thank you to our writers that reviewed the last chapter. Seeing the backup we all have here is always a welcome thing. This time, we welcome back InDeepDarkWood with her INCREDIBLE Diana.**

* * *

 **Fealty Makes The Heart Grow Fonder**

 **Training Day 2**

 **Diana Prince of District Four**

 **Written by InDeepDarkWood**

* * *

 _"_ _Honour wears different coats to different eyes."_ — Barbara Tuchman

* * *

There was a television playing in the background that Diana half-watched in the early morning light. She sat in one of the bay window seats on Four's floor — which was not, in actual fact, the fourth floor of the tributes' building, yet was labeled as such on the contraption the Capitolites tried to pass off as an elevator. Her gaze flickered to the doors to the lift, and she gave a half-snort to herself, crunching down on the apple and leaning further back until her body was plastered to the clear, tribute-proof glass. What was the point in having such a lavish interior for the elevator when most of it was _glass_ and see-through anyway?

Elevators were for functions, like hauling supplies from the lower levels of Four to the top tiers. They were not for carpeted floors.

She moved her gaze back to the television, listening to the hum of Tanaleer's voice as a re-run of the Reapings was played. She raised an eyebrow at the barely-concealed laugh from the host as the tribute on screen tripped up the stairs. If Tivan had been allowed to say it, Diana had no doubt his next words would have been: _Well, she's dead._

"Sam Wilson had no business picking that girl," she murmured to herself, her fingernails — perfectly manicured by her stylist the first day she had arrived in the Capitol — digging into the skin of the apple as her grip tightened. The Falcon was a foolish man if he thought for even a moment that his female tribute could claim the title of victor. _He must see something in her, deep down_ , Diana mused, as the show zoomed away from the hot district into the studio Uatu and Tanaleer sat in. Based on what she had observed yesterday in training, Diana thought that 'something' was buried too far down to even contemplate reaching.

She took another bite of the apple, basking in the almost quiet. It wasn't as tranquil as home, but if she closed her eyes, and took a slow, even breath, she could imagine the soft shuffle of the Inhuman's feet as it — _she_ — cleaned the lavish carpet was the gentle sound of the ocean waves beating against the sand. The hum of the television was not the Collector's voice at all, but the low cry of a gull, ever hungry, ever watchful of the fishermen leaving their docks. And the sound of someone clearing their throat multiple times was like...

Diana opened her eyes, her illusion shattered by the still throat-clearing Octavius.

"If you're going to question me about last night _again_ , I suggest you save your breath," she said, turning her face away from the victor and back out the window. She knew some of the tributes here would be in awe of the thick, fluffy carpets beneath their feet, and the tall buildings that spiraled up against the sky in architecturally beautiful shapes. Diana was appreciative of the designs that the Capitolites had created, right down to the series of lopsided skyscrapers that, when viewed alone, seemed seriously flawed, but at the right angle, became a giant **'M** '. _Perhaps a T would be more appropriate_. She gave a small sniff. The girl had no need for carpeted floors and air-conditioning. Four already had better carpeting in the form of the sandy beaches that stretched along its banks, and the fresh ocean breeze that brought the taste of salt to Diana's lips each moment.

"Nothing of the sort, dear girl. I merely am a concerned citizen, wondering why you chose not to listen to Odin's advice," the man replied, folding his arms behind his back. She flicked her gaze back toward him, studying him for a moment, seeing the glittering interest behind his gaze, and the calculating way he watched her. There was a reason Octavius was a doctor of science, a reason he won his Games, and a reason he drank far too much in the presence of others. Otto had been born in the wrong district, and thought _her_ people offered him little to alleviate his frustrated mind.

Hippolyta had never forgiven him for jumping into bed with Odin once he emerged victorious.

"I will not be led to a slaughter by some half-faced brute who depends on a coin for advice," Diana answered coolly. "Odin knows Princes are not so easily gotten rid of. He may gain the loyalty of _some_ of my mother's people, but that is pittance in the grand scheme of things." The girl was careful to look pointedly at the victor while choosing her words.

"Nor an unstable criminal out for his own gain," Octavius finished for her. "Clever girl. You're right, you know. You should tell Odin that."

"He shared with you his words he told me on the train; why don't you tell him yourself?" Diana asked, flipping around to face the man properly, her legs crossed on the seat, her head cocked to one side. "What's it like?"

"Hrmm?"

"Living as a shadow," she elaborated. "I only ask because it must be a terrible thing, winning your Games with such particular inventiveness, leaving the warmth of my mother's protection to go running to your victor, and not being appreciated as an equal to the All-Father."

Octavius' face darkened for just a moment. "Choose your next words carefully, Diana Prince, or hold your tongue. You don't know what you speak of."

"If I win these Games, I will treat you as an equal, past indiscretions forgotten. You are a brilliant man, Otto. Your talents in Four are _wasted_ merely preparing our warriors mentally." She watched his face soften slightly and twisted back onto her former position. "I see the diver hasn't graced us with his presence."

There was a long pause.

"It's early yet, Diana," Otto answered, his voice far more amicable than Diana expected, gesturing to the table. "You don't say anything of Odin?"

"Odin does not need to plan his survival like Kaldur Ahm. It is pointless to lay in bed and waste precious hours."

"And tell me: how is _you_ r staring out a window like some lost damsel 'planning'?"

"Like the Sea King, the boy rises," she returned, silently thanking the gods she had turned her face away from the main area, so her flinch of surprise remained unnoticed. "I am no damsel, Kaldur." She turned, watching him drop down on one of the seats at the table, but only moved toward him when Odin appeared from the hallway the bedrooms filtered off from. The pair both pressed a fist against chest in welcome of the All-Father, though while Kaldur bowed low and long, Diana barely tilted, her head remaining upright. A hint of disdain crossed the boy's face as they resumed sitting at the table.

"Do you have a problem, Kaldur?" Octavius asked, Odin immediately reaching for the meat platter centerpiece. The Inhumans had clearly set up breakfast while Diana had been window-watching.

"No problem," he said, as Cobb emerged from the bedrooms. "I just expected the food to be a little better, based on the stories."

" _Better_?" Cobb asked, catching the tail-end of the words, an incredulous look on his face.

"Yes, William, _better_. The fish is much fresher in Four," he stated loftily.

"You have _fish_ all the time," their escort responded, sounding a little exasperated. "Haven't you ever heard of trying something new before you die?"

"I am trying something new," Kaldur said calmly, his voice reminding Diana of the rhythmic waves. "I am _trying_ old, tainted fish."

The rest of the meal passed in relative silence, Diana biting her lip not to laugh and to appear diplomatic at the suspicious way Cobb continued to look at her male counterpart, until he was called away for some escort event planning. Kaldur was alright for a diver, she supposed. _He has his moments,_ she thought, a flicker of disdain crossing her own face as she watched Kaldur nod attentively when Odin gave him some advice for the training of the day.

She wasn't sure what to make of Odin's pointers. She wasn't sure he even _wanted_ one of his tributes to win, though if she were to pick a favorite — not that she had thought about it, or gotten angry about it, or wanted to stab the All-Father with a trident — it was clearly Kaldur. Still, the man would be controlling, in part at least, her life, however short or long it was going to be. It would be in her best interest to appear a competent and loyal tribute. _You never know who's watching_ , she mused, her eyes settling briefly on the downturned face of a background Inhuman. _Not seen, not heard._ Her fist clenched again.

"Since ye were incapable of putting petty differences aside, you should spend the next day or so finding a new alliance," Odin said, his voice quiet and booming all at the same time. It was a voice that _made_ you listen, even if he was no king of yours. "This is not a time for feeling sorry for those hard done by." His gaze lingered on Diana. "Do not feel the need to shepherd the lambs and waste time. Your alliance is your best weapon, and can be your greatest downfall. Choose wisely, as you have not chosen those who were picked for you."

Diana thought about the words as she dressed, mulling over those she had seen the previous day while training. She had been focused on the Career districts, judging their merits and attempting to see their flaws, which could be a hindrance while in the arena, but she definitely recalled some brawny individuals. _Today will be a strategic day_ , she thought, waiting at the elevator for Kaldur to arrive. _Today we will find more appropriate individuals for our stature_.

They were not alone as they stepped into the elevator, already semi-crowded with two pairs of tributes. Diana was almost certain they were Fives and Tens, the latter speaking in what Diana suspected were still-new friendship awkward tones, the former acting as though an invisible, sound-proof barrier existed between them. Kaldur leaned against the glass, Diana following his eyes as they flicked down.

"Are heights a problem?" she asked, not unkindly, her arms folded. The diver let out a sigh and crossed his own arms in response.

"The further up I am, the further the sea is. You wouldn't understand, Prince." She thought there was a bitter taste at the end of his words.

"You may see the ocean again," she said, her words half-empty, because Diana had no intention of letting Kaldur come through it at the expense of her life.

"Aye," he answered, as the elevator reached the corridor to the training center. "In the halls of the drowned gods, maybe." He moved to follow the rest of the tributes when she grabbed his arm in a vice-grip.

"Thank you," she said. "For standing with me last night." He looked back at her, his expression unreadable. Hippolyta had once told her that a true leader's power was not reflected in the might of her army, but in her treatment of those she deemed beneath her, and in giving them the respect they deserved.

"You are Four. And _I_ stand with Four, princess." Kaldur pulled his arm out of her grip and stalked down the corridor. Diana followed half a heartbeat later, feeling sore at his throwaway final word. The training center was already a hive of activity, though not all the tributes were present, and some that _were_ there, were doing very little. Her eyes lingered on the small creature from Two as she sat on one of the chairs by the rest area, her arms crossed, with a look of stubbornness written all over her face.

It was one thing to discreetly observe, but quite another to outright stare, and Diana was aware she would get nowhere by doing the latter. She eyed up the stations for another brief moment, as though deciding where to begin for the day, and then meandered casually over to the archery section with the air of one who knew what they were doing. _Which I do_ , she thought, picking up a barebow from the vast selection Nyssa had to offer.

"You return once more, daughter of Hippolyta," Nyssa stated frankly, as Diana notched an arrow and lifted it to eye level, breathing gently and feeling the synthetic fiber tingle by her finger. She waited until she found a semi-peace with the rhythmic thud of her heart in her ears before loosing the arrow, hearing it _twang_ as it hit its mark.

"A true warrior practices their skills each day," Diana said, picking up another arrow and running it through her fingertips. "Even when they have already perfected it."

"You speak the truth. These words will help your survival. They remind me of the words my father would say to me," Nyssa answered as Diana let another arrow fly and glanced over to the trainer, a small smile on her face.

"It was your father? It was _my_ aunt." The trainer gave a short nod of approval at where the arrows had reached the target and took a step back, giving Diana the space to practice and watch in relative privacy.

The Eleven girl, the one that had tripped, was at the plant section again, as she had been yesterday, and would most likely be for the next three days unless someone pulled her away. Odin's words played in her ears, and she turned her attention away from the lamb. It took strategy to be a leader, and while the redhead's plant knowledge could come in handy, there wasn't enough need of them to be an extra mouth to feed in the Arena.

More arrows left her bow, and she was reminded of the failed meeting from the previous night, with the serpent coiled and ready to attack, and her grip on the bow tightened slightly, until she forced herself to breathe and relax. She wasn't sure how long she loosed the arrows, aware of the presence of another tribute by her side but choosing to ignore them until Nyssa called for arrow collection. Diana's eyebrow rose as she took in the figure striding beside her, her face a picture of concentration.

"Thea," she said curtly, with a short nod. The girl was only young, too young for the Careers, but had talent, Diana gave her that. They pulled the arrows from their respective targets in unison. _Too young for the Careers, and too young for an opinion,_ she thought rather bitterly. Thea had made no move for or against Diana's bid to lead the Quarter Quell's pack. _Careful neutrality is my friend,_ she told herself, holding it to similar esteem as the Curries' and Princes' impasse at home.

"Diana," Thea returned the name with a nod of her own. She opened her mouth again, as though she wanted to add something else, but then closed it after a moment, her face set in a grim line, and returned back to the firing line. _Don't disrupt the peace,_ she told the younger tribute in her head, resuming her surveillance.

Her eyes fell on the boy at the knot-tying station, and, when the next round of collection was called for, she moved toward there, pausing as she reached it until the tribute gestured for her to sit. Diana nodded in acquiescence, sliding gracefully into a cross-legged position, and the boy lifted his head from his studies to acknowledge her.

"Whoa...I mean, hi, I'm—"

"Cisco Ramon, I know who you are," she finished for him. "Are you having trouble with the knots?" She touched her chest. "Diana Prince, District Four."

"I know who you are." There was a long pause, and Cisco looked down at the rope in his hands, his hair partially obscuring his face, but enough that the teen could see the internal struggle of whether to admit a weakness to a potential opponent. "I don't… understand," he said at last. "I mean, I'm from Three. I _build_ things. What's so damn difficult about ropes?"

Diana picked up the sheet that lay before him and studied it for a moment before surveying what Cisco had attempted with his rope. Then, she flashed him what she thought was an encouraging smile and picked up a rope of her own. "Did you try the easy knots first?" She didn't need to hear words to know the answer, as the boy gave her a half-guilty smile. "Let's try a clove knot together and work from there."

She straightened out her foot to use it as a post and looped the rope around it quickly, passing it under and then pulling it taut, so he could see the finished product. Then, she repeated the demonstration slower and more deliberately. "You can finish with a square if you're worried it will loosen in the arena," she added. Cisco gave her a short nod, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration. "Now you try. And prevail."

The other tribute took a deep breath, and then his hands moved in a flurry; Diana thought he had fears he could psych himself out if he moved at a more sedate pace. She flashed him a smile of approval at the surprised look on his face, the knot a perfect replica of her own.

"Whoa," he said again, then loosened the knot and repeated the motions a heartbeat later. Diana liked that he was a fan of muscle memory.

"It is not so different from your electronic tinkering, once you get a feel for it," she ventured, moving on to a more difficult knot, again using her foot as an anchoring point, her fingers confident and sure.

"Mhmm," Cisco murmured with an absent-minded nod, his eyes sharp as they watched her movements, and repeated them with only the briefest hint of hesitation. "I like making things, and taking things apart. See how they work, see how they fit together… See how they can be improved."

They fell quiet in their practice, occasionally mentioning something about the Capitol food, Diana occasionally offering a pointer or a correction, but never speaking about their districts. The girl's heart was not as heavy as Cisco's appeared to be at the idea of leaving his homeland, but she had no desire to bring up her family history and allow her less-than-amicable feelings for Odin be shown to a _Three_.

"I saw you yesterday," Diana finally said, after the skinny young tribute she recognized from the elevator sat down a little ways from them, waving in a slightly sheepish way before fidgeting with his own rope. Cisco glanced up from a particularly tricky variation the teen was demonstrating. "At the electronics. With Schultz." She nodded in the general direction of the station in question. "What were you — successfully — making?"

Electronics were not a big deal in Four. Diana's citizens preferred the light of the sun in the day and the glow of the fires at night to find their way home. Electronics had their uses though, she admitted. Televisions were good, even if it was merely Capitol spit, with occasional glimpses at other districts when livestreams were made. _And the instant hot water they have here is pretty… pleasant_ , she conceded, though it grieved her as she recalled Odin had said on the train it would be something she would enjoy.

"I was making a net," Cisco explained. "Well, not just a net, an electrified net… obviously, since I was at… you know… electronics..." He trailed off rather lamely, but he had Diana's interests piqued.

"A net?" she asked, her face brightening. "That's an excellent weapon of choice." She watched him pale slightly.

"Oh no, I don't think I'd be using it as a weapon. But, uh, maybe as a trap?" Diana nodded along to his words, dropping her rope around her ankle and crossing her arms.

"Yes, indeed, that would work as a trap. You could add in a reef knot to tie the loops together, and use the half-hitch I showed you to pull it together so tributes couldn't escape… Cisco—" Diana broke off, lifting her eyes to the boy and gazing at him intently. Odin's parting words came back to her, like a sensible conscience, and she saw the lamb before her lean ever so slightly away from her.

"Okay, getting a bit of a weird vibe here," he muttered as the silence yawned between them, full of anticipation.

"What say you to an alliance between us in the Games?" Diana finally asked, throwing Odin's words out of her head, stubbornness outweighing logic for the moment.

"Oh. That… umm… wasn't _quite_ where I thought you'd be going with this," Cisco replied, his rope forgotten momentarily. Diana flicked her gaze to the station's trainer, the Hangman looming over the boy from Ten with a rather satisfied look on his face, and then back to her acquaintance.

"I am unfamiliar with the workings of electrics," she elaborated, "and you are not. You are unfamiliar with what must be done when a warrior is called to war, and I am not." She thought that would satisfy any of his questions.

"But, aren't you, like, supposed to be in the 'Pack'?" He made air quotes with his hands on the word 'pack', and dropped his voice to a stage whisper. Diana's lip curled upward in distaste at the word.

"The Pack is being led by a bunch of squabbling infants," she said curtly. "Perhaps you'd like to be part of a newer pack. A better pack. Less… animalistic."

"Oh, like a league?" he suggested, then frowned and took his eyes off her, roving the training center. Diana followed his gaze discreetly to where it found his district partner, and she gave a small frown of her own. From the Reapings she had watched on the train, and the early morning Tanaleer re-runs, Cisco had been a better candidate than his female counterpart.

"I… We… The thing is, we might have this thing, and — don't get me wrong, I'm flattered, I think — but this thing that you and I have, it'll probably get in the way of the other thing. And I can't leave Caitlin alone so, I… I think I'll say no — wait! No, I'll think about… No. I'll say no." For a speech that was so stilted and informal to Diana's ears, she thought it ended very strongly. That was the only nice thing she could think of to say about it, though.

"Oh," she said, pursing her lips and giving him a nod of acceptance. She was not used to people declining offers from her, but she would not tarnish Hippolyta's name by being less than gracious. "I see. That is noble of you to wish to stay by her side, Cisco. I wish you favorable winds and a gentle tide." She clasped her fist against her chest, giving him another nod, and unfolded herself into a standing position gracefully. Cisco, his expression slightly bewildered and confused, placed his fist on his own chest.

"Yeah, you too… favorable tides and all that," she heard him say as she walked away, her gaze roaming the center for a new potential ally.

She stopped at the food table and picked up some fruit, her internal body clock announcing its need for sustenance, noting that the Two girl was still sitting, cross-armed. She peeled the mandarin as she watched the small slip of a thing. She was no lamb; that was easy to tell. _Small,_ she thought. _Gets into hard to reach places._ She popped a segment into her mouth, thoughtful, taking in the anger and resistance in Two's form, aware of someone approaching the table. _Difficult to work with,_ she added. _Not strategic play, nor sympathetic idiocy_. She gave a small nod; Two was out, then.

"You know how to eat the fruit then?" Diana tilted her head sideways toward the words.

"And why would I not know?" she countered smoothly, straightening up to her full height. The lanky male before her was just an inch or so taller, but she was all too aware of her use of 'lanky'; the tribute probably had less muscle mass than the heir to Four. The boy shrugged, snatching a banana.

"Why would a seaside district grow mandarins? More importantly, _how_ would a seaside district grow mandarins? All that… salt, you know," he responded, giving her a small smile as he caught Diana's slightly irritated facial twitch.

"Yes, I know there is salt in Four. We are capable of importing such luxuries, you know," she said, attempting diplomacy. "How do _you_ know how to peel a banana?" The boy's smile widened, and Diana felt the hairs rise on the nape of her neck and her skin tingle uncomfortably.

"That's _right_ , I had nearly forgotten you were a _bona fide_ Capitol rat," he answered, his eyes darting to where the skin around her eye twitched again. "I know because I am not an idiot. And we grow them. _Thief_." The smile was still on his face as he hissed out the last word, taking a bite out of the soft fruit and sauntering away.

"Eleven is out, then," she muttered, finishing the mandarin and dusting off her hands. "Thank the Gods."

She spent the next while floating through different stations, briefly returning to archery and exchanging more words with Nyssa, then circulating to the climbing station. She had seen a few of the tributes racing the previous day, including the young skinny boy from the knots — _Is it Greg? No, what a foolish name_ — but hadn't tried it with so many eyes. Diana's people were not exactly known for their tree-climbing abilities. Only a few, most of them Odin's blood, attempted to climb Yggdrasil, and other trees in the district had little use for grown men and women in their boughs, and tended to break.

It only took her a few failed attempts to realise that Diana Prince, heir to Four, daughter of Hippolyta, was in no way graceful or indeed competent at finding hand- and footholds for vertical running, and with her curiosity satisfied, she moved on to hand-to-hand combat.

Danny Rand was a very chilled trainer, more than happy to leave his tributes to go through the motions themselves once he pointed out their issues. On more than one occasion, as Diana worked through an air-punching and kicking routine, she heard him let out a small sigh and utter the words "so adapt" to whichever person had decided to try their hand at the station. She swirled through each movement until her calves burned and her shoulders ached in a pleasing manner, keeping an eye on the younger female tribute from Five as she placed a few well-aimed uppercuts into the dummy beside Rand, and then stopped. Taking a few deep breaths, she headed over to the pool area, changing out of her clothes and sinking into the water for a moment or two of a break.

The waters were not the same as those at home, too full of chemicals to be considered natural, and the temperature was warm. Diana admitted the latter was nice against her muscles, and floated by the side, keeping one eye out to watch any of the tributes in the waters. It had been fairly full when she had gone to change, but now there was only her district partner, swimming endless lengths, pausing on occasion to converse briefly with the pool's trainer. _Discussing the merits of fresh versus salt water no doubt_ , she mused to herself, letting the time pass.

She glanced away as she saw Kaldur swim towards her, staring up at the ceiling to the eaves. It was a place a tribute could hide for hours, if they didn't want to be spotted. Diana found herself distractedly looking for pairs of eyes lurking in the shadows and nearly jumped as the water swirled around her, and Kaldur leaned against the pool wall beside her.

"You were watching," he said after a few moments, crossing his arms against his chest, leaning his neck back to support his floating body. Diana thought it sounded a little like an accusation.

"Aye. You were alright, for a diver," she conceded, drawing her lips into a small smile as her partner let out a short, low laugh, the tension between them momentarily lost.

"You didn't seem capable of offering me a challenge," he countered, and she gave a sigh.

"I am content to float here a moment, and think on what I have seen today and yesterday." She paused and then glanced towards him, raising an eyebrow. "Besides, your ego would take exception if a tool-maker were to beat a diver while _swimming._ "

"You talk a lot of hot air, Prince." Kaldur pushed himself back off the wall and hauled himself out of the pool. "Though if you _were_ , by some ill-fated luck on my part, to beat me, it would be due to this unnatural liquid they attempt to pass off as water."

"A bad tool-maker..." She trailed off, leaving the rest of the line unspoken, following him out of the water and to the changing area.

"Come," she continued, once they'd dried off and changed back into their attire. "Let us attempt a sparring lesson, and discuss some things." She gestured toward the swords station and walked over to where Duquesne stood, tall and brooding. She heard Kaldur's footfalls behind her, and a short string of mutterings; it appeared as though her partner took offense to her use of the word 'attempt'. She hid another small smile while she picked up one of the wooden swords, giving a nod to another tribute that was at the station already. _Twelve,_ she thought, half-certain, as the graceful, beautiful girl made a few attempts at hitting the dummy, her grip off-form. Duquesne broke off his standing watch and spoke a few words of advice to the girl, who nodded, trying to fix her hand-hold.

Diana turned back to Kaldur, who passed his sword from hand to hand and then whipped it up to the start position when her attention was back on him. Diana copied his movements, one foot in front of the other, her muscles taut beneath the fabric.

There was a pause, and her breath moved in time with his, and then he struck, his hand darting forward in time with his foot, lunging as Diana twisted back and away from the attack, then parried upward with her own sword, the wooden swords clunking dully against each other as they danced sideways. Diana gave him another smile of approval, Kaldur briefly returning it, and the pair kept their movements purposeful after that, each footstep deliberate, ensuring their form was on-point. From the corner of her eye, she watched the Twelve tribute eyeing the pair up, adjusting her grip to a similar one as Diana's.

"Switch hands," Kaldur suggested after a few rounds of parrying and ducking, and the girl nodded, testing the weight of the weapon in her bad hand. Their actions were slower than before; it was never quite the same feeling, having a weapon in the non-dominant hand, but it was a clever idea for Kaldur to suggest. Hands could be severed and, if one were to survive, it would be an advantage to have another sword hand.

The diver lunged forward, Diana sidestepping neatly and arcing the sword down on top of his own. She leaped back just before the two connected, and the pair switched motions fluidly, the girl swiping towards Kaldur's midriff, his sword clattering down against hers and sending vibrations up her arm.

She had thought about leaving Kaldur alone, as they had suggested in an unspoken manner when they first met. Diana recalled the firm handshake, the dark skin rough from work other than training, and the look in his eyes. Yet here they were, twirling in time with each other, a working pair. _A working_ team, she thought, cocking her head to the side, and pausing as the two jumped close together, their swords meeting, faces a foot from each other.

"How went your team hunting?" she asked, and Kaldur took a step back, his expression darkening.

"It didn't," he replied, swinging his sword back into the start position. Diana followed suit after a moment's hesitation.

"What in the Gods names were you doing all day?" she asked as they resumed their techniques, the pace slightly quicker than before. "Swimming?"

"Yes," he said, swinging his blade back against hers.

"So I am to be saddled with the burden of finding alliances?" she asked him, a hint of her earlier frustration with him returning, as she spun around and thrust her sword forward with more force than intended. "I have already been rejected once today. I was _hoping_ for your aid in getting a better understanding of others before casting our lot in with them."

"There will be no 'them'. I will have no part in it," Kaldur answered firmly, his feet sashaying to the side, his movements less like synchronised swimming and having more resemblance to an opponent's.

"I thought we were united. We are Four, Kaldur."

"Aye, we are Four, Diana, and I will stand by you when you walk away from a pack of mongrel dogs," he said, casting a flurry of blows that the girl met with defensive blocks, "but I will not aid your exploitation of the remaining tributes." Diana faltered in her stance, and one of Kaldur's hits landed against her shoulder, connecting with the stitched '4' on the sleeve. She staggered sideways, keeping her footing, and straightened up, eying her partner.

"Exploitation?" she asked, a hint of bile rising in her throat at the words. "I will not be _using_ or _exploiting_ anyone, Kaldur Ahm." She surged forward, her sword connecting with his along the shaft, and this time, it was she who kept the blows coming quick and fast, Kaldur's weapon weaving its way through the air in matched pace. "Alliances keep people _safe_. It is the honorable thing to do, _diver_."

The broad man stiffened at her words, sidestepping and attempting an arc as they had practiced, only he wasn't aiming for the blade but toward Diana's grip. She danced away, her body low to the ground, and side-swiped him, the wood connecting with his side, and causing an involuntary 'oomph'. He retreated back from her, the pair circling, Diana breathing heavily, hearing Kaldur's in similar time.

"Honor?" he asked, releasing an outward snort of disdain. "Of course a _Prince_ would think there is honor in alliances. You are channelling the royalty of old with your archaic thoughts; where is _honor_ , when you will end up stabbing your alliance in the back?" Kaldur made a sweeping bow, keeping his eyes up, and so he was not caught unawares when Diana lunged toward him, and he knocked her stab to the side, retaliating with one of her own.

"What do you know about honor, you sorry excuse for a diver?" she growled, her voice rising with her temper, as she gritted her teeth. She retreated back into a circle as Kaldur swiped, hissing as the wood glanced off her arm.

"I know more than _you_ ," he retaliated, his voice booming like the sea, rolling towards her and around the training center the way the All-Father's did at home. " _You_ , bowing down for Thanos."

"You have no loyalty. _Where is your loyalty to your Sea? WHERE IS YOUR LOYALTY TO ARTHUR?_ " The last words were bellowed out, from the depths of her body that Diana didn't know existed, and the two leaped for one another, their weapons crossing, their faces a foot apart once more. "I would spit on you, for your fragile ties to your king are so frail you turn to Odin." _Like Otto_ , she thought bitterly, glaring at the dark depths of Kaldur's own slitted look. _Like them all_.

"Better a loyalty to Odin than a loyalty to the Capitol and its pointless Games, _princess_ ," Kaldur hissed back to her.

"You should not have swum in that pool, diver; you've lost your salt and all the valor that goes with it," she returned, giving him a pointed sniff. Kaldur's eyes widened, as though she'd physically wounded him, and his sword arm snapped back, ready to slam into her with the might of the ocean. Diana's heart froze, knowing there was no room to maneuver, and she braced herself.

"Enough." Duquesne grip encircled her partner's arm as he moved the sword toward her. Kaldur stopped, though the girl thought it was more to do with shock at the strength behind the older man's arm than anything else. "Leave my station." Diana set her jaw, and the other tribute mirrored her look, releasing the sword and letting it clatter to the ground. He swung away and stalked off without another word. Diana watched him go, catching Duquesne doing the same. The man had the slightest hint of a smile watching the retreating form of her partner. She felt a hint of unity for Kaldur rise up from beneath the rage and anger; she had seen that look on people's faces before, when they saw a prize within arm's reach.

She inwardly cursed the ingrained protectiveness of Four's citizens and squashed the unity away as Duquesne turned back to his station, but not before taking the sword from Diana's grip as well.

 _Fine. I shall hit something in a different way._

She stalked away from the swords towards weight lifting, pausing as she took in the rest of the training center for the first time since the pool. Conversations had resumed, but they were stilted and forced. Her heart sank a little. Diana had prided herself on being a voice of stubborn reason; Hippolyta would have been disappointed in her actions.

The boy from Five that had shared her elevator was at the lifting station too as Diana picked up one of the medium-weighted sandbags and flung it forward, the bag landing heavily on the mat. The girl repeated the action, gritting her teeth together as the bag initially was thrown farther, fuelled by her anger over the outburst, and then, slowly, the distance was reduced as her shoulders reminded her of her hand-to-hand and archery enterprises earlier in the day. Where Kaldur's weapon had connected with her upper arm ached, but it was no worse than the injured pride she felt when she thought about her failures as a leader.

"Say, you might want to rock back on your heels, miss," the boy offered suddenly beside her, making Diana jump and the bag drop in front of her. "When you're tired like that, you ain't gonna get much power in the toes." The girl glanced over to him, and he gave a small demonstration, which she copied after a moment, feeling the extra surge of power through her thighs.

"Thank you," she said stiffly. "My mind is elsewhere."

"That's what my Ma says when she's thinking about something that troubled her earlier on." He gave her a half-smile as he lifted his own, substantially heavier bag, carried it a few paces, set it down, and then repeated the move. "Talking about it helps, she says."

"Your mother is a wise woman," Diana said, heaving the sandbag forward. "But I don't think words are necessary to describe why my mind is adrift."

"Yup," he responded simply, giving her another easy smile. "I'm Clark, by the way. Clark Kent."

"Diana. Diana Prince."

"Ah, so not 'Princess' then?" he asked, holding up his hands as she flashed him a glare, her anger still bubbling underneath the surface. "Well, I think it's mighty fine to meet you, Diana Prince. Now, do you want to talk, or do you want to throw things?"

Diana hesitated for a heartbeat, then picked up the bag.

"I want to throw things. And then maybe talk."


	25. Chapter 24: Neon Gods

**(A/N): Happy Tuesday, everyone. We're back with another update. This time, we're featuring the lovely Silmarilz1701 with Angela Hawkins III on the second night after training.**

 **Thank you to our writers who reviewed the latest chapter. We love reading how much you're enjoying this ride. ;) And thanks to Just a Crazy-Man as well as Slim Summers2002 for their reviews. We, too, really enjoyed that Diana-Kaldur fight ;)**

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 **Chapter Twenty-Four - Neon Gods**

 **Evening Two**

 **Angela Hawkins III of District Six**

 **Written by Silmarilz1701**

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 _"Having art that's shiny and has neon lights is almost what you need for anyone to notice it."_

 _Jim Shaw_

 _"And the people bowed and prayed_

 _To the neon god they made" - The Sound of Silence,_ Paul Simon

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Thunder claps rocked the compound the tributes stayed in. Pouring rain played music on the roof and windows, and Angela looked out into the dark at the myriad of lights of the Capitol. There were neon signs for shoe stores, designer bags, the theatre, hover taxis, and television outlets, each competing with the other over which was grander. Angela's suite was high in the air, and the windows were locked with special codes only the Games staff knew. Far below, she watched as cars made their way to something stupid from nothing at all.

She knew her stylist, Alison, was probably out on the town, hanging with the stylist from Two, Megan Gwynn, and Alison's stylist boyfriend, Warren. All through their interactions, she'd heard about the other stylists, their lives as celebrities. Alison, Megan, and Warren were well-known as having worked on the Games for years now, despite their relative youth.

What even was a celebrity in the bright Capitol of Marvel? Was it the most outlandish? The smartest? _Definitely not_. Was it perhaps the richest? Angela looked down at the street below. Street lights illuminated puddles of rainwater, reflecting in the pools. Few Capitolites moved on the streets, probably worried dearly about their latest hairstyles. She didn't know if rain was capable of dampening the Capitol, but she bet if anything could, it was rain.

The closest neon sign shone with blue and silver lights, blinking in patterns. She read off the word ' **Attilan** '. She wondered what it was. Angela wished she were here under better circumstances; she wanted to explore.

Moving away from the window, she turned back to her task of getting dressed. She had been standing in the window wearing nothing but her undergarments: black, lacy things gifted to her by the stylists. She found them odd, but not uncomfortable. As her toes sank into the fluffy red rug beneath her feet, she tried to decide what to wear tonight. She'd taken a cool, refreshing shower after twelve hours of training and now was ready to socialize.

Her closet was to the left of her bed as she looked at it. She was loathe to leave the large, circular, red rug. Angela was torn between wanting to lay down, half-dressed on her bed, where she could listen to the rain, or completing her seemingly simple task so she could go to work on the tributes. Angela was already exhausted physically from her second full day of training. Yet her mind screamed and screamed at her to go where people were. Her one fear was loneliness, something she had found abundant in the Capitol, despite being surrounded by children her age.

In the end, her fearful mind won out; Angela moved to her closet and opened the doors with a flourish. From the selection, she decided to wear black shorts and a delicate green top that flowed whenever she moved. Just teasing enough to hopefully catch some of the boys off-guard. One was on her mind in particular: a boy called Jack.

Three years older than her, and a complete jackass, he was going to be an asset in the Games… if she could weasel her way into his plans. It was going to be a challenge, even for her. After all, he had a crazy bitch in Harleen Quinzel. Not that he needed one; he was crazy enough himself, if the stories of his exploits were even half true. And she could say that; she had been in a gang herself. But his… his was beyond even Crossbones' fury.

Angela took the elevator to the common room, irritated with the crappy music it played to pass the time. By the end of her journey, she was ready to punch something. Her prayers were answered as the doors finally inched apart, letting her off the elevator. With a deep breath, she prepared to get to work.

As she made her way down the hall in her small heels, she listened in for what she was going to find. Besides the click of her own shoes, she singled out Harley's loud voice easily, mostly by her occasional psychotic laugh. Beyond that, she heard Helena and Dick laughing as well, the siblings from Seven. They were harder to pick out, but as soon as she turned the corner into the large room, she found Dick at least raucously having fun at the small gaming table and teasing his sister mercilessly.

The room they were allowed to socialize in this second evening was very large, to accommodate all twenty-four tributes. The far, long wall was made entirely of windows so that even here, away from the quiet, lonely room she'd come from, the teasing neon lights were still visible beyond the crazy rain. As she stood at the door, she noticed that most of the tributes were already there. Directly in front of her was a massive wooden table, seating ten, that currently held Kaldur, Cisco, and Caitlin at one end, and Kara, Diana, and Clark on the farther side. Behind the table was a small, secluded chair currently occupied by Pamela Isley.

Angela moved farther into the room, having no interest in sitting at the massive table just yet. She passed Kara Danvers, and the girl glanced her way but said nothing. Angela did the same, flashing her a false smile. To her left, as she walked, was one of the two televisions in the room. Both played only Avenger Games coverage, and this one was on low volume. Sitting on the couch, backs to her, were the two people she was most intrigued by after Jack Hamill: Jervis Tetch and Jonathan Crane. She would be sure to visit them tonight. But not just yet.

"Hello." Angela smiled at the two people before her. Dick Grayson had finally recovered from whatever had made him so joyful. They both looked at her in surprise and apprehension as Angela shot them a small smirk. She continued, "You two look like you're having fun."

Dick flashed her a tiny smile. "Yeah. You ever played checkers?"

"You know, not until yesterday." Angela sat down at the stool close to her next to both the siblings. "Someone taught me to play."

"Really?" Helena was slightly less interested in having Angela near them but was cordial nonetheless as she surveyed the board and determined her next move. "Who?"

"The girl from twelve. Kory Anders." Angela didn't miss the small, envious glance that Dick flashed her way at the mention of the super-attractive Kory.

Her initial suspicions were confirmed. She had seen Dick watching Kory that day during training. The tree climbing station, was it? She couldn't remember. All she did know was that Dick had looked very intrigued. And the prolonged staring he was sending Kory now was all too easy for her.

"She's interesting," Angela told them. Suddenly, she decided to try something. "I watched her Reaping, of course. That tribute to last year's girl was a nice gesture, but risky. She's basically just another Kate Bishop now in the eyes of the Capitol."

"She's more than some Kate Bishop clone," Dick said without much passion, perhaps too little, but definitely too fast. He pretended to be intently watching the board as Helena made her move.

"Better be careful around her, I'm sure. Remember all those psycho redheads last year?" Angela laughed, pleased with her joke. "She might turn out to be another Sinthea Schmidt or Natasha Romanoff."

Helena glanced at Dick before turning to Angela. "She's nice, not at all like them."

"Yeah, you're probably right." Angela looked over at Kory. "She certainly does know how to dress."

Dick was about to object, but Helena cut him off. "Says the fifteen-year-old wearing heels and short shorts."

"Touché." Angela let out a genuine laugh. "Well, I'll leave you two to your game." As she stood to leave them alone, she used one of Helena's pieces to jump over two of the distracted Dick's pieces. He looked at her in surprise. "Crown me. Or her."

Angela left Dick arguing with Helena over what was fair and what wasn't. But she had things to do, people to see. Dick Grayson was too easy for her; she wanted to play with someone worth slowly destroying.

Her real mission here was two-fold. She wanted to impress Jervis and Jonathan _and_ weasel her way into Jack's plans.

As she looked around the room, she knew the easiest thing would be to talk to the two boys at the TV closest to her, but something other than food drew her to the kitchenette. Three people, to be specific. There were the two girls, Kory and Raven, and the boy, Garfield. Despite what she'd said to Dick, the most intriguing girl she'd seen so far was Raven.

* * *

 _Day one of training was a rude awakening for Angela Hawkins the Third. She was deposited in the massive indoor training complex alongside the twenty-three other tributes, her eyes wide and hunger written all over her face. She came out of training that day exhausted, drained, and altogether discouraged. But she knew the real game was to start that evening. The game of strategy, of mental prowess, was much more important to her than trying to impress the tributes through physical means._

 _She was playing a delicate game, a game of misdirection. She needed to impress the Capitolites, which was to be the easiest task, but also the other tributes. She was not strong enough to survive on her own, and her true strength came from manipulating others._

 _As she sat in the common room for that first evening, she couldn't help but observe the tributes as they entered. One girl, a thirteen year old tribute named Rachel, caught her eye. She decided to start with her._

 _"Rachel, right?" Angela stood and walked toward where the girl was heading. "From Nine?"_

 _"Raven," she corrected her. "You are?"_

 _"Angela, from Six." She left out the rest of her name._

 _"Right." Raven turned away._

 _But Angela continued, "You're pretty small. You can't be older than twelve."_

 _Raven rolled her eyes and sat down on a chair. "I'm thirteen."_

 _"So, why do you think they chose you?" Angela sat down opposite Raven. The two girls were some of the only tributes present thus far. "I mean, why would a victor choose someone so tiny?"_

 _"I don't really care," Raven replied._

 _Angela noticed Raven's demeanor as someone trying to hide something. Or control something. But what was it? Why did Raven feel the need to control herself? Angela knew she'd need to do some research._

* * *

And so she had. What she discovered was better than anything she'd hoped for.

* * *

 _She knocked three times. Angela wasn't sure whether or not he would answer, but it was worth trying. She had questions, and she figured Big Red would have answers. When his door swung open, and his perpetually glaring face appeared, she smiled._

 _"What do you want, child?" He stood tall, at least a foot and a half above her. Yet she was not intimidated. She did not fear men._

 _"I need information on one Rachel Roth," Angela explained with a smile._

 _The Red Skull cocked an eyebrow. "You should be focusing on your strength training! Words will not help you."_

 _"If you thought words weak, why pick me?" Angela smirked at him and walked into his living quarters. "Now, shall we begin?"_

 _"Do not talk to me like some other tribute." He leaned forward and pushed her into a seat. "I am a victor. I am your path to victory. And victory is life."_

 _"Believe me_ — _" She nodded fiercely. "_ — _I know. I will survive. I will succeed where Sin failed."_

 _Red Skull actually flashed her a tiny smile, shocking Angela._ So he likes to be reminded of the failures of his daughter. Interesting.

 _"I always told her it was foolish to try." He leaned back, sitting in a chair opposite Angela. "Sinthea was weak. She failed from the beginning."_

 _Angela decided to try flattery. "Sir, you tried your best with her. There was nothing you could have done. Sinthea was simply helpless from the beginning. Not like you in your Games." She nearly choked on her defilement of Sin's name, but she had to win here and now. Sinthea was gone, and she wasn't coming back._

 _"What was it you needed my assistance with?" he asked soon enough, once he was done fawning over his own ego._

 _"There's this girl. Her name is Rachel Roth." Angela paused for emphasis. "What is she hiding?"_

* * *

Trigon, Raven's father, was a dark spot in her life. He was imprisoned for domestic violence and murder. And the murder was of one Angela Roth, Raven's mother.

Angela decided it was time to really get to work. She moved towards the three tributes who were busy eating in the kitchen area. Her small heels clicked on the tile floor when she approached them, betraying her presence. All three looked up.

"Hello, Angela." Gar smiled widely. "What are you up to?"

 _Oh, Garfield. Ever so innocent,_ she thought. "Not much; just trying to get to know people better."

He insisted she join them. Angela had met Gar in training that morning, when both were at the swimming station. He was nice. Too nice.

"So, what do you think of the Capitol?" Angela asked Kory, Raven, and Gar.

"Stuffy," Gar complained loudly.

Angela chuckled. "Well, I suppose to a farm boy, it would be. Are you scared of going into the Games?" She didn't miss the apprehensive looks that Raven and Kory both had written all over their faces.

Gar shrugged. "I don't know. I guess."

"He'll be fine," Kory butted in.

Angela smirked. _Finally, a reaction._ "Only one of us will be fine."

"Maybe that'll be Gar," Raven added.

Angela allowed a small, fake smile to form on her lips. "Of course, Gar. I didn't mean anything by it."

He shrugged. "It's probably not going to be me; you weren't wrong."

Raven reached out and placed her hand on his arm. Angela immediately was curious. The simple touch seemed to hold a lot of emotion, something Raven was definitely not known for. Could it be that she cared for Garfield Logan?

"So, Kory, I managed to beat Dick in checkers." Angela smiled wide at Kory. "Thanks for that!"

"Oh, yeah?" Kory sent Dick a flirtatious glance as she spoke.

Angela couldn't tell if Kory was playing a game with Dick or sincerely had feelings. She guessed it was the former. A girl as attractive as Kory likely had boys pursuing her all the time. Angela knew it was that way back in Six; she had experienced it. As a girl of almost sixteen, she'd used her body more often than perhaps she was proud of to get her way.

"He's certainly a character," Angela added, looking back at Dick and catching his eye. She saw him blush at being caught staring the girls' way. "Why you would associate with him though, I don't know. You could do so much better."

"Who says I like him?" Kory objected. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't."

Raven was the picture of calm, except for her eyes. Angela glanced at her and saw a deep-seeded anger with what Angela was doing. She nearly laughed.

"Calm down, Birdie." Angela chuckled at her. "Your eyes might pop out, or you might attack someone."

Raven rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the warning, angel."

"I'm surprised you keep a lid on your anger so well," she continued. "I mean, you must have a lot of anger after what your father did to your mother. How horrible! And to be released on the day of the Reaping." She shook her head.

Raven froze, her arms dropping to her sides. _Victory._ That had garnered a reaction! Angela held back her smile, playing the part of perfect, caring tribute.

"What happened?" Gar asked Raven quickly. "Are you okay?"

"Nothing," she seethed. "Nothing happened."

Angela shrugged. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. But it might be healthy for you." She sighed. "Well, I've got others to talk to. I'll see you later, I hope?"

"Sure," Gar nodded.

It was Harley's laugh that drew Angela towards them next. Now, her true mission could begin. Jack sat on a large, reddish-brown leather armchair that faced the entire room. He filled the whole chair, looking entirely done with the whole matter. He twirled a pencil in one hand and looked furious at nothing in particular.

"Hey, Jack." She pursed her lips and approached him slowly, flaunting her looks ever so slightly. "Aren't you tired of all this bullshit?"

Jack looked over at her. "Hello, hello, babydoll. You certainly clean up nice."

They'd first met in training the day before, and since then occasionally sparred with words. To be honest, though, most of the word-fights had been with Harleen Quinzel. Angela found Harley to be the biggest threat in the bunch. She was dangerous: incredibly smart and all but insane. There was very little likelihood of winning with Harley. And she had her claws in Jack.

Harley met her gaze, and both girls knew the other was a threat. Harley leaned over and whispered something to Jack.

"Get off me, Harley," he barked at her, pushing the girl off.

Harley sneered his way and put on a calculating smile. "Fine by me. Plenty of boys that want to play with me." She looked Angela up and down and let out a little giggle of pure amusement that only got more obnoxious and more genuine as she walked away. She was laughing hard enough to herself that she had to stop and rest one hand on Clark's shoulder for support before she recovered and then pranced happily over in the direction of Pamela Isley, who sat in the corner reading a book. Angela turned her attention back to Jack.

"So, Jack, I can see your gears turning." She grabbed a chair from the nearby table and pulled it over. Tilting her head to the side, she continued, "You and your posse ready for war yet?"

He was only half paying attention to Angela, the other half of his brain working as he observed all the tributes in the room. "Don't try to get in my head, girl."

She smiled and let out a short laugh. "Oh, Jack. I'm in everyone's head."

Angela watched him as his eyes were trained on Harley. The blonde girl had said 'hi' to Pamela only to switch into bouncing from Clark to Dick, playing around with them and flirting like even Angela couldn't do. She felt bitterness creeping up into her heart as she watched the girl. Her eyes glossed over as she began to feel a familiar chill grab her. She felt alone, alone among all the other children. She knew she had to snap out of it.

"You wanna know something?" Angela leaned over and spoke quietly to Jack. "I have information."

"What kind of information?" Jack rolled his eyes at her.

She narrowed her own. "The kind to bring down that little group of children over there." Perhaps an overstatement, but she didn't care. She used her head to gesture towards the trio in the kitchenette. "Anyone with any clue can tell they are getting… close."

Jack watched as Harley began speaking to Gar, calling out to the boy from Ten from where she was flirting with the older boys, and he gripped the arms of his chair tightly. "Go on."

She leaned in closer and told him all about Raven and her parentage, her little secret she was hiding from her friends. The corners of Jack's mouth lifted ever so slightly as he listened. Suddenly, though, he snapped out of his quiet watchfulness when Harley took things a bit too far with her flirting.

"Harley!" he barked at her angrily.

Angela snuck away, leaving from the shadows to speak to her next target. She wanted no part of Harley right now. That was a battle she couldn't win. Not yet, anyway. Not with Jack around.

She thought about approaching the close end of the large table, but she knew she would have a difficult time navigating the three who sat there. Diana would be a fun victim, but Angela would need to be alone with her for it to work. Kara and Clark... they were a curious pair. Angela got the sense that there was some bitterness between them, yet they played cordial enough when surrounded by the others. She needed more time to assess them.

One unknown was the Eleven girl, Pamela Isley. The girl was sitting in the corner of the room against the wall of windows, a book in her hands but her eyes staring off into the Capitol. Angela had to admit: her stylist had done wonderful work on the girl. Especially for the parade, Pamela Isley had looked tremendous.

Angela walked slowly over to where the girl sat. Pamela didn't react at first. The thing that surprised Angela the most was how calm the girl was. She was calm and distant. Even Harley didn't rattle her.

"Quite a view." Angela spoke softly, deciding on a different approach with Pamela. "All those neon lights."

"Yeah," Pamela agreed, though she seemed as distant as ever despite the conversation. "It's different."

"Different good?" Angela asked. "Or different bad?"

Pamela looked back at her at last. "I don't know yet."

With a slight smile, she turned on her caring voice. "It must be hard, coming here."

The other girl looked confused. "No harder than for anyone else."

"There aren't any plants here," Angela continued. "It's all wires and metal. I've seen the way you look at plants. Little green shoots without hope."

Angela saw no change in the girl. It was beyond frustrating, but she kept herself cool. Someday, Pamela would break for her.

"Well. I'll leave you then." Angela tossed her hair and wandered to the big table as Pamela went back to her book.

She turned from the redhead and looked around the room. The TVs were still showing Games coverage, mostly celebrities in the city talking about their favorite tributes from the parade, or the crazy exploits of the stylists this year. She turned from the electronics and back to the people around her. Her eyes fell on a pair sitting nearby. Cisco and Caitlin, if she remembered correctly. Tributes from Three, friends already.

 _Might be fun,_ she thought.

"You two look…um... good?" Angela cocked her head slightly to the side.

Cisco was fiddling with a small spoon, and a small plate sat in between him and Caitlin. Her own spoon, covered in chocolate icing, was on the plate as well.

"Thanks," Cisco nodded. He stopped flipping the spoon around and licked it once again. "You should try the chocolate cake, Angela. It's good."

"Might." She shrugged. "What'd you think of it, Frosty?"

Caitlin glared at the nickname. "It was fine. Better than anything back in Three."

"Three…" Angela nodded, leaning against the wall. "What was Three like, I wonder?"

"Fine," was all they responded with.

She smirked. "Keep your secrets. Don't mind me."

She walked a few paces away, toward the door. She found herself catching the eye of Kaldur Ahm. Kaldur was a strange one. Angela had seen him in the swimming pool; he was brilliant at it, a complete natural.

"Find something you like?" She strutted forward and winked.

Kaldur's eyebrows went up. "Quite the contrary. You're as slippery as an eel."

She was silenced at first, taken aback, and put her hands on her hips. "Better watch out for this eel, fish-boy."

Kaldur shook his head and turned back to the room and his glass of ice water to observe in silence. Angela wished she had a knife. She was deadly with one of those... but it would have to wait for the Games.

She was about ready to leave for the night, get a good rest before the next day's training, but she found Jonathan staring at her. She wandered toward him and knelt beside the edge of the couch, smiling at him.

"What are you up to, Jonathan?" Angela smirked at him.

"Plans." He grinned widely. "Lots of plans."

"Keep me in 'em." With a wink, Angela stood from the ground.

Jervis and Jonathan both were eager to begin the Games, or at least, that's what she thought. All throughout training, she had watched as the two of them studied venom and its uses. She even joined them once or twice. Besides tracker jackers, snakes, and other types of venom, though, she'd also studied the various hallucinogenic plants. She figured it might come in handy.

Angela looked out the window as she stood in the doorway. The rain was lighter now than before, but thunder and lightning still shook the building. Angela sighed as she looked one last time upon those in the room before turning and taking the elevator up to her suite.

Her mind began drifting. Tomorrow, unbeknownst to the other tributes, was her sixteenth birthday. Birthdays were something she only ever celebrated with Crossbones back home, and even then, he only would give her an extra job to celebrate. Angela couldn't help but wonder what life would've been like had she not broken her family.

 _Nothing would've changed,_ she thought. _Those idiots were too busy worrying about each other to care for me._

Angela slowed to a snail's pace as she entered her bedroom. Her eyes drifted from the bed to the windows, and slowly, she was drawn to them. Outside the neon gods of the Capitol were spinning webs of lies and propaganda, a web she would soon have to negotiate with the interviews, the sponsors, and the Gamemakers. As she looked out, she saw the glittering wonder of the Capitol.

But on top of that, the reflection of herself in the glass was what fascinated her most. She was just a girl, an almost sixteen year old girl, with a brain and a mouth to go with it. She found herself loving the new green irises her stylist had given her, and in the reflection, they sparkled just like the neon lights.

 _Capitolites might think they are gods to us,_ she thought to herself. _But I will reach them, those neon gods. I will join them._


	26. Chapter 25: More in Common

**(A/N): Here we are with our Friday update! This time, we have the lovely and talented Ophelia Claire... writing the lovely and talented Kara Danvers!**

 **Thank you as ever to the writers who reviewed. That support is so important for everyone involved, and we appreciate it. Thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for your review; we can't wait to see how your favorites progress with the story! :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Five - More in Common**

 **Training Day Three**

 **Kara Danvers of District Five**

 **Written by Ophelia Claire**

* * *

" _The best way to find out if you trust somebody is to trust them."_

-Ernest Hemingway

" _My mother was a genius; my father commanded respect. When they died, they left no instructions, just a legacy to protect."_

-Aaron Burr, _Hamilton_

* * *

Kara woke when sunlight began flooding her room. She always had — something about it just energized her for the coming day. It shone across the sprawling Capitol, turning windows to gold and casting a warm puddle on her bed. She stretched and sprawled out like a basking cat, trying to feel the warmth on as much of her body as possible. She winced slightly as her bruised hip sank into the mattress, a product of yesterday's training session.

* * *

 _Kara climbed higher and higher into the fake tree. If she glanced down at Greer for approval on hand placement, she was met with a shake of orange hair and "I won't be there to hold your hand in the arena, Five."_

 _Kara liked being right_ — _and being_ told _she was right_ — _so the striped woman's words stung just a little bit._

 _And as much as Kara hated to admit it, she was struggling a little with tree-climbing. Mar-Vell hadn't focused as much on it, and she'd never had the need before._

 _One of the green-haired boys_ — _not the creepy one, the friendly one_ — _was scrambling up and down a few trees over. The boy was practically a monkey. As Kara watched him, she reached the topmost branches of the tree and began her descent. Things went well until she was about ten feet from the ground. She glanced to her right, and the girl she'd sparred with, the unsettling girl from Six, was heading up._

 _Something about the girl was extraordinarily off-putting. Maybe she had felt Kara watching her, because she glanced over and gave Kara a nasty look. Kara shivered, misplaced her foot and slipped out of the tree, falling the remaining few feet and landing awkwardly on the spot halfway between her behind and her hip._

 _Fortunately, not much else was bruised, except her pride. Someone in the line snickered_ — _Kara didn't see who_ — _and she climbed to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster before heading off to find a new station._

* * *

Kara glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. It was quarter to nine, and the smells of breakfast were starting to drift through her door, making her stomach growl. She dressed quickly in a set of the athletic clothes she'd been provided and hurried out to take her seat at the long table in the central living area of their floor.

She was the first one out. The only other people up were the Inhumans setting out the plates of food at the table. Kara was trying not to get used to the larger portions and rich food, knowing that her meals in the arena would be far less filling or frequent. At the same time, though, it would be good to bulk up a little bit — it could give her an extra day if food got scarce. There was a delicate balance.

Kara loaded a plate with scrambled eggs, flaky biscuits, and fruit slices. She poured a glass of orange juice, and as she sat down, Peter Quill emerged from his room.

"Morning, Kara," he said. "Training going well?"

"As well as it can, I guess," Kara said. "I'm not having too much trouble with most of the stations."

Quill was heaping a plate with eggs, bacon, and toast. "Make any friends yet? If you want to form an alliance, I have to talk with the other tributes' mentors, so I need to know."

Kara shrugged. "No one has really stood out to me. Maybe the Fours, even though they're probably going to be with the Careers. They seem talented. And…sane. Maybe I can get in with them."

Quill nodded approvingly. "See if you can find a few options today. I get that you kind of like doing things on your own, but anyone can benefit from an alliance."

Kara nodded as her cousin and their escort Michael emerged almost simultaneously from their respective quarters. Barnett was dressed in a stylishly cut dusty blue suit, and his perfectly coiffed hair was the same shade. Clark wore training clothes, like Kara.

"Morning, Clark," Kara said quietly as he sat down near her. The two of them had had been spending their evenings trying to mend their shattered family relationship, and the air between them was awkward, but this morning more amiable than it had been for ten years.

The first few conversations had been Kara putting it all on the table — everything her parents had told her and the way that her views had been altered over the years. Clark had listened and shared his side of things — alienated and not knowing why. Both cousins realized very quickly that things were not as they seemed, and though they were smart, they shared a stubborn streak a mile wide.

Last night's conversation had been a bit different.

* * *

 _Kara finished her shower, toweled off her hair, and dressed in soft, comfortable clothes before wandering out into the common area. Clark was lounging in the wide window seat, gazing out through the floor-to-ceiling glass onto the streets of the Capitol. Being on the fifth floor, they could see down to the street pretty well, and though she knew that they were celebrating the upcoming death battle, Kara actually somewhat enjoyed watching the multicolored Capitolites and their street revels._

 _Clark was dangling his El crest pendant from his fingers, watching the setting sun set the gold aflame. Kara came over and sat across from him._

" _Did you know my name isn't officially Clark?" Clark said after a minute or so._

 _Kara looked at him. "Really?"_

 _Clark nodded. "I mean, it's what Ma and Pa called me for as long as I can remember, but Ma showed me my birth certificate last year when I turned 16. My birth name was Kal. Kal El." He twirled the leather cord of his necklace between his fingers, and the gold diamond spun, sending little sparkles flying across the walls. "I guess there's a whole box of papers and stuff that Ma's got tucked away somewhere about my family. Our family, I mean_ — _the Els. What were they like?"_

 _Kara was taken aback by such a direct question. "Um…" Kara realized that she actually didn't know much besides what her parents had told her. "Proud," she decided. "Proud to a fault. Myself included," she added._

 _Clark laughed, and some of the tension dissolved. "Well, I gathered_ that _."_

" _My parents loved me, but they also cared a lot about their work and their legacy. We've always been in public service_ — _lawyers and scientists and researchers and positions like that. My dad's parents_ — _your grandparents too_ — _were the same way." Kara studied Clark for a moment. "I met them once, when I was little. You look like him_ — _Grandpa Jor, Jor Sr. Same hair," she said, reaching over and flicking the cowlick that hung over Clark's forehead. "I got my hair from Mom's side. Never met them, though."_

 _Clark swung his pendant. "And this? Ma and Pa told me it was a family crest or something."_

 _Kara nodded. "It's the crest of the House of El. Obviously, we don't have a noble house anymore, but it's still a big part of our family. It means a few things…'stronger together' is one of the biggest ones. And 'hope.'"_

" _Well, I think both of those are important to remember in the next few days," Clark said quietly. He clasped the golden charm and looked her in the eyes. "Stronger together?"_

" _Stronger together," Kara agreed. They were silent for a few minutes until Clark scoffed slightly._

" _How long do you think it'll be until Capitolites start putting it on their clothes?" he asked, a bit of distaste in his voice. "I mean, Quill won four years ago, and that little leafy thing from his costume is still all over their clothes, and they certainly didn't try to hide it on our costumes."_

 _Kara remembered the way the stylists had clamored excitedly when she and Clark had arrived in the prep centers sporting matching pendants. "Did they try and do anything dumb with your costume? My stylist tried to have me in a tiny crop top and skirt that did NOT cover enough. Wore him down, though."_

" _I almost had these ridiculous red briefs on the outside of my costume," Clark said._

 _Kara snorted at the mental image. "I think you're a little old to be wearing underpants on the outside."_

* * *

"Clark, anyone in mind for allies in the arena?" Quill was asking as Clark filled his plate. "Kara's looking at the Four tributes as a possibility."

"Uh… yeah, Diana and I were talking a bit yesterday, actually. She seems like a trustworthy ally."

Quill nodded. "Good to see that the two of you think alike. Try and cement some ideas during training today and tomorrow — you won't have much time to talk with other tributes after that." Kara and Clark nodded together.

The four of them were mostly silent through breakfast, with Barnett throwing out the odd comment about sponsors or costumes and the rest of them responding briefly. Kara greatly appreciated that he seemed much more down-to-earth than many of the other escorts and didn't try and force an overly bright and cheery atmosphere on them.

Kara ad Clark milled around their quarters until around quarter to ten or so before calling the elevator to their floor. One other young man was already in the glass capsule when it arrived — Kara was fairly certain it was the boy from Twelve. His redhead partner was absent, but there was still time. She might have already been down in the training center too. The Twelve boy (Jake? No, John) nodded at the cousins as the doors hissed shut, and they continued downward, passing below street level into the vast underground training complex.

Some of the tributes were already there, milling about while they waited for the okay to begin training. Most of the trainers were just finishing setting up their stations — loading sword racks and mounting targets — and Kara used the time to gaze around, deciding which stations to visit. She and Clark had initially just avoided each other in general, but after talking, they realized it would be beneficial to stay split up and work on their own strengths, rather than stick together and waste time at stations one might not need as much as the other.

Kara eyed the plants station. Mar-Vell had done a very brief overview of some common plants one day, but Kara knew that there would definitely be new ones in the arena.

 _And…hmmm…today might be a crafty day_ , she thought. _Camouflage, fishing, shelters…_

The large digital clock on the wall switched to 10:00, and the tributes dispersed. Kara made for the plants station, but a voice called her name from behind her.

"Kara." It was the Four girl, Diana. Kara turned. "Spar with me? There are matters I would discuss with you."

"Sure." Kara followed Diana over to the sparring mats. Rand was giving the mats a quick wipedown but stood when the girls approached.

"Don't see many people ready to spar so early," he joked. He studied them for a beat. "You two are both fairly advanced. If you promise to pull your punches a little, I'll let you move past the tap hits. I'm breaking you up if things get too rough, though. Understand?" The girls nodded in sync. "All right then. Whenever you two are ready." Danny stepped back off the mats, leaving the girls to drop into defensive stances.

Diana stepped back and began to circle slightly. Kara followed and sized her opponent up. She hadn't had much of a chance to study the way Diana fought — it seemed that Diana had hardly, if ever, been to the hand-to-hand sparring station over the last few days.

It didn't show, though. Diana made the first move, a fluid strike that would have knocked the wind out of Kara's lungs had Diana been a couple inches closer and Kara not been able to dodge. While Diana was still finishing the punch, Kara darted close and hooked her leg around Diana's, sending her stumbling, but the raven-haired girl recovered well and whipped around to face her again. There was a small smile on Diana's face as she took up her stance again.

"Where did you learn to fight this way?" Diana asked as the girls began circling again.

Kara sent a roundhouse kick toward Diana's side. "Picked it up here and there."

Diana knocked Kara's foot away. "You have clearly been trained. Your cousin hits hard, but he was not so skilled." She threw a hook punch that Kara danced away from.

"We all have our secrets." Kara smiled as their fight continued back and forth. Diana had a fighting style that was different than anything Kara had seen in the Games before: an amalgamation of elite training and street fighting with a gracefulness that made it seem like the girl was almost dancing.

Their fight continued for a few minutes, neither one gaining much of an advantage over one another until, somehow, they wound up at opposite corners of the mat. The girls charged at one another, but at the last second, Diana dropped to her knees, skidded, curled around, and swept Kara's legs from under her.

Before Kara could figure out which way was up, Diana was crouched over her, one arm across her throat, but a bright grin on her face. She sprang up and offered Kara a hand.

Kara took it, and Diana hauled her to her feet. "Join my alliance," she said as Kara dusted herself off.

"Your…like the Careers?" Kara asked.

Diana scoffed. "I have abandoned those fools. Harvey wants power, and the madman from Eight has invaded. I wish to have a group that will not be torn apart by infighting. You are a skilled fighter, with a sense of loyalty I admire and a drive to succeed. You'd be a valuable addition to our alliance." She smirked. "I believe Cisco called it a 'Justice League' when I approached him with the offer."

"You asked _him_?" Kara asked, the only thing she could think of with her mind still spinning from the proposition.

"He is intelligent. He may not be a fighter, but his traps are ingenious, and he has a kind heart that does not belong in these Games. I wished to give him more of a chance." Diana shook her head. "It does not matter anyhow — he wanted to remain with his partner in the arena, and I did not ask her." She held out her hand. "What do you say?"

Kara hesitated, but only for a moment. She clasped Diana's hand, and the two girls shook. "I'm in."

Diana grinned again before the girls went their separate ways.

Soon, Kara found herself at the edible plants station. The muscular trainer was someone she expected to see at the wrestling station, not here, but Ka-Zar's voice was soft, and his hands were gentle as he touched the leaves of the plants around him.

"What do you know of edible plants thus far in your life?" he asked.

"Not much," said Kara. "We don't have much growing in Five — not even a lot of crops. Everything is utilized more for power generation. Most stuff is imported into the district."

Clark wandered over just as Ka-Zar was beginning. "Can I join you?"

"Be my guest," Kara said, scooting her stool over so that Clark wasn't forced to the side of the table.

"Would it be safe to assume that your knowledge of plants is similar to that of your cousin's?" Ka-Zar asked Clark as Clark pulled up his stool.

"Uh…if Kara knows very little, then yes." Kara nodded at him.

Ka-Zar clapped his hand together. "From the beginning, then!" He shifted around the trays of plants until the one he wanted was in the middle. "These are most common plants seen in arenas past. Most can be eaten raw, but you can also use some to make teas or as herbs for other food you collect." He began lifting the little pots off the tray, naming the plants and pointing out distinctive features and uses. Kara repeated each name quietly, committing some of the most useful to memory.

Things were going well, until Ka-Zar lifted a small white flower with heavy green streaks running through its square-ish petals. Kara's instincts took over, and she was moving before she even fully realized what she was looking at, bolting sideways off her stool and sending the stool clattering to the ground. Clark, Ka-Zar, and a few of the nearby tributes gave her odd looks.

"Lost my balance," she offered to the surrounding tributes with an awkward smile, setting her stool upright again. "Don't touch that," she hissed to Clark, who had reached toward the little flower Ka-Zar still held.

Clark gave her a confused look. "Why not? It's safe to touch, or Ka-Zar wouldn't have it."

"That's a krypton flower. Edible, yes, but I'm incredibly allergic to it. My dad was, and his dad, and if I had to hazard a guess, I'd wager that you are too," she said quietly, not wanting to draw more attention to herself. "I almost died from messing with one when I was little. They don't usually grow much in Five, but I found one in a field one day. I picked it and brought it to show Mother, and didn't even make it home. Ended up in the hospital for a couple days. I don't remember it much, but I remember getting a pretty strict lecture when I was better."

Clark looked bemused. "Even though you didn't know any better?"

"That's the El household for you," Kara said. She turned to Ka-Zar. "Um…sorry about that. I don't usually panic like that."

Ka-Zar smiled kindly. "It is no problem. Better for you to know now than find out in the arena." He set the plant down on the floor at his feet. "We shall leave it alone."

Kara kept her feet tucked under the stool for the rest of the session — just in case.

After lunch, Kara returned to her original plan of survival stations. She and Clark drifted to different stations once more — it would be best to have as many skill sets as possible, Clark reasoned, and Kara agreed. She found herself at the fire-starting station, where a woman with appropriately fiery red hair taught her several ways to build reliable fires in the Games.

"Steel wool is good," said Angelica, "But the odds of finding it in the arena are slim, unless you get it in a pack. Your best bet is to familiarize yourself with materials you'll be more likely to find in nature. Flints, friction, and tinder are your friends." She placed a stick onto a small log with tiny pieces of tinder and twirled it deftly between her hands. Smoke began to rise from the contact point, and before long, the tiny twigs and leaves had begun to smolder. Kara picked up her own set of supplies and began working on her own tiny flame. It took a few tries, but Kara managed to coax a respectable flame to life.

After the stick-twirling method, Angelica left her alone to work with another tribute. Kara fussed about with some of the other tools for a moment before her gaze settled on a small reflective square. It was hard and light, like plastic, yet it reflected sort of like a mirror. She picked it up, and a small shaft of light glanced off of it to land on the table. Kara spent a moment shining the light around the table, momentarily entertained by the little bright square like a cat would be. When it passed over her hand, she was surprised by how warm it was. Not enough to burn her with that pass, but very noticeable. Intrigued, she let the beam focus on a tinder pile lying nearby. Almost immediately, it began to smoke and smolder.

"Ah, the reflector!" Angelica said, having made her way back to Kara. "Good, but like the steel wool, you're not going to just find one in the arena." Kara nodded, extinguished the pile of smoldering brush, and moved on to the next station.

Finding that most of the survival stations were occupied with tributes she didn't want to deal with at the moment, Kara opted for the electronics station. She doubted she'd get too much use out of it, but it never hurt to pick up new skills. The only tribute there at the moment was the Two girl with the bright blue hair. She'd been pretty quiet for the most part during training — Kara couldn't remember seeing her actually fighting much at combat stations over the last couple days, though she had noticed her just watching different pairs of tributes fight. Oddly enough, it didn't seem to be in a malicious way, like she was trying to gather information for the Careers (if she was still in the group after the apparent schism); she just seemed to try to be picking things up for herself.

As Kara approached, Harper appeared to finished what she was working on and rose from her seat. Her foot snagged on the stool leg, and she clutched at the table for balance, knocking several tools to the ground. Flustered, Harper began piling the tools back on the table — but as Kara watched, she saw a thin screwdriver disappear under Harper's waistband. The girl hid the thievery well, and Kara didn't think even Schultz, the trainer, had noticed. Kara was bewildered. What could Harper need the tool for? It wasn't as if she'd be able to bring it into the arena with her. Nothing but a tribute's token even made it onto the transport with them; the Sentinels made sure of that. Harper finished cleaning up her small mess and left the station as Kara arrived and sat down. Schultz' attention was immediately focused on his new student, and neither he nor Kara paid much attention to Harper as she walked away.

Kara discovered what Harper was up to later that day. After taking on camouflage and turning her arm into a passable log, and building a shelter out of nothing but sticks and brush, she'd headed for the pool. There were lakes and streams in Five, but Kara hadn't been swimming in years. She was pleased to find that she could manage several laps of a respectable backstroke and was listening to Bench discuss small ways that would increase her speed and power when she noticed Harper tucked away in a corner near a wall panel. Harper had chosen her spot well — she was behind the wheeled tub for used towels and couldn't be seen by most of the training center. You could really only see her from this end of the pool, and Kara had only spotted her by a flash of blue hair as she'd glanced away from Bench for a moment.

Bench finished his spiel and walked away. Harper ducked, but only for a moment. As soon as the coast was clear, Harper successfully removed the panel and poked through the wires running inside. She pulled yet another stolen tool out of nowhere — a pair of wire cutters — and, peering up over the top of the towel cart, snipped a wire. Kara followed Harper's gaze over to the explosives station, where one of the thin touchscreens was now flickering. The trainer tapped the screen irritably as Kara looked back at Harper. The girl touched the severed ends of the wires together, and the screen stabilized. A small smile grew on Harper's lips as she removed and replaced the end of the wire, the screen flickering in time.

How had she known that this wire would control the screen all the way over there? She had as much electrical skill as Winn — maybe more.

For the briefest of moments, Kara considered heading over there and confronting Harper. She almost did it, but Harper wasn't really doing anything to harass another tribute or anything. She was definitely breaking the rules, and normally Kara would have positively been bristling at the thought, but…

What had changed? All of a sudden, Kara was content to let Harper continue her secret tinkering. Kara was almost interested in what Harper knew. If it got out of hand, she could tell someone. Maybe someone would find out anyway. For now, though…

Kara hopped out of the pool, toweled off, and went on her way.


	27. Chapter 26: The Best Reasons

**(A/N): Here we are again with our Tuesday update! This time, we've got robbiepoo2341 writing Dick Grayson for our third night in the Capitol. Enjoy!**

 **Thanks to our writers who reviewed not only the most recent chapter but also previous ones. It's always good to see that support for everyone involved. Please, keep it up! And thanks to Slim Summers2002 for your review; we tend to love Kara as well ;)**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty - Six - The Best Reasons**

 **Night Three in the Capitol**

 **Richard "Dick" Grayson of District Seven**

 **Written by robbiepoo2341**

* * *

" _A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous." -Ingrid Bergman_

* * *

Dick balanced on one hand on the chair, feeling the strain of his muscles as he held himself perfectly upright, unmoving. In a few moments, he would be unable to hold the pose any longer, but he always waited for that moment — right before he would have crashed down, right before it was _too_ long — before he ever sprang off the chair. Too early, and it just wasn't the same.

There was something relaxing about it, just balancing there and hanging in the air — as much as possible without a high wire or trapeze, anyway. He liked the feel of his muscles, his body working in perfect order to keep the balance, the pose, the grace, the stillness. It was the simplest thing to do in the world, far simpler than everything else going on for the past few days.

When, finally, the strain of the pose would have been too much for even a second longer, Dick bent his elbow and pushed off, landing not on the ground but on the chair again — this time with his other hand, his right extended to the side for balance. It was perfectly quiet in the room as Dick held himself up.

He was stalling.

The thing was, he had this idea. This _thing_ that had been bouncing around in his head since the very first night in the Capitol. This crazy, stupid, _bold_ idea to go up to the top floor. To the District Twelve suites. He _definitely_ wasn't allowed to do that, but every instinct told him to do it anyway. A bold gesture. Something dramatic. Something worth getting noticed, even if it also probably got him in trouble with the Sentinels. That would get him noticed too, right?

And boy, had he been trying to get noticed.

He really didn't know what had come over him — except that he knew _exactly_ what had come over him. And that… that was the problem. It was the girl from Twelve — Kory — and she was probably the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. She had completely taken his breath away the first time he saw her, in that gorgeous purple parade outfit that hugged her figure and pulled his gaze in a way he just couldn't stop. Helena had rolled her eyes at him, but… he just hadn't _seen_ a girl like that before.

 _Otherworldly_. That was the word running through his mind after she had rushed to join them in the elevator after the parade. _Beautiful_ was another. _Terrifying_ was yet another.

He didn't know what it was that had tied his tongue so badly. He was _never_ at a loss for words, and he had certainly never had to _try_ to come up with something to say. But with Kory — _gorgeous, charming, ethereal_ — it was like every thought was just sitting in the back of his throat, refusing to move the last few inches forward past his tongue.

* * *

 _She was at the climbing station — long, tanned limbs moving effortlessly through the fake trees the Capitol had them climbing. A few of the younger kids were there, like Garfield, who Dick honestly liked. The kid had a sense of humor a mile long, and the first time he'd sat at the plant training with him to hear all the different names Garfield had for everything, Dick couldn't stop himself from getting sucked into his good mood, not that he tried that hard._

 _Dick and Garfield_ — _who preferred to be called Gar_ — _got along just fine, so Dick decided that would be his excuse to make his way over to the climbing station. He sidled up to the much younger kid and gestured widely to the trees with one arm and a showman's smile. "Mind if I join you?"_

 _Gar's grin was all teeth and genuine pleasure. "Yeah, sure! The more the merrier!"_

 _Dick couldn't help but match his excitement. Even though Gar was probably the youngest and smallest — even One's girl was taller — he was by far the best to hang out with, and Dick couldn't help laughing along as Gar launched into an animated description of just what kinds of monkey climbing he was going to try to imitate in order to get the fastest climb in tribute history._

" _What about you?" Gar asked. "You ever climb before?"_

 _Dick had to laugh. "Oh, yeah. Once or twice," he said, thinking of the well-worn oak in the middle of the grounds at Wayne Manor._

" _Race you?"_

" _You're on," Dick said, glancing toward where Kory was almost lazily climbing back down to the ground. He thought he caught her gaze for a moment, and then when a wide smile broke out over her face, he knew he had._

 _When she hit the ground, she shook out her hair — how she made something as simple as jumping the final three feet from a fake tree look like an elegant dance was beyond him. She tucked her hair behind one ear and smiled with her teeth on her bottom lip, leaned against the tree with her hip popped just the slightest bit…_

 _That just wasn't_ fair _._

 _He grinned cautiously back at Kory a second before he heard Gar call out, "Threetwoonego!"_

 _In an instant, the younger tribute had burst up the trees, and Dick sprang up after him — though the race was suddenly far from his mind as instead of going for speed, Dick went for style. The first opportunity he saw, he sprang from one of the lower branches into a triple flip, snagging the branch of the next tree over with one hand before he pulled himself up into a one-handed handstand. He balanced for a second, perfectly still, and he glanced up to see that Kory's eyes were sparkling._

….

The door to Dick's room opened, and since there wasn't the usual hum of both longsuffering and amusement that meant Helena had walked in on Dick practicing circus tricks — and there was no growly attempt by Victor Creed to knock him off the chair just for the excuse to toss him around — Dick had to assume it was his mentor.

Logan's head was tipped to the side as he watched Dick from a reasonable distance back. He had a totally blank look on his face, and his arms were crossed in a way that Dick recognized from years with Bruce. He was, if he was anything like Bruce, just waiting to see what the point was to … whatever it was his charge was up to. If there was a point.

"Pretty sure no one is watching you right now. At least, no one you _want_ watching you," Logan said at last.

"Can't do it right if you don't practice," Dick said as he glanced up at his mentor with a grin and pointed his toes just that much more precisely.

Logan was smirking as he shook his head. "Still seems like an odd way to do yoga."

Dick's grin widened as he set his other hand on the chair and then pushed off to land on his feet this time. "It's not yoga," he said as he spun the chair around to sit in it. "Learned it from a friend of mine when I was about… five, I think. Only he had me do it leaned against the wall at the time — and he could do it balanced on a unicycle."

"I don't know … looked a lot like the feathered peacock pose…"

"Ha ha." Dick rolled his eyes as he leaned back, only two chair legs on the ground. "It's relaxing," he said after a moment's silence. "If I had something higher, I'd swing up there and pull some even better stunts, but… Moira said there were _safety concerns_." He pulled a horrible face. "I know what she _meant_ , but I'm telling you: I don't want a noose — I want a trapeze and a little space to _breathe_. Come _on_."

"Well don't let me interrupt," Logan told him as he uncrossed his arms and headed over to a chair to lean on. "You need all the relaxation you can get."

"I was just about done anyway," Dick said with a shrug. He wiped some of the sweat off of his face with the sleeve of his shirt before the silence had gone on for as long as he was comfortable with, and he had to ask, "My sister send you? She already laid it on about showing off in training."

Logan shook his head. "No, she didn't narc on you."

Dick laughed but didn't say he was relieved to hear it. He didn't want Logan to think anything different of Helena, and usually, Dick wouldn't have even asked, not with the deep trust they'd painstakingly built up together. But lately... He sighed. "Didn't think she would, but you never know," he tried to explain as he made a wide, sweeping gesture around the ornately-decorated and still somehow incredibly tacky room. "Circumstances are a little... weird, and she's been acting different since the Reaping."

"Of course she is. She doesn't want to see you get maimed," Logan said with a little frown. He had his head tilted to the side, a move that Dick had seen a hundred times from both Bruce and Helena that meant he was being _studied_. "But — you brought it up," Logan said at last. "Who are you showing off for? Because there are two categories, and one of 'em will get you a thwack in the back of the head."

"Well now I'm gonna be paranoid about getting hit by my mentor, thanks." Dick grinned easily. "And who said it was _for_ anyone?"

"No one ever shows off for themselves. It's always to get a reaction. So. What's the purpose of your stupid? Intimidation? Or … how pretty is the girl?"

The chair legs came crashing back down for a second before Dick could quite get it back. "That… is a stupid question," he said, his cheeks burning.

"It's the redhead, isn't it?"

Dick couldn't help the self-conscious laugh as he tried to find the words to explain Kory. _Perfect, tantalizing, impossible..._ "I've seen girls in Seven that are pretty," he said. "That one ... is something else entirely."

Logan had to chuckle at his reaction. "You got a few days before everything goes to hell. Go get her. She's interested _plenty._ "

Dick let out a breath and had one eye shut as he considered Logan. "Yeah right."

Logan gave him a raised eyebrow look, his chin tipped down. "Really. Damnit, Grayson, you are blind as a damn bat." He let out a weary sigh and reached out to tap Dick hard on the back of the head. "She ditched her district so she could ogle you in the elevator. Not that it was a one-way street. Jesus. Have some self-respect."

"I… didn't…" Dick swallowed as he felt his face turn red.

"Do _not_ lie to me. No one gets away with that crap, least of all a love-struck teenager. Come on now."

"Well, _you_ haven't been in training. She's just... like that. All the time. I don't think it's just me," Dick explained, still red-faced.

"Like what? Staring at you and grinning like a loon?" Logan challenged. "Not sure if you noticed, but she wasn't exactly much of a linguist either. Kiss her; it'll get better."

Dick stared at Logan for a moment longer before he couldn't hold Logan's gaze, so he leaned forward in his chair and ran both hands through his hair, shaking it out. "It's… not like I can just climb a balcony or something," he muttered.

Logan smirked. "Why the hell not?" he replied half under his breath in a rasp before he leaned forward to offer a little advice. "Take a walk with Jubes."

"How is _that_ supposed to help?" Dick asked. He liked his stylist and all, but the gum-chewing, roller-skating, yellow-coated girl wasn't his _type_. Not to mention he was trying to get Kory's attention, and not in the make-her-jealous kind of way. He was no good for _that_ kind of game.

But Logan's smirk just seemed to stretch a little wider. "Because … Jubes has a thing with Twelve's stylist."

Dick sat up a little straighter. "So… she'd know how to get in?"

"It's called a _door_ ," Logan clarified. "I know you had those at the manor. She'd march you right to the girl if you asked."

Dick thought about it for only a second before he shook his head. "No, I don't want it to feel like we're being chaperoned. I'll get there on my own, thanks."

"What the hell makes you think they'd stick around?" Logan asked.

"It's the idea of walking in with a stylist like I'm asking Bruce for a ride to a school dance," Dick said with one eye shut in a wince.

"Then ask her where you can reliably find Twelve's girl," Logan said. "I'm telling you — those stylists watch _everything_. She'll know."

"That is both good advice and a reason for me to be _so_ much more self-conscious than I was before around the poking and prodding yellow-clad wonder," Dick said with a teasing grin as he all but vaulted to his feet. "Yeah, alright. Is she still around, or did she go rendezvous in Twelve already?"

"I think Noh came down here tonight," Logan said.

"Well, alright." Dick grinned Logan's way as he headed for the door, then paused and couldn't help but throw out a quick, "This a hobby of yours? The obnoxious pushing?"

"Encouraging people to pull their head out? When the situation warrants, yeah. Kinda. He's not around to tell you about it, but last year, Banner needed a little push too."

"See, now I'm gonna need to hear that story," Dick said, grinning as he leaned against the doorframe.

Logan smirked. "He liked a woman here in the Capitol. I pointed out how blind he was to it, and I'll tell you the same thing I told him. 'Don't ever let a lady down.' She's interested. Go get her. He was smart enough to listen and went after her. End of story."

"You'll win writing prizes that way." Dick smirked as he headed out and waved over his shoulder. "Don't wait up for me."

"I'll lock you _out_ in ten. Don't come back 'til dawn. We'll talk about your stupidity on showing off with Careers later."

Dick spun around, taking the full turn on his heel. " _Hey_. You said Helena didn't narc."

"She didn't. You did," Logan said. "And you seem the type."

For a second, Dick stared at his mentor and then mentally berated himself for the mistake. _Bruce would have been annoyed if he'd seen that._ Finally, he waved his hand Logan's way as he turned back to the door. "It doesn't even count. The whole pack's been busted up — they're fighting in public — it doesn't count if they're just on the outskirts now like the rest of us."

"You know, last year, I didn't do a damn thing in training. At all. I still ended up at the top of their hit list," Logan told him, his tone deadly serious. " _Try_ playing it close to the vest."

But at that, Dick had to laugh. "I don't even know what that _means_ ," he said with his best, most wide-eyed look.

Logan let out a sigh and shook his head. "Go get your girl, and don't be so stupid in training …"

"Yeah, yeah." Dick waved Logan's way. "I'm going."

* * *

As it turned out, Jubilee and Noh-Varr _did_ know where Kory could be found this time of night — usually down in the common area trying the different varieties of snack food. So once Dick had managed to duck away from the teasing of what he was sure was probably the least subtle couple in all of Marvel — _could they get any more wrapped up in those headphones?_ — he made his way downstairs with Jubilee's accusations of being "too tall, dark, and handsome for a girl to resist" ringing in his still-red ears.

When the elevator dinged open, Dick glanced quickly around the room — but no sign of Kory. There were a handful of kids snacking or playing chess or just generally hanging out, and Dick slipped casually into the scene, hands in his pockets as he looked over the edge of the couch, wondering if Kory was there — no. It was the Crane kid, his hands underneath his chin, watching the group at large instead of the television featuring Games coverage a few feet away.

Dick frowned and backtracked, glancing around for something to do so he didn't look _too_ obvious — he was sure someone would notice if he came down, looked around, and left empty-handed — before he spotted the pool table and grinned. _Yeah, sure. That could be fun._

No one else was at the table, so Dick had decided to play by himself — start with solids and then get the stripes in as well — but as he twirled the cue in his hands, he was joined by one of the Careers. Slade Wilson, the guy from One.

Slade nodded wordlessly to Dick as he retrieved his own cue, and Dick shrugged. "Solids," he told Slade before he gestured for the One boy to break.

They played in silence for a while, but that actually wasn't too surprising to Dick. He didn't think he and Slade had said more than two words at a time to each other since meeting, thought that wasn't to say they didn't see each other around or even spend time together. The guy just seemed to prefer silence, and if there was one thing Dick had learned growing up with Bruce, it was how to let a quiet guy do his thing without interruption. Sure, Dick would make a few passing comments of his own simply because, well, he _had_ to, but for conversation? This guy was about as hopeless for that as Bruce was.

* * *

 _It was the first day, at the hand-to-hand station. Danny Rand had been showing Dick and a few of the other kids some basic moves, and Dick had been following along and gently giving a few suggestions to the skinny girl from Nine who looked like she'd never fought in her life — until he noticed Slade standing off to the side, not quite in the group but clearly at that station. He met Dick's gaze and tipped his head to one side, clearly sizing him up._

 _Dick was distracted enough by the Career that he almost missed it when Rand told the kids to separate, get some space, and practice the moves he had just shown them. "You can only learn so much just listening," Rand explained as he was already drifting toward the Nine girl to help her on her form._

 _A few of the kids, the ones who weren't fighters, were putting their all into it, following Rand's patterns as he called out the basic jabs and corrected their forms. But Slade didn't do that. Slade caught Dick's gaze again, nodded slightly, and performed a complicated sort of back kick that had a training dummy reeling backward._

 _Dick grinned, recognizing the challenge for what it was. Now_ this _was going to be fun._

 _He touched his index finger to the side of his nose with a cheeky, crooked smile before he pulled out a spin that would have knocked the feet out from underneath any opponent who wasn't a wooden stake bolted to the ground, then glanced up at Slade, who nodded approvingly._

 _They weren't allowed to spar with each other directly without Rand's supervision and a whole lot more safety measures — the Capitol didn't want the tributes trying to take each other out this early in the game — but they faced each other, completely ignoring Rand's 'lesson' as instead, the silent competition started up, and Dick felt himself grinning wider and wider the more it went on, breaking into a full-on laugh when Rand finally called them out and directed them to the mat so he could supervise and see just what they could do._

* * *

It had been like that with other stations. Staffwork. Swimming. Knots. Three days' worth of training, and every moment of it filled with friendly competitions and chances to show off — sometimes (usually) at the same time. And what made it all better was the simple fact that it seemed like Kory was almost always around when one of Dick's competitions with Slade started up.

At least, he hoped that was the truth and he wasn't just reading too much into it, seeing what he wanted to see.

So there, in the common area for the tributes, as with every other competition in training, Dick and Slade played pool in relative silence except for the occasional disappointed hum when a shot didn't work out quite the way either of them wanted.

The guy played dirty, too.

Dick watched, halfway propped against the wall, one leg tucked up underneath him and the cue twirling absently, as Slade lined up his next shot. There wasn't any good shot for Slade to take — so he made sure to take one that made Dick's turn next to impossible as well. Unless Dick was _perfect_ on the shot, he'd scratch.

Dick raised an eyebrow Slade's way, but the guy just leaned on the table, his elbow on the lip of the felt and his cue slung over his shoulder, completely unbothered. Dick shook his head and carefully, precisely, lined up the shot…

"So, where's your girl from Twelve, then?"

Dick swore as he scratched his shot and then glanced up at Slade, who still hadn't moved from that same relaxed pose until, slowly, he stood up to take his turn.

"Come on, kid. You walked in with those wide puppy dog eyes searching for someone. And you've been watching Twelve since day one." He paused long enough to send the balls flying, sinking two. As he moved around the table to line up another one, a grin started to stretch over his expression. "That won't end well, kid."

Dick blinked at him, not sure if he was more surprised that Slade had broken his silence or surprised at the topic Slade had chosen. Finally, he simply had to grin almost sheepishly, leaning on the table with just his arms, his feet off the ground for a second. "I guess it's obvious," he admitted.

"I'll put it this way. I'm surprised the Capitol hasn't started a betting ring on this year's Games romance with how much you've been staring." Slade's tone was careful as he lined up his next shot without even looking Dick's way.

"Wouldn't be so bad," Dick said with an easy shrug. "I mean, what's the worst that can happen?" When Slade's response was a quiet but pointed look, Dick added, "Yeah, I know, but it can't hurt to live a little right?"

"Trust me, kid," Slade said, and Dick bristled a little at the name — he was eighteen, same as Slade. "The world is a cruel place sometimes. Getting yourself involved in that is a bad idea. You're just inviting it to take a piece of you."

Dick shook his head. Apparently, this was his night for getting advice. And conflicting advice on top of that. "Hey," he said as he watched Slade's shot stop just short of the corner pocket and then moved around to take his own shot. "No matter how this pans out, I'm losing someone." He lined up his sights. "If my sister wins, it's not going to matter how many pieces are missing when I'm dead." The balls went scattering, and he sank one in the far right corner. "If I win, that's one Hel of a chunk," he added, quieter this time and with a breath of a laugh at his own joke, though the inside joke with his sister had him thinking about anything but the shot that missed terribly as he said it.

Slade was silent for a long moment as he sank his shot in the corner he'd missed before and then walked around the table — he just had one left to make.

"I'm not going to stop living every time I lose someone," Dick said at last, as much to himself as Slade. "Why are you letting it stop you?"

Slade casually settled against the table, his gaze on the tricky shot and not on Dick. "I've got reasons to live — got reasons not to as well. It's a matter of picking the right ones." He hunched over as he finally seemed to find the right angle. "One thing Marvel has a way of teaching you? We all die in the end."

Dick frowned at the sentiment as Slade finished out the game. When Slade straightened up with a single, curt nod, Dick almost absently spun his cue to end in a point toward the table. "Play again?" he asked, his competitive side coming out as he grinned despite the more somber tone of the earlier conversation.

Slade shrugged, and they started to dig the balls out of the pockets. This time, Dick broke and went for stripes.

They played in silence for another long stretch, the weight of Slade's outlook hanging around Dick's neck before he finally had to say something about it. "The best reasons to live are people anyway, even if it hurts to lose them," he said, leaning against the wall as he studied the angles, balanced in a way that was only learned from years in the circus, though he wasn't even aware that he was standing any differently than anyone else would. "Ask half the kids here, and they'll agree — except the psychos."

Almost as if to illustrate Dick's point, there was a ringing _oohoohoo_ of a laugh as Jack Hamill slid in next to Gar on one of the couches, startling the much younger boy.

"You know what they say about the crazy ones," Slade said, nodding toward the scene. "I'd watch yourself around those. The really dangerous ones are the ones that can kill you with words. Remember Twelve, last year? Careers fell apart because of him."

"Hold that thought," Dick told Slade, not really listening to the advice anymore as he pushed off from the wall and made his way over to the couch to drop onto the arm of it. "You're still playing winner, right?" he pointedly asked Gar, who looked up in surprise and then gratitude when he realized Dick was giving him an escape option.

"Yeah, right," Gar said quickly, and Jack narrowed his eyes for a second before bursting into another one of those laughs that sounded like it caught every ridge of his throat on the way up.

"Poor little bird brain. Gathering up all the fragile little chickadees in one nest. Just making it easier for us to pluck 'em," Jack half-sang Dick's way as Dick pointedly turned away and took Gar, tucked underneath his arm, with him back toward the pool table. "Can't keep them all safe, wonder brat! You can only die once!"

Dick couldn't pull back the glare at Jack's words, though by then, Gar had slipped away from underneath Dick's arm with a sheepish look. "Thanks for the save — but I'm really no good at pool," the younger boy all but squeaked. "I think I'll head back upstairs."

"You want me to—"

"Thanks!" Gar called back, and Dick could hardly blame him as the younger boy rushed for the elevator doors. That Hamill guy was unnerving, and if Dick had met him at Gar's age… he'd want to run too. Now, though, Dick really just wanted to hit the guy. He knew how to make it stick, after all.

He had just turned back to Slade, who was wearing a thoughtful sort of expression, to apologize for interrupting the game when his gaze caught on something red, and he did almost a double-take, surprised to see Kory with that same smile she wore when he was showing off in training. Only… she wasn't in the sweats and tee shirt that the Capitol had provided for training. Now, she was wearing jeans that hugged her hips and a shirt that stopped before the top of the jeans by several inches.

He knew that the Capitol had given the tributes casual clothes to wear around so that they wouldn't always be in training sweats, but… that… just wasn't _fair_.

By the time he blinked back into some semblance of thinking again, Slade wasn't at the pool table anymore, which Dick was grateful for. He somehow willed himself over to where Kory was, the pool cue still in his hand until he seemed to realize it and set it down on the table on his way over.

 _Real smooth, Grayson_ , he thought to himself, though Kory just seemed to be smiling wider with every step he took her way. _Wonder how long she's been here…_

He opened his mouth to say something to her, but somehow, once again, he just… couldn't. He didn't know what it was that _did_ this to his tongue. At least with Babs, he could joke around, but this… this was like trying to swim in sandpaper.

" _Finally_ some entertainment around here," Jack crowed, perched on the back of the couch with his chin resting in one hand and a bowl of popcorn in the other. Dick wasn't sure how long he'd been floundering, but from the tone in Jack's voice, it had been long enough. " _Everybody_ loves a good train wreck!" When Dick glanced over his shoulder, it was to see the pale young man from Eight making the motion of pulling on a train horn, and he fell into a glare Jack's way all over again — right up until he felt the touch of light, long fingers on his arm.

"Maybe we can go somewhere else?" Kory asked, resting her hand on his arm, and Dick simply _couldn't_ glare anymore, grinning instead as he wordlessly nodded.

She left her hand on his arm as they hit the elevator, and Dick was well aware of the fact that there was plenty of space that she _could_ have taken up instead of standing just beside him, but she hadn't. Instead, she leaned against the wall after the doors were closed, her body language entirely open as she smiled at him. "Some of the people they chose this year are just horrible," she said, the expression that twisted her features marring them for a moment before she turned back to him and lit up again. "Some of the other choices, though…"

"Yeah," he said quickly, wondering why that was all he'd managed to say to her so far. He swallowed and tried again. "Yeah, but the horrible ones aren't worth the time of day." _No, you moron. You didn't come all the way down here to talk about Eight's psychopath. What are you doing?_

"And what about the rest of us?" Kory asked, a teasing sparkle in her eyes.

He grinned at her sheepishly. "Well, if I've only got a few days to live, I'd say I'd want to pick my company carefully," he said. _Oh, that was actually decent._ He smiled a little wider. "So… do you want to join me?"

"That sounds nice," Kory said. Her smile was widening as the doors opened — he hadn't even paid attention to which button she'd hit until he realized that they were on the top floor, where the stairs spilled out onto the roof. That was the other place Jubilee and Noh had mentioned he might find her, he realized belatedly, wondering if he should have just gone there in the first place.

"Do you come up here often?" he asked, then almost immediately shut one eye in a wince. _Wow. That's a bad line. That is a very, very bad line. Why are you using bad lines on this girl?_

But if Kory noticed his sudden embarrassment, at least she didn't say anything about it. If anything, she seemed to smile a little more as she tucked her hair behind her ear. "Well, we've only been here a few nights, but I like going up to the roof, yes," she said, clearly rescuing him, which he very much appreciated.

"I haven't been up myself," he told her as he followed her up the stairs.

It was a bad idea to follow her, he immediately realized, as he couldn't pull his gaze away from her as she led the way. The walk she was doing up the stairs wasn't _fair,_ and he was already having a hard time with just stringing words into sentences.

"It's got a great view of the Capitol," Kory told him as she turned his way with an honest twinkle in her eyes and seized his hand to pull him through the door. There was something infectious about her excitement as they spilled out onto the roof together, and he couldn't help grinning right alongside her as she half dragged him out to the edge to look out over the Capitol.

It was late enough that the city was all blinking lights and neon flashes in the dark, a sort of haze settling over the scene from what Dick had to assume was a force field. Which made sense. If he couldn't have anything high up in his own room, no way would they leave the roof without those same 'safety' measures.

Kory was beaming as she looked out over the view, for the moment not paying him any attention as he gestured out at the city lights. "We don't have anything like this in District Twelve," she said in a voice filled with awe.

"Nothing like this in Seven, either," Dick admitted. "But I prefer the trees back there. Taller." _Taller?_ That _is the description you're going with?_ he berated himself.

"We have some amazing colors in the fall, too," Kory said as she sat down with her legs tucked up underneath her, and Dick followed suit almost automatically. "They're nothing like this, though. It's… a different kind of colorful."

"I think I like the natural kind better," Dick said. "Right around September, the trees turn this deep red…" He trailed off as he suddenly forgot what other colors there were when Kory turned the full force of a smile his way and her hair fell slightly in front of her face before she moved it aside.

"Do you miss it?" Kory asked after a long silence, her attention no longer on the city in front of them.

"The district?" he asked, and when she nodded, he shook his head. "Not… exactly." He fumbled for words, grateful when she paused long enough to let him find his footing, waiting for him. _Why is this so_ hard? "It's more the people I'd miss — but I've got my sister with me, so it doesn't exactly count."

"You two seem close," Kory said with a softer expression.

"Thick as thieves," Dick said with an easy grin. "I don't know what I'd do without her, honestly." Kory's expression shifted at that, and Dick quickly tried to recover. "I mean — I'm not blind. I know how this ends for everybody here. Don't get me wrong."

"No, no," Kory said, quickly recovering her smile. "I understand. I simply thought…" She trailed off and then shook her head before the smile turned into something with a little more twinkle to it as she laid her hand on his. "Tell me about something else," she said. "Tell me… about the trees back home in Seven. You seem to like climbing."

"I like being up high," Dick said, and at that, Kory let out a delighted laugh.

"So do I!" she said. She leaned back, her hair falling away from her shoulders as she looked up at the stars. "There's something about being up high… it's so close to flying."

"I used to be in a circus," Dick told her, and she looked surprised as she turned his way again. "I did the trapeze act with my parents before they died. It's the closest people can get to flying, really."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Kory said in the tone that most people used when Dick mentioned his parents.

"It's alright," Dick told her. "It happened a long time ago, and I've got Bruce and Helena now anyway." He fell silent, trying not to think about the fact that, even if he got through this, it would just be him and Bruce.

 _I'm always losing people,_ he thought.

Kory nudged him with her shoulder, drawing his attention back to her. "Tell me about the circus," she said, her eyes bright and wide. "Please."

So he did.

They must have spent hours up there on the roof as he told her about the Flying Graysons, about how hard he'd worked to master the trapeze so that he could join his troupe, about what that first step off the tallest platform feels like when you're six years old and it's your first performance and there is no net.

He talked about Peaches the gorilla and the two lions that Haly had managed to tame who had an innate sense of people. When they were in District Eleven, the lioness couldn't be part of the show because she kept trying to go after one of the audience members. Turned out the guy was a murderer, and he was arrested the next night for killing someone. Haly never bent to people asking him to put that old girl down, not with how clever she was.

He talked about the different tour stops they had been on before Marvel _completely_ banned travel between districts for even special cases like the circus as he laid back on the roof, his hands behind his head and totally relaxed the more he talked. Those were the stories Kory seemed most interested in — the ones about faraway places. She lay down next to him, her head propped up on her elbow as she listened to him describe the districts, struggling to draw from the memory of a child what a teenage girl would want to know about them.

He only remembered snatches and impressions. He remembered that Eleven tasted like sweat the moment you stepped outside, and he remembered that Ten seemed to stretch on endlessly, with no horizon in sight. He remembered that the mountains in Two had dust that was difficult to walk on during the summer when the rains didn't come, and he remembered that Odin's laughter during a performance in Four had seemed to shake the whole tent like thunder.

It was so much easier to talk to her like this, telling stories instead of trying to make small talk. And she didn't seem to be bored or to think any less of him because he wasn't born a Wayne but a district-less circus brat. If anything, she kept nodding along, making little 'go on' motions with both hands whenever he stopped for breath until, finally, his throat pricked, and his voice deepened, and he pushed himself up on his elbows.

"What about you?" he halfway croaked, and she lightly shook her head.

"I didn't get to do anything that exciting when I was little," she said, staring at him now like he was some kind of wonder. He wasn't sure when she had started to do that, but now that he was aware of it, he had no idea what to do with it, and he couldn't quite hold her gaze.

"Come on," he said with half a smile. "It's not that big of a deal. Everything's exciting when you're six."

Kory laughed lightly at that and seemed to take a moment to think over her answer. "I always loved to explore," she said at last. "District Twelve isn't very big, but I tried to see as much of it as I could."

"See? That's exciting," he said with a grin.

"I tried to see the mines, but they wouldn't let me in," Kory admitted, and Dick raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Because I don't belong—"

"No, I mean, why did you want to see the mines?" he said, shaking his head. "Aren't they… well…?"

"Dangerous?" There was a teasing glint in Kory's eyes as she nodded. "Yes, I've heard that."

Dick blinked at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth that turned into a laugh. "So you went and found the most danger you could, and they turned you away."

"If I looked different — more like my sister..." She trailed off, and he was surprised to hear that there was a sudden hardness to her tone, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Why would you want to look different?" he asked and then immediately realized what he'd said as his cheeks flushed red.

The teasing glint rushed back into her gaze at his words, and she leaned a little closer to him. "Yes?" she prompted with a look that told him she knew exactly what he'd meant.

He… really couldn't figure out how to get out of the hole he'd dug himself into. It wasn't like she didn't know she was pretty. She had to. And she had to know he'd been staring. It was obvious. And she'd been at all the stations with him. But for some reason, the stare, the adoration… it was just impossible to translate into words without sounding like a total idiot.

Though sitting there gaping at her was probably getting the same net result, to be honest.

She laughed lightly and leaned back again, and he suddenly felt like he could breathe better. "I just meant that if I had darker hair, like yours or my sister's, I might have been able to pass myself off as being from the Seam."

"I doubt it," Dick said, and she turned to face him with a look that was almost insulted. He raised both hands as he sat up taller. "Hey. Take it from a kid who knows. You've grown up on one side of the district, right? Merchant's sector?" She nodded with her lips slightly pursed. "Yeah. You've got the same look Helena does. High-born. You can't hide that."

Kory shook her head at him. "You act like it's so set in stone — 'you are who you were born to be.'"

"No, I just mean you're…" He paused and tried to figure out how best to phrase it. "You've got the poise that took me years to _pretend_ to have, and I still don't actually have it. Not really."

"And people who grew up in the Seam can't have poise either?"

"No." He shook his head. "No, it's… just a different kind. I mean, I'd say I'm pretty graceful on a trapeze, but not the way Helena's graceful with a crowd."

"It's not obvious," she said with her head tipped to the side. "The difference between you and your sister, I mean. If you and she can be so similar, I can go down to the mines and explore."

"Alright, sure," Dick said, holding up both hands again in a gesture of surrender. "Not sure why you want to so badly, but sure. You can go wherever you want after you figure out how to fit in there." He grinned at her. "But you don't exactly ... you kind of stick out, Kory."

She tipped her head to the side, her expression one that he knew from arguments with Helena.

"It's a good thing," he told her, trying to backtrack a bit. "There's … ah… there's no one else like…" _No, wait. I was doing so well._ He could feel that familiar sensation in the back of his throat where the words were, a traffic jam staring at the edge of his tongue and just… not… moving.

Kory's expression of annoyance softened into a smile that seemed to stretch on wider the longer the silence persisted.

"I meant it as a compliment," he finally managed to say, and that turned her smile into a little laugh. _See, Dick, this is what happens when you try to talk about anything. At all. Should've stuck with circus stories. At least she liked those._

She seemed to let him flounder with his words for a while, though at least she was back to smiling again, and he searched desperately for something. _Even the weather would be good right now, you idiot_ , he chided himself, glancing up at the sky as if it could help — and it did, just not in the way he expected it would.

It was getting lighter; the edges of the night sky were turning gray.

"Are you going to get in trouble for staying out all night?" he asked, gesturing at the sky.

She followed his pointing finger and broke into a laugh. "I doubt it," she said. "My stylist is gone, my escort is shy, and Blackagar won't yell at anyone."

Dick laughed out loud at the sentiment. "Good point."

"And you?"

"I bet Creed's hoping I fell off the edge of the roof," Dick said with a shrug. "And I'm pretty sure my stylist is with yours. And Logan…" He shrugged.

"Will Groot yell at you?" she asked with a teasing grin.

"Oh, yeah," he said seriously, nodding as though this was a real concern. "That guy is — you can hear him from across the room when he gets going."

Kory laughed. "I'm sure."

"And the _language_ ," Dick continued seriously. "I mean, I've heard some things in my lifetime, but never so _creative_."

He was feeling pretty good about himself as Kory tipped her head back laughing, and he leaned back again, feeling much more relaxed. He wasn't even tired, though he knew he'd be feeling it later in training — but it was kind of worth it. Kory had a laugh like crystal glasses clinking together. He glanced back up at the sky, grateful that the graying edges had given him something to work with, and had just turned to Kory to ask if she wanted to stay up there until the sunrise or if they should at least try to get _some_ sleep, all things considered — when all at once, she had grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him into a _kiss_.

It took him completely by surprise, and he didn't have enough time before she released him before he could actually wrap his head around what was happening — and all too soon, her hand was no longer on the back of his neck but resting on his shoulder, and she had pulled back. Not too far — just far enough that he could see all of her face as she seemed to be studying his entire expression at once, a playful smile on as she bit her bottom lip.

He stared at her for a long moment. He couldn't get any words past his tongue again. He could hear his heart in his ears.

Then, finally, he caught up and grinned outright at her before he leaned forward, one hand cupping her face so that he was the one that pulled her into a gentle kiss that lasted longer this time.


	28. Chapter 27: Every Girl For Herself

**(A/N): Here is our Friday update! We're on the last day of training, with the ever-wonderful tvfan69 returning to write Jade Nyugen again. :)**

 **Thank you to all our authors who reviewed! We love hearing what you think and we know that the writers you review get warm fuzzies when they see it :) Thanks also to our guest reviewer (Yes, make Joker back off, we hear you), to GCBG (who has a clear favorite :D), and to Slim Summers2002 (well gushing isn't for everyone, but threetwoonego IS for everyone :P) for their support as well.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Seven - Every Girl For Herself**

 **Training Day Four**

 **Jade Nyugen, District Ten**

 **Written By tvfan69**

* * *

 _We don't meet people by accident. They are meant to cross our paths for a reason._

 _-Unknown_

* * *

"Today is your final day of training."

Jade frowned when she heard the voice behind her. It had only been about a week since the Reaping, since she was hauled off to the Capitol, but it seemed like a lifetime ago. They were staying in an elaborately-furnished tower attached to the training center, perhaps because the government wanted to keep the tributes distracted from what was about to happen, or perhaps because they felt that the tributes deserved a few luxuries before they all quite literally went to hell. If it was the first, then their plan was failing miserably; no one was distracted. It couldn't be the second theory, because that would mean that at least a few of the people who ran this thing had hearts; and _that_ simply wasn't possible.

"It is," she responded to the voice without turning around or even looking up, just pausing the spoon of her cereal when it was halfway to her mouth so she could speak.

She had gotten up early, as she had every day since she had been there. It wasn't that she couldn't sleep; it was the opposite, in fact. She slept great there, better than she ever did at home. Here, there was no jumping at the sound of sirens, no keeping one ear open for the sound of shattering glass as her father stumbled his way around the kitchen. There was no Artemis latched onto her side and crushing her arm, not that Garfield hadn't knocked on her door the first night and tried. There were no fits of coughs coming from her mother, no shouting from her father, no crying or screaming from her sister. It was nice, it was quiet, and it was peaceful.

But every morning, she woke at least an hour before the sun did and remembered that that world was still her reality, still her home, and she needed to survive these Games in order to change that.

"Are you nervous?" the voice asked her again, calm and even just like the first time.

"No," Jade replied before she finally swiveled her stool around so that she could meet the eyes of her mentor. "I know what I'm doing," she all but spat, and he chuckled as though he were amused, wheeling himself closer and not heeding the warning of the eyes that were narrowing in on him.

He hadn't paid any attention to that all week; why start now?

"I'm sure you do," he said as he wheeled himself even closer to the island counter where the teenager sat, where she was staring him down and just daring him to admit that he had selected her out of revenge for breaking into his home.

But revenge was never his motive.

"You might do well to visit Zatanna today, during training," he advised, and Jade only scoffed.

"The witch?" she all but snorted, and Charles frowned.

"She's an illusionist, not a witch. Your camouflage skills are impressive, Jade, and your expertise with blades is nearly flawless. But those are skills best used in the art of defense; if you want to make it out of that arena alive, then you'll need to be able to control what's happening around you. Zatanna can teach you to do that," he advised, and Jade stared down at her lap with a snarl on her face before she eventually turned herself back to her breakfast.

She waited for Xavier to say something more, for him to try telling her a story about his time in the Games or some other nonsense that she cared nothing about. He probably would have, too, if it weren't for the sudden sound of tired footsteps accompanied by the appearance of a still-sleepy Garfield Logan.

"Is there any soy milk left?" the disheveled boy asked as he opened the suite refrigerator and frowned, having discovered the disappointing answer to his question.

"I told you not to overfill your bowl yesterday," Jade teased with a good-natured smirk, and Garfield, so clearly not in the mood for her teasing before he could have his breakfast, very maturely took the high road and stuck his tongue out at her.

* * *

Walking into training on the last day felt different. The first day had felt awful; everyone from a district lower than Four practically sweating blood before the work even began. The kids from the inner districts were more or less comfortable with the training, for the most part. At the very least, they weren't anywhere near as nervous; they had spent their entire lives thinking this would be an honor, after all. The second day wasn't as bad, the third day was almost comfortable, but today, it was tense. Today would be their last chance to train alongside and evaluate each other before private training, before showing off their skills in front of potential sponsors, before they turned those skills away from dummies and painted targets and onto each other.

Jade was planning to spend today like she did every other training day: knives, swords, first aid, and archery.

That was what she was planning, until a grunt of pain caught her attention.

The sound came from over in the martial arts area, but it didn't come from a tribute. It came from Rand, the trainer who had earned the nickname Iron Fist, when he hit the ground.

Jade, as well as more than a few other tributes, stood wide-eyed with parted lips as District One tribute Slade Wilson stood above the defeated trainer catching his breath. One by one, everyone who had looked over turned away and back to their tasks, but Jade was pretty sure that she was the last. She had been heading over to the knives like always, and she told herself that she wasn't doing this because Xavier told her to, but she changed her course and went over to see Zatanna.

She had never actually met Zatanna before, and she was a little surprised to see that the woman was practically still a girl. She was young, with porcelain skin and raven black hair. She barely looked old enough to have aged out of the Reaping process.

"Hi," she greeted Jade in a cheery voice when she noticed her approaching. She had another girl with her, the blue-haired one from District Two.

"Hey," Jade said in an almost shy voice that she wanted to curse herself for, but Zatanna just smiled at her.

"Do you want to join us?" she asked, and Jade barely nodded, but Zatanna still waved her over with a friendly smile.

She showed them all sorts of things, mostly how to distract other tributes and disappear in the process. This was something Jade picked up quickly, as the distractions required preying on the target's weaknesses, and that was something she had always had a knack for. The blue-haired girl had a different set of talents, and if Jade were being honest, she would admit that it was something she was a little jealous of. The girl could turn just about anything with wires into a weapon. Sure, they most likely weren't going to be battling it out in the middle of an electrical plant, but the skills were still useful.

She rewired a watch into a short-range EMP, another into a makeshift timer for a haphazardly assembled, almost-but-not-completely-useless stink bomb, and most importantly, she could see right through most, if not all, of Zatanna's tricks. Jade knew that would make her dangerous in the Games: the ability to spot even the smallest detail out of place from a mile away, potentially rendering a trap useless before it was even engaged.

One thing that didn't appear to come naturally to the girl, however, was weaponry.

Jade watched her over the course of the afternoon, both when they found themselves at the same training station and when they were at separate ones. She was scrappy, fighting with her fists and managing to hit more than a few weak points on her opponent, but the second that she was given a weapon, her confidence practically unraveled. Any other tribute Jade would've jotted down the weakness as something that she could exploit during the Games, and oh, she thought about it, but this one from District Two had some skills that made her dangerous. More importantly, they were skills that Jade hadn't mastered herself. So when the blue-haired girl was in the boxing ring and looking for an opponent, Jade decided to take her opening.

"Want to go a round?" she challenged from the entrance, and the other girl smirked at her obvious self-confidence.

"What's the matter?" she asked in a mocking voice, "The wooden targets not enough for your sais today?"

Jade grinned evilly at both the attitude and the fact that the girl had noticed her with the sais, her best weapon. She made sure to use her best Cheshire cat grin that Red would've picked up right away and tried to wipe off her face, not that he would've succeeded.

"How about a wager?" She all but purred the suggestion. "If I win, you show me how you made that EMP; if you win, I show you how to slit someone's throat without making a mess."

"You are a sadistic type of scary, you know that?" the other girl asked seriously and yet sarcastically all at once. Jade only responded by widening her grin. "Alright," the girl agreed.

"Harper, are you really trying to do some hand-to-hand?" a taunting voice mocked just as they were squaring up, and Jade looked over to see the other District Two tribute, the one with the burns all over one side of his face, at the edge of the ring.

"Got a problem with that, Harvey?" his partner, Harper apparently, replied with a roll of her eyes, clearly in no mood to deal with her partner's taunting.

"Just remember that the Games are coming up soon; you don't want to hurt yourself."

"If the Games are so soon, then don't you have something better you should be doing?" Harper asked with a faux look of thoughtfulness, making Jade seriously reconsider why she hadn't just punched them both in the face already. After all, fighting in the Games was not going to be any place to have a conversation.

But Harvey raised up his hands in a gesture of surrender, or at least mock surrender. "All I'm saying is that when it comes down to fight or flight, you choose flight every time."

And that was her cue.

With a smug grin, Jade glanced again over her shoulder "Thanks for the tip," she said, and her opponent cocked a half smirk that just warned Harvey he'd be begging for mercy later if she lost this match.

Then, she began the fight by taking a swing at Jade's face, which Jade dodged, of course. She countered with a kick that Harper danced away from, and so it went on like that with very few exceptions.

Until Harper pulled the last move that Jade ever could've expected.

Jade lunged at Harper, her fist aimed for a low blow to the gut that would've knocked the other girl down. But Harper side-stepped away and jumped up in a spin kick that nailed Jade in the jaw and sent her reeling back off-balance until she was skidding against the mat.

* * *

 _"Ugh!"_

 _Jade landed against the hard soil of the earth with thud._

 _"On your feet, little girl!" Lawrence's harsh voice commanded her before she'd even had a second to open her eyes._

 _She did as he asked; she scrambled clumsily onto her feet and fought the urge to rub at where his boot had just collided with her jaw and knocked her down. She would have a bruise there by morning; there would be no question in that._

 _"You're pathetic," her father spat. "I've showed you this move nearly ten times, and you're still falling for it!"_

 _"I'm sorry, Daddy," she squeaked. She wanted to cry, but at the age of nine, she knew much better than to make that mistake by now. "I'm trying, I promise."_

 _"Sorry ain't going to cut it out in the field, Jade," the blonde man snarled. "Neither is trying or promises," he mocked in the condescending voice that his eldest daughter would eventually grow to despise more than even some of his physical disciplinary tactics._

 _"You're going to be out in the world before you know it, and guess what?" he asked rhetorically, obviously still mocking her. "There's nobody who you can trust out there." He bent down to her level, his eyes narrowed, and locked onto her fear-stricken face. Just then, before he could yell at her any more, they heard a cry come from the house and recognized it immediately as Artemis._

 _It wasn't urgent; it sounded like a squeak of surprise more than anything, but given her own present situation, Jade was still alarmed and got as far as half a step forward before her father's finger poking her harshly in the chest set her back into place._

 _"Don't. Move," he ordered her in an icy voice, but he made no motion to move himself. "Artemis will be fine; she's going to have to be. It's time you learned, Jade, that the world is a bad and scary place; you can't trust anyone to help you. It's every girl for herself."_

* * *

Still shock-stricken from the move that Harper pulled, Jade couldn't think to do anything more than to roll out of the way just in time to avoid the blue-haired girl's fist coming down on her face. She scrambled to climb to her feet, her mind still blank, when a whistle sounded.

"That's enough," Grant, the boxing trainer, announced with his eyes locked on the two girls in his ring, ready to break them up himself if it continued. "Save it for the Games," he ordered them, and with two barely detectable nods, they walked away from the ring.

"You didn't need to hold back," Harper snarled as they descended the steps of the ring.

"Where did you learn that move?" Jade finally asked, and Harper glanced at her as though she were insane.

"Excuse me?" she asked, clearly at a loss for anything else to say.

"Where did you learn that move?" Jade sneered, all sorts of theories on the issue running rampant through her mind and answers being the only way to stop them.

"What's it to you?" Harper scoffed but shrank back in fear when Jade stepped in front of her and pinned her against a nearby wall, letting up slightly when a Sentinel called out to them both with a warning but not taking her eyes off of Harper or giving her much space to move.

"Who are you?"

"I could ask you the same question," the blue-haired girl all but scoffed, trying and only half succeeding to come off as unafraid. "Everyone's heard about your Reaping, how Professor X supposedly called the wrong last name," she reminded Jade. "There's been talk, you know? About whether you're really the girl he called, or if maybe you're trying to save someone else's ass by posing as them."

But this wasn't news to Jade. She had heard all about these rumors ever since they all arrived in the Capitol and put the tributes in the same building. She hadn't paid the gossip much attention; she didn't care enough. She wasn't here to make friends, and making enemies certainly wasn't something that she was unused to, what with her sparkling personality and all. But maybe she should be paying more attention to the other tributes, especially Harper.

"My fa… my sperm donor's last name is Crock," she began explaining, hoping that maybe showing Harper some trust could get her the same in return. "If I'm gonna die, he's not going to get to be the poor man who lost a daughter in the arena."

"Ah," Harper responded, sincerely, as surprising as that was. "I get that," she said, and maybe it was the softness in her sorry face or the stillness in her voice, but Jade backed away half a step and gave the other girl some room to breathe — and potentially run.

"How?" she asked calmly, but in a voice that demanded compliance, and Harper fixed her with serious eyes.

"My old man's in jail," she revealed. "Don't ask me what he got busted for — could've been anything from stealing something useless to manslaughter. I think I would've heard if they got him on the child abuse charge, though, assuming anybody even ever filed that one," she went on, and Jade could tell that she was expecting pity, which was why she hadn't exactly been eager to share.

But she had no idea who she was talking to.

"You're lucky," she said.

"I'm sorry?" Harper asked, and Jade glared at her.

"You're lucky," she repeated, "Lawrence is still free; he's at home with my mom and my little sister."

Harper just looked at her for a moment, awestruck. "Lawrence Crock?" she finally drawled out, some sort of realization apparently dawning on her. "You're the daughter of Lawrence Crock?"

"You've heard of him?" Jade asked, her brows knitting together in confusion as Harper let out a sigh.

"He used to help out my dad before the war: Marcus Row," she explained, and Jade nodded. She had heard the name of her father's contact up in the second district, particularly when Lawrence used the other man's arrest story as a lesson to his daughters. But having a contact up in the second district was virtually useless with all the tight regulations on traveling, and her father certainly wasn't a good enough criminal to be able to lie and sneak his way around. Sure, he had friends who could, _supposedly_ , but the last time he tried, he would've gotten caught if it weren't for her mother saving his ass.

Marcus was mentioned in their house about as often as any of Lawrence's other friends from before the Civil War, which was to say almost never. She never knew that Marcus had a daughter who was just barely older than she was herself. Yet here she was, training for Marvel's most deadly games, with Harper Row.

The full name of the girl was almost laughable considering the name of Jade's only friend back home; maybe she had a type.

"Lawrence mentioned your dad a few times; sounds like he belongs in jail," she said, and Harper nodded.

"So, do we help each other?" she asked, and Jade scoffed.

"I'm not here to make friends," she deadpanned. "Besides, it doesn't exactly seem like Marcus ever put a weapon in your hands."

"Sorry, he was a little busy putting them on my face," Harper snapped. "I'm not exactly here for friends either, but the way I see it, I have Harvey, while you have monkey boy over there," she said, pointing over to where Jade's own district partner, Garfield Logan, was dominating an agility course in the trees, but the other recruits had yet to see him excel in much else. "Not to mention you almost blew yourself up with those stink bombs earlier."

"I don't need to make a bomb to survive," Jade interrupted harshly, but Harper wasn't flinching, not now that she knew what kind of a person she was dealing with.

"Look," she said in a deadpan voice, "towards the end of the Games, we can all run around and kill each other if we want, but at the start, there is safety in numbers. Harvey and I work well together, even if he is slightly unhinged. But you and I both know that it takes more than that to survive something like this."

"You're suggesting that I join your alliance?" Jade asked in a soft and very skeptical voice, just to be sure that they were on the same page, even though she knew that they were.

"Harvey won't be impossible to convince, and I know Jack's looking to recruit people who have what it takes to win," Harper said, and so Jade pretended to think it over.

"What happens when we're the only ones left?" she asked, assuming hypothetically that Harper or the others could even make it anywhere close to that far.

"I guess we'll just have to cross that bridge when we get there, won't we?" Harper replied with a smirk, and Jade smiled a venomous grin before she nodded.

"I guess we will," she agreed, and as she and her new friend parted ways, Lawrence's words from so long ago rang in Jade's head.

 _It's every girl for herself._


	29. Chapter 28: Fear Made Gods

**(A/N): Hello, and welcome back to our Tuesday update! This time, we return you to Jonathan Crane, written as always by our own InDeepDarkWood.**

 **Thank you again to all our authors who have reviewed, both old chapters and the most recent one. The interplay between both writers and characters is so important to a story like this, so we love to see it. Keep it up! Slim Summers2002, thank you again for your review and your continued support. We love to hear what you think!**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Eight - Fear Made Gods**

 **Evening Four**

 **Jonathan Crane of District Eleven**

 **Written by InDeepDarkWood**

* * *

 _"Are you a devil?"_

 _"I am a man," answered Father Brown gravely; "and therefore have all devils in my heart."_

― G.K. Chesterton

* * *

Jonathan's eyes itched.

At first, they had just watered up a little, and he had been unable to prevent the tears from rolling down his face. It had been rather humiliating, to say the least, not only because removing his glasses made him bump into things if he walked around. Watery eyes forced Santana and his team to go over and over the makeup they had applied to his face before the dissolvable prosthetic went on. One of the team had voiced his frustrations multiple times, wondering aloud — as though Jonathan wasn't _there_ — how such a fearful tribute would even be able to remain upright while the chariots were moving.

He had gotten into a bit of trouble after that, since _somehow_ the razor blade had sliced into the lap dog's cheek, and _somehow_ he had been holding it after such an event. Jonathan didn't know what happened, though, since he told his stylist he had momentarily blacked out from the blissful pampering he'd been receiving. Santana wasn't an idiot, though, which the boy was grateful for, but he let the indiscretion slide and fixed Jonathan's face himself, so no one was any the wiser that his face had ever been covered in saltiness when the mask removed itself. _Not even Pamela_ , he thought, recalling that _she_ had been crying too, though he hardly thought that his watering eyes were anything to do with her.

As the days past though, the watering had stopped — to his immense relief, since no one would ever want to be seen near a crying tribute — and had replaced itself with a never-ending desire to scratch. The itch wasn't even especially violent; it was a nettle sting, not falling into poison oak, but it was constantly there, and he felt like grains of sand were sliding under his eyelids.

"I am going to get a corneal ulcer if this continues," he voiced aloud, sprawled out on the couch on the eleventh floor, his back arching around the armrest, fingers stretched out away from his body and touching the plush carpet. The television was playing quietly in the corner of the room, some Vale woman giving a blow-by-blow account of the latest nightclub the victors may have been spotted at, and Ross was pacing back and forth in front of it, the flow of the commentary broken with his suit.

"You know how much we appreciated your support last year, Spark—" The escort broke off for a moment as the speaker on the other end of his headset interrupted, and he let out a small sigh, shooting a harried look in Jonathan's direction, who heaved a sigh of his own as he watched the pacing from upside-down.

"—My apologies, Ms. Labelle, yes, I understand you are disappointed in our choice of color, but I assure you that you will not receive a better show by tying yourself to the Four boy. Ebony is out, my dear."

"And apparently, eye ulcers are _in_ ," Jonathan chipped in, earning a glare from Ross. The escort had grown increasingly fraught as the days had passed, and the slim hopes of sponsorships of outlier tributes slipped from his fingers. The boy scrunched up his eyes, earning brief relief as the lids eased the itch, despite his brain informing him that he was doing more damage that way, and let out another sigh.

"Well, Mr. Crane, the good news is you'll now be resembling SHIELD's director. The bad news is: you'll also be resembling that midget that got half-eaten last year."

Everett threw his arms up in the air, stomping away from the television toward the bedrooms, muttering to himself. Jonathan caught the first part of, "Chill, Ross, you only have to deal with these amateurs for one more day," and then it faded into an unintelligible decibel, and the man was gone.

"I am no amateur," the tribute said, his head moving from side to side, feeling his hair brush off the carpet. "I _will_ be if I can't _see,_ though." From the reclining chair, he heard a sigh and pulled himself up from his position, the world swimming back into focus as it turned the right way up, blood rushing away from his head. Santana was looking at him, the tattoos on his face making his gaze even more unsettling to an unaccustomed viewer. He was holding sheets of paper, a lanky figure sketched onto them in various poses and outfits.

"Jonathan, I said we'd get you new ones before you go into the arena, _comprende_?"

"It would be preferable to just wear my glasses when I'm out of training, Diablo," he replied. He had surprised himself by liking his stylist. He hadn't expected to, and from the look on Sam Wilson's face, his mentor hadn't expected him to either. And yet, there it was, for the world to see, or at the very least, the floor of Eleven. He wasn't sure if he was successful in this character interaction aspect of his training, however, since he couldn't help trying to figure out what made his stylist tick, and what made him fly into a hot rage.

Chato Santana was very quietly in control of all aspects of his life, it seemed, including being the dominant controller of the two prep teams.

"Homie, you go out there with your glasses, and you're telling the whole world that you've eye problems," the tattooed man said, words that Jonathan had heard on multiple occasions since his arrival to the Capitol.

He liked being called 'homie'. It was like being called 'crow' by Peter.

"I go out there like this, and I'll walk into things. They'll definitely know I've problems then," he countered softly. "I wonder then how many sponsors Sam will be able to find for me. Or how many times the camera will stay on me while in your outfits." His stylist seemed to churn the words over in his head, and Jonathan got a small thrill of delight as the fire in his eyes danced, his iris flashing vibrant red, and then he held out his hand. The boy half-expected the flame to dance all the way down the swirling tattoos into the open palm.

"Hand them over," Santana said with a two-fingered gesture. "Those yellow ones from the parade didn't itch; I'll get the medics to cook something up."

His face an expressionless mask, the tribute poked his eye and pinched out each scratching contact, his eyes welling up with involuntary relief to aid the cleansing. "Diablo, you're making me emotional," he proclaimed, moving off the couch and dropping the two offending items into his stylist's hand. He cast a blurry glance towards the pages. "Have you found a way of incorporating my hat? It is...important that my district sees me wearing it."

Jonathan didn't really care if no one beside the mayoral candidates saw his token, but he did want to make sure it was seen by them. He was still sore that he hadn't managed to catch M'Baku's full hallucinations before he'd gotten on the train, but the thoughts of giving the broad man even a hint of a relapse with a trigger such as a hat was enough to make him push the stylist for options.

For research. _Obviously. And revenge._

Not that Jonathan held grudges or anything.

"Not yet," he said smoothly, "but it's under control. You'll see it when you're getting ready for launch." He eyed his charge darkly as the teen rubbed his eye with the palm of his hand. "And don't be such a whiner, homie; it doesn't suit you." He tapped his head on the inked portion. "It's all about the mind over matter. Go clear your head, and leave Ross alone. My colleague from Twelve says the roof is good."

 _As though I haven't been up there before_ , Jonathan thought, resisting an urge to roll his eyes at the mentor-like chastising he'd just been given, and striding away from the man, whose head was already partially absorbed in his work. He picked up his glasses from the lobby locker. Punching the elevator call bell, he tapped his foot, casting an eye over to where Pamela's room was. He hadn't spoken to her since that morning, when she'd been about as happy as Everett was when dealing with him.

"Aren't you going to put on shoes?" Santana called as he entered the lift. Jonathan shrugged, drumming his toes against the elevator's plush ground.

"I'm living in a world without hope, Diablo. I think I can also live without shoes." The elevator closed with a _ding_!

* * *

 _"Back at the plants, I see."_

 _He didn't wait for an invitation to drop down beside his district partner, his legs folding cross-legged, while hers were carefully tucked beneath her, every inch a demure young woman_ — _Crawford's handiwork made Pamela almost look like a young Capitol woman_. Almost, _Jonathan thought, his eyes darting down to the dirt that had already accumulated under her manicured fingernails from the plants. It was hardly surprising to see the dirt on his partner's hands; had it been anyone else, the image would have given him a flicker of uncertainty, but Pamela was different._

 _She didn't just look at the plants that were on display; she touched them, caressed them, ran her hands from the flower tips right down into the dirt where the roots began. Jonathan didn't think there was another person in the center that could find plants so fascinatingly interesting as Pamela, unless you counted Kevin. The blonde was enraptured by his district partner, his eyes lighting up whenever she made an appearance at his station, and though he didn't speak all that much, it was easy for Jonathan to pick up the unspoken connection between Pamela, the plants, and Kevin._

 _"Mhmm," Pamela responded. "I thought Ka-zar could do with some company." The nickname the trainer had given himself rolled off her tongue quietly, but he could see the man give a grunt of approval._

 _"I am happy with the peace Eleven brings to the plants," the blonde said approvingly. "Eleven is good with plants; they will not kill her in the arena." He nodded towards the girl that was also at the station, and shook his head. "Nine has much to learn. I am not sure I can teach with only one day left before battle." He shuffled away from Jonathan's redhead companion and began speaking to the crestfallen tribute, holding up a selection of berries._

 _"Ka-Zar is an idiot," Jonathan stated._ Another airy brain to float around, _he thought, ignoring the outraged look Pamela shot him at his words. She had grown a slightly stronger backbone since their first few conversations, and though she had yet to call him out on anything, the teen wondered if she had been given more pep talks from her stylist. He hadn't missed the nods of understanding between the two._ Solidarity of sisterhood, _he mused, cracking one of the leaves off a rhododendron and twirling it between his fingers._

 _"You were being watched, you know," he continued, this time acknowledging the look his partner gave him. "Yesterday. When you were at the knives with me; one of those minions of Eight and Two."_

 _"Harley?" Pamela asked, her dull eyes brightening briefly._

 _"No, not_ Miss Quinzel, _the one in charge and the one who thinks he's in charge," Jonathan clarified with a more-than-condescending tone of voice. He had been keeping an eye on the new pack members since that girl had spoken to him earlier in the week._ Jacqueline the Third. Or Fourth? _She had been lurking near the knife and archery stations the previous day while Jonathan had helped his companion in the art of weaponry. Pamela turned back to her plants._

 _"Maybe they both think they're in charge," she muttered. The boy's eyes snapped towards her, glittering with malicious interest._

 _"You have ideas, Pamela? You have...thoughts?" he asked, watching her tense briefly at the tone, a small smile playing on his face._

 _"I have thoughts," she answered, her voice trying to be strong, but failing to rise above its soft pitch. "But you are supposed to be the observer, so you tell me." Jonathan remained silent, tilting his head away from her to where the ringleaders of the pack lurked. His gaze roamed over the center, resting briefly at the slingshots, where the short, sallow-skinned trainer was instructing a pair of tributes. He wondered if Yo-Yo was the trainer's actual name or just a stage one_. Like Thanos, perhaps? _He couldn't imagine naming a child a ridiculous name like Yo-Yo, or Thanos. Then again, his predecessor had a 'T' at the beginning, so he could envision it._

 _Closer inspection of the slingshot tributes highlighted Diana Prince, and the stitched '3' on the shorter girl revealed her to be Caitlin Snow. The teen had watched both of them and conversed with both briefly. Diana had been all bristles, like his sweeping brush at home. Caitlin had been a bit more difficult to figure out whether she was friend or foe. It appeared Diana was having similar difficulties, if their postures were anything to go by, though he was momentarily confused as the shorter shook her head, and the broader squeezed her shoulder in a comforting manner._

 _Unconsciously, Jonathan's hand reached up to his own shoulder, and he gave it a little squeeze, just to see what it felt like. He wasn't sure if he liked the feeling, so he dropped his hand back to the rhododendron and resumed his roving. Jack Hamill was nowhere in sight, but the scarred boy was there, the one that had ruined his chariot display. He was at the swords, beating into a dummy with a vicious look on his good side. Jonathan was intrigued to see if the look carried across to the bad side._

 _"Isn't the mind a beautiful thing, Pamela?" he said suddenly, making her jump. He let out a small cackle, catching the tail end of a wide eye and a dilated pupil, before sobering. "So strong at times, and yet, so easy to break once you find its weak point. All you have to do is press it in the right way, and it can overload with anger, hatred… fear." He paused, casting a look over to the Nine girl that Kevin had moved away from._

 _"You can kill a brain with fear, Pammy," he added, before gesturing at the girl as she moved to get up. "Hey, Nine!" he called out, his face pulled into a smile and gesturing again for her to come over. The girl sidestepped toward them hesitatingly. "We were just talking about the really poisonous and the not so poisonous plants over here, since this is probably the last time we'll be at the station."_

 _He saw his district partner shift her gaze warily towards him. "We're both Elevens, so we know our plants." He held up the rhododendron and shook his head vigorously. "Just remember, this is an absolute no-no. You'll vomit and get dizzy with it, even if you boil it." The girl nodded slowly, and Jonathan reached over, picking up a small branch of yew. "But this one is all good to eat the leaves once you boil it, just not the berries, okay?"_

 _"Leaves, not berries?"_

 _"Yes, ma'am." The girl flashed him a grateful smile._

 _"Thanks. Kevin was confusing the heck out of me." She gave him another smile and walked away from the station._

 _Jonathan let the smile fall from his face once her back was turned and resumed his branch twirling. The branch was dropped in surprise at the unexpected whack that came at him from his district partner, and he grasped his arm in shock, twisting around to her._

 _"You just told her to eat yew leaves," Pamela stated, her face thunderous._

 _"And?" he asked, rubbing his arm and raising an eyebrow._

 _"The leaves are poisonous, not the berries!" she said, and he thought she sounded frustrated on behalf of all plants. His look changed to one of withering scorn._

 _"And?"_

 _"She could die!"_

 _"And how do you feel about that, Pamela? Everyone has to die, you know. We can't all have eternal life like our Lord and Savior, Thanos." Pamela launched herself onto her feet, her stance firm, anger in her eyes._

 _"I...I...I can't believe it. You would lie so easily and...so callously," she managed to get out. "I can't believe I ever asked you to help me." She turned on her heel, about to walk away._

 _"Pamela, wait," he called out, and she paused, glancing back at him for a moment. "You need to work on your knife combat," he said, his voice cold, watching her spine stiffen. "Miranda Tate can help you go over the techniques from yesterday."_

 _Pamela stalked off without another word, her back straight as a board._

* * *

The roof wasn't empty when he arrived to the top floor, the elevator doors opening to reveal a cloudless and starless night, warm to the touch but with a pleasant breeze that stopped the air from becoming stifling. Jonathan could only wonder how the Capitol managed to achieve such a perfect temperate weather, and he let his eyes wander around the space above the building, searching for a dome or bubble of some sort that would reveal Thanos' home was in fact within a capsule. It was the only logical explanation, for the near-perfect weather that the Capitol had been basking in since he'd arrived from Eleven.

He took a deep breath when he stepped out onto the concrete, feeling the ground beneath his toes, perfectly smooth, without a chip or a crack to stub his toe. The elevator doors whooshed closed behind him quietly, and left him there, in the relative quiet. Far below him, there were sounds of revelry from the Capitolites, the occasional raucous laughter carrying all the way to the roof. He wondered if Sam was down there, rubbing elbows, trying for sponsorship. Truth be told, Jonathan didn't think there was much point in even trying, a fact he'd told Sam the previous evening.

* * *

 _"Look, Jonathan, ordinarily I'd be agreeing with you, since we're not Careers, and we're not a popular district with the Capitolites or the Capitol, but this year's different," Sam said, shrugging his shoulders. Jonathan raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to examine the mentor with more scrutiny, and leaned forward, his hand cupping his mouth to stage-whisper._

 _"You mean because we're..." He trailed off, gesturing to his arms and exposed skin, and then threw his head back and laughed loudly at Sam's thunderous look. "I'm kidding, I'm_ kidding. _Sheesh."_

"Because _some of the victors aren't trying too hard this year," Sam clarified with great emphasis, shaking his head as the boy continued to cackle. "That gives us a bit of an edge."_

 _"Right, right, well, good luck with that for Pamela. You're probably not going to get far with me," Jonathan said, a wide smile on his face. "I thought I was going to give you a heart attack there_. Woowee _, that was fun."_

* * *

The voices on the roof were coming from around one of the buttresses that flung itself high into the air, making the building seem even taller from a distance. Jonathan walked towards them, his feet silent on the ground, his body ever aware of his surroundings to make it so he moved in as still a way as possible. He couldn't make out the actual conversation, but as he peeked ever so slightly around the concrete, he spotted the pair. _Kory Anders_ , he thought, tapping his forehead to remind himself as she let out a laugh at whatever the boy had said _. And her infatuated little Dickie_. The boy had momentarily frozen at the girl's laugh, like he was still in shock she was responding to his words in that way, and Jonathan barely held back the snort of disdain. Dick glanced away from her, and even in the dim lighting, the teen could see how red the tribute had gone, his ears flushed.

He watched them chatting, leaning against the buttress with a hand cupping his chin, thoughtful. The Seven boy had been hanging around some of the younger ones, though Jonathan didn't think it was because he _liked_ them, since why would anyone want to be saddled with the young blood? It had been much appropriate, to him, when he'd spotted Dick talking with the broad tribute from Five and Diana from Four, during training the previous day. _That_ seemed like an alliance that would do well. _That_ seemed like the kind of alliance Sam would approve of his involvement with. _That_ seemed like an alliance that would run a mile and a half away from Jonathan. _Oh well_ , he had thought _. Just more people to gas in the arena._

He didn't really know what to make of Kory, though. He watched her in training, as she pummelled punches into dummies. He watched her in the common room, as she batted eyelids and flipped her hair in a way that made any man worth his salt choke on his breath. Even Jonathan, who preferred to live in solitude and thought love was for the weak, since it only made those who had it more fearful, was not immune to her allure.

"Do you ever wish your life was different?" The teen nearly jumped as he actually made out the question Kory had posed to her new kissing-mate, and he automatically moved his hand to the jugular area, feeling the artery beneath his fingers pulse slowly and steadily, and letting out a sigh of disappointment. He froze as the two tributes who'd been entwined in each other both turned toward the buttress at the same time, Dick pulling his hand from Kory's hair and taking a step forward, his hand resting steady on the girl's shoulder.

"Anyone there?" he asked, instead of replying to Kory's question, which furthered Jonathan's disappointment, since that was one less thing he knew about the pair, and one less thing he could use once the Games started. He made a point of making a lot of noise, as though he had just appeared from the elevator, his lips curling into a knowing smile as Dick dropped his hand away from Kory, and the two took a step apart as he appeared around the corner, feigning surprise.

"Ah," he said, running a hand through his shaggy mane and adjusting his glasses. "Didn't realize the roof was already occupied by two..." He trailed off, his eyes moving up and down the pair. "Acquaintances," he finished at last, his eyes narrowed behind the glasses. He forgot how much he missed them, how they could partially hide his eyes when he wore them, and people struggled to see beyond them. _Wear glasses, and people see glasses, not eyes_ , he thought, a smile forming on his face that seemed more like baring teeth than friendly.

"Don't worry about it," Dick said easily, a boyish grin on his face that reminded Jonathan of a different boy in Eleven. Everything in life had come easily to that boy too, from charm, to friends, to women, to smiles. His eyes became almost slits as he took in Seven's smile. _That_ boy had ended up in a wheelchair. _This_ boy, if Jonathan was lucky, would end up dead.

"Well, don't let me interrupt. I'm sure you've much to...talk about. Alliances and all that must be going swimmingly," he replied, feeling a touch of a shiver run through his spine as Kory shook her head, her hair flicking back and forth like some sultry goddess.

"Don't worry; we were just leaving, right, Dick?" she said, shooting a pointed look at the other tribute. _Leaving to find privacy_ , he thought, seeing the flicker of understanding in Seven's eyes. She slinked towards him, like a cat, Dick following a half a heartbeat later like some lapdog puppy, still smiling.

"Yeah, yeah, you stay, Jon. Have at it," the boy said, sweeping a hand grandly over the roof as he passed him by. "Roof's yours. It's a free country, after all."

"For now," Jonathan said softly in response, the smile dropping from his face like someone had splashed cold water on him, and he stood with his back to them as they walked away.

"You think he saw us?" he heard Kory whisper.

"Nah, we're careful, and I can tell when someone's sneaking around. I'm a top quality sneaker, you know, can get past _Bruce_ , and he's got ears like a bat, so I would have..." Dick's words faded off as they reached the elevator and went out of earshot, so Jonathan never found out what the Seven boy would have done to him. Instead, he headed over to the edge of the roof, peering over it to where the ants of the Capitol moved about. It was all so vibrant, so colorful. _So false_. The citizens knew nothing of hardship, or the heat of the sun, or murder. They knew nothing of _fear_.

Jonathan thought it would be quite a thing, to see their fear. There'd be so much of it.

It was almost too much to bear.

He pushed himself up onto the roof wall, standing up tall and straight, closing his eyes and breathing a sigh once more. What he wouldn't give for that feeling on Reaping Day to return. It had been over five days ago, and he yearned for it. He'd tried playing dangerous games with his mentor, tried provoking Pamela into something, and then bigger fish like Diana. Still, nothing was comparable.

"Wouldn't it be nice, Mr. Crane," he said aloud, walking up and down the wall's flat surface with carefully placed feet. "If your hallucinogen affected you? All this longing would be for naught then."

He paused, arms outstretched, and cast another eye down the building's face.

"I wonder..." Spinning on his heel, he faced the world of the Capitol, his arms still wide and open.

And then he toppled forward over the edge.

There was a great _whoosh_ in his ears as the wind whistled past him, his eyes streaming, and everything was so _bright_ and the world was _dancing_ and his heart was beating in his head, and for a moment, Jonathan wondered if he'd finally reached that feeling of fear and exhilaration that he sought.

Then, as though a string pulled against his back, the world came to an abrupt stop, and the boy hit something that made his hair stand up and a jolt run through him, and he was snapped back up. The world grew farther away once more, and everything became lost in dull reality as he bounced back onto the roof and landed with a thud against the concrete. The breath was momentarily sucked out of his body, and he coughed loudly, clutching his chest, hearing the rasp, and feeling his heart make a feeble attempt at spreading his adrenaline.

"No such luck," he gasped out, pushing himself into a cross-legged seated position, the breeze around him pitiful in comparison to his fall. He sat there, catching his breath, his eyes closed with disappointment. Time passed ever so slowly.

It came as a mild relief when he heard the elevator arrive at the roof and its occupant step out and walk towards him. There was some shuffling, as the tribute cleared his throat and announced his presence, and Jonathan almost rolled his eyes at the mere thought that the other had notions of sneaking up on him.

"Hello, Mr. Dent, how nice of you to join me," he stated, remaining cross-legged and making no move to approach the teen.

"What? Oh hi, I guess," Two replied after a moment's hesitation, and Jonathan caught an incredulous look crossing the scarred face before it was swept away. "Look, Jonathan, I don't know if the wires got crossed or something, but Jack told me we were meeting you in the common room tonight."

"We are meeting in the common room, Mr. Dent. Obviously."

"Well, I hate to break it to you, but you're currently on the _roof_ , not the common room." Jonathan had to hand it to Harvey; he was being very diplomatic despite the perplexed look on the good side of his face. He glanced up at the bad side, slightly bemused at the rigid fixation of the skin. It was almost comical, seeing the two faces.

He pushed himself off the ground with the help of his hand, dusting himself off out of habit and adjusting his glasses. Instead of moving towards Dent, however, he merely turned back on himself to resume leaning out over the wall and admiring the view. There were another few heartbeats of hesitation, and then he heard the shuffle of feet and the air move around him as Harvey entered the space beside him.

"I have a fair idea what will be coming from this meeting, you know," Jonathan said softly. "I want to make sure I have my own mind engaged before it."

"Huh. Well, I doubt it'll be too strenuous," Dent responded, and the boy caught a flash of a toothy grin that he suspected was supposed to be encouraging. "But, you know, it's late. We've all got places to go, people to see. I doubt your mentor will approve of a rendezvous late at night, if my observations are correct."

"They are," Jonathan agreed, nodding his head, and hopping back up onto the wall, looking down on the tribute. "But neither I nor Sam care whether or not I'm in my bed at appropriate hours." He held out his hand in a way that mirrored Harvey's grin of encouragement. The other gave him a very slight frown, his forehead creasing with indecisiveness, and then he accepted the boost, climbing up beside Jonathan.

"Isn't it beautiful?" he asked, glancing down the couple of inches to Harvey's face. His good side crinkled up a little.

"I, ah, I never was a fan of the night, to be honest," Harvey confessed, his hand fiddling with something in his pocket.

"No? Surely your great mentor taught you his secrets in the nighttime?" Jonathan asked, bolstered slightly at the look the other shot in his direction. "It's not just the Careers who do their research. Aren't you Masters' pet project?"

Harvey visibly bristled at the words, and Jonathan thought if his bad side were facing him, he'd have bared teeth. There was a long, pregnant pause, with Jonathan relishing in the war that was occurring in the other and casting an eye out over the Capitol. There was a clink beside him, and he could feel the tension evaporate around him.

"I am his student," the Career said calmly, his words suave and confident. Jonathan wondered if he had been contemplating hitting him over his earlier words. "I didn't say that right; it's the nights when you can't see the stars that bother me."

"Are you afraid of the dark?"

"Not the dark. Just what's inside it," Harvey conceded. "Everyone has something they fear, though. It's the cowards that don't admit it."

"No, I don't believe in that ideal," Jonathan returned, turning to face him head-on. "Take falling, for example. How do you stop a fear of falling? You jump, say, off this roof."

Harvey let out a short laugh. "That's not overcoming fear; there's a forcefield, everyone knows that." The tribute shrugged, and Jonathan merely raised an eyebrow, letting the idea settle with Dent.

"Do you know that? Can you categorically say, for sure, that the forcefield is there, and it will stop you falling, and you will be unharmed?" He tilted his head as the other shrugged again, this time with a little less conviction. "Don't you know that there is a possibility, however small and minute it may seem, that the forcefield will fail at the exact moment in time you require it, and you'll plummet fifteen — give or take — floors to a bloody, bloody death?"

Despite what Jonathan presumed were his best efforts, he caught the little gulp Harvey made.

"Isn't it then facing a fear, knowing that possibility is there, and meeting it head-on, and damned to the desert anything that happens afterward?" he asked, taking a small step towards Harvey, his eyes flicking behind his glasses to the direction Dent's gaze had gone. _Downward_ , he thought, with a small smile.

"And tell me, Mr. Dent," he said softly. "Is it the fall you fear, or the landing that follows?"

The shove he gave Harvey was quite sudden and unexpected.

 _God, I love science,_ he thought, peering over the edge as Harvey tumbled downward, whatever words or screams he intended to make ripped out of him by the rush of wind that enveloped him. _One...two...three...four..._

"Four seconds. Hmm." He scribbled a mental note in his head and took a step back, hopping off the wall as Harvey rushed back up from his fall and landed on the concrete. He was far more graceful than Jonathan had been, if he was being honest, and only dropped as far as his knee, catching himself in a runner's position in a manner Jonathan could appreciate. He took another step back as the two-faced boy's head snapped up, his eyes flashing with a look the lanky tribute recognized, having felt that murderous rage before. _Mistress Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?_ Had Harvey any cockle shells, Jonathan had no doubt he would be afflicting pain at this moment.

As it were, he had something almost as good. Jonathan watched, in silent fascination, as the other slunk over to the buttress and produced an empty bottle from seemingly thin air. It was no illusion though, as Harvey cracked the glass against the concrete, the bottom cracking off and leaving a tattered and deadly edge.

"We — I could have _died_ ," he hissed, the words full of hot rage as he advanced on the boy, who quickly held up his hands.

"But you didn't," he answered, similar to the diplomacy Harvey had previously shown.

"You could have injured us — me." Dent's face was full of thunder, both sides in perfect unison, playing with the grip on the bottle.

"But I didn't," he stated. "Get your coin and make a choice, Mr. Dent. I saw you watching me. I _saw_ your skepticism. Your _scorn_ of Eleven. I have _shown_ you why I'm acceptable to Jack." He flashed him a small smile as Harvey swung the bottle blindly; he felt the air beside his face billow towards him with the force of the swing.

"Tails, you cut me up good and proper. Heads, you put that bottle away, and we go downstairs like civilized folk." _I will not be ending up with a face like his_.

Harvey seemed to turn the words over in his head, having an internal struggle, and then lowered the bottle. "That seems fair," he grumbled out.

 _Clink_! Went the coin, and there was a brief moment where Jonathan's pulse fluttered, and he had never felt so alive. It landed with a low _plink._

"Heads," Harvey said, and dropped the bottle neck beside its end. It didn't break, just landed with a dull clunk, and rolled over to the buttress. "Guess we're going downstairs."

 _How exciting._ He thought it had gone better than his usual fights.

 _He hadn't been picked, not this year. Fourteen years old, and leaving the crowds of people after saying an awkwardly stilted goodbye to Ben, Jonathan kept his head down as he walked down the road. It was going to be dark by the time he got back to Grandmother, unless… No, the orchard gates were closed, the roving watch light already set in motion despite the sun still shining. Grandmother was going to be annoyed that he had dawdled, watching with his acquaintances as the two tributes were led away. He didn't know who Luke was, and had completely forgotten the girl's name, but he doubted they would have a chance anyway._

Perhaps we shall watch the Reapings together _, he thought, kicking a stone along with his ungainly leg. He didn't think his grandmother approved of the unhealthy admiration Jonathan had for the Games contenders. He unconsciously winced, rubbing his upper arm at the reminder of the beatings when he watched the tributes fight._

 _His feet slowed in a knowing way as he became aware of people walking with him. No, not with, he thought darkly._ Around. _His gaze lifted, and just in time, as one of the largest boys stood directly in front of him, and he caught his step before colliding with the sneering face._

 _"Hey, what's up, Doc?" Bo Griggs had obviously pumped himself full of whatever drug could be smuggled from the gardens across from the orchards, since despite his height nearly matched by Jonathan, his frame dwarfed the boy like some David and Goliath scene of ancient times._

 _"Get out of my way, Griggs," he growled, knowing if his grandmother were here, she'd have smacked him from his informal tone. The large boy made no move to get out of the way and instead reached forward and snatched his glasses clean off the bridge of his nose. The world swam blurrily in front of Jonathan._

 _"Oh, can you not see without your glasses?" Griggs sneered, and he could just about make out the hazy way he moved the glasses back and forth. Around him, he could hear the snickers from the crowd of boys and girls alike. "Poor little Crane can't see without his glasses." He made motions of a desperate attempt to search for spectacles, and the girl beside him threw back her head with laughter, clutching his biceps._

 _Jonathan let out a little gulp, recognising the willowy shape of the girl even in blurry-form, and his fist clenched. Sherry Squires had laughed just like that when he had tried to speak to her in school, and then flicked her hair into his eyes._

 _"Give them back," he said, making the mistake of trying to snatch them back. Griggs held them higher, guffawing, joined by his comrades. A few bystanders were watching; most were snickering despite themselves. There were a couple with concerned looks, unsure as to whether to intervene; a grey-haired man, a redheaded girl, a short, stumpy boy._

 _"Run home to Granny, Jonny-boy; she'll be_ torn up _you weren't Reaped this year," Bo cackled out. "Little weirdo." Jonathan took a step forward, his own face attempting a sneer to match the larger. "Oh, what're you going to do, you skinny little shit?"_

 _"Get my glasses back," Jonathan fumed, and swung the fist towards Griggs. The boy deflected it easily, catching Jonathan back with a punch of his own, and he staggered away, feeling a cut open on his cheek. He straightened up, his arms swinging wildly, and spun his body around, his fixed point being Bo's face so he wouldn't make himself dizzy. His fists were like propellers as they connected with Griggs' upper body, his glasses flying out of the boy's hand and into the dirt road._

 _He was satisfied, but Griggs was not, and with a roar, he sprang for the spinning Jonathan, socking him in the jaw, and sending him into a more frenzied spin. The next punch caught his eye socket, and Jonathan was suddenly glad his glasses were on the ground, since they'd be in bits otherwise. Bo pulled his fist back once more, ready to hit the moving target again._

 _"Wait, stop!"_

 _There was a girl pushing through the crowd, trying to get in between them, but Jonathan's face was a bloody mess, and he wasn't going to be the first to stop. His arms still propelling, he swung wide with a hook as the girl stepped between him and Griggs. His fist caught her on the jaw, as she was much smaller than his opponent, whose chest he'd been aiming for, and she dropped like a hot potato._

 _"Oh, shit." His spinning and wild arms stopped, and he dropped down, pushing away the ginger locks to examine where he'd hit her. She groaned softly, a small trickle of blood on the temple that had struck the ground, and he realized she was one of the crowd who hadn't been laughing._ She tried to help me _, he thought._ Nobody's done that before _._

 _But before he could understand and comprehend this dawning realization, Griggs had bodily lifted him away from her and flung him across the dirt road. He rolled into the ditch, coughing, but didn't get a chance to catch his breath as the large boy was on him, kicking his side as Sherry squealed beside him, "Get 'em, Bo! Nobody beats on a girl like that!"_

"Well, how're ya doin', Mr. Crannie?"

Jonathan didn't miss the subtle eyeroll of Dent's at the voice that spoke immediately as the elevator opened on the common room level. The pair hadn't said a word on the way down from the roof, which he was perfectly fine with, and he thought the Career had made peace with it as well. The common room was nearly empty at that hour of the evening. He briefly wondered where the star-crossed lovers had snuck off to when they'd left him, since they were nowhere in sight, but became a little preoccupied at the incessant waving that originated from the blonde perched on the armrest of the large chair.

"How are you, my child?" he asked, dipping his head in greeting at the gum-chewing girl. He didn't even bother asking her where she had procured such items, and she didn't bother giving an explanation, shooting him a beaming grin and then resuming what she had been doing before he arrived. Jonathan didn't think her nails actually _needed_ filing, but he suspected Harley Quinn did it to look busy, and deflect.

"You're a little late," Jack drawled, leaning right back into the chair, and lifting his leg. Almost automatically, Harley's foot kicked the footstool that lay by her side in perfect timing, and Hamill's feet never lost their fluid movement as they settled onto the rest.

"He was demonstrating for me," Harvey said, still playing with the coin. It was like a security blanket for the tribute. _What would happen if it were taken away_? Jonathan thought, and a small smile crossed his expression at the idea of the experiment.

"I was helping him overcome his fears," Jonathan said in a humble way, making a slight gesture with his hand of seemingly waving off thanks.

"Oh? And what's old Harvey boy afraid of, then?" Jack asked, twiddling his fingers together, an unnaturally wide smile pulling his skin taut on his face.

"Nothing," Dent answered quickly, with self-assurance.

"Getting pushed off a roof, it would seem," Jonathan said half a heartbeat later. Jack let out a small laugh, which disappeared from his face as beside him, Harley let out a loud whoop.

"Oh Jonny, that musta been somethin' special, seein' his face," she sang out, tapping Jack's shoulder like a small child. "Oh, Mista J, we just _gotta_ try that in the arena — ya know, with someone other than sweet Diddums over here." The girl flashed Dent a brilliant smile as she whipped her head back around to him, her pigtail flapping against Jack's face in a seemingly accidental manner. _Nothing Ms. Quinzel does is accidental_ , he thought through narrowed eyes, filing away more notes.

"Whatever you say, little darling," Jack responded, though the nod that went with it didn't seem to be aimed at Harley. She didn't seem to mind, though, giving a shriek of excitement, and then resuming her nails as though nothing had occurred. "You may have heard a thing or two about our little...soiree in the Games." The other boy had resumed the finger twiddling, his head tilting from side to side and eliciting a slight crack with each motion. The white painted on his face didn't crease with the movement. Jonathan was a little impressed by that.

"Perhaps a thing or four," he said by way of answering. "I saw your rats scuttling around, fishing for information." It wasn't said in an accusatory way, and though Jack's eyes narrowed at the words, Jonathan thought his eyes held more interest than aggression.

"Did they catch anything?"

"Not exactly. Your rats talk, though." Jonathan hadn't even had to goad them into it, or make them remotely uncomfortable and fearful. Jack had chosen well in regards to the latter; he had no wish to work with the cowards hiding behind fear.

Jack shot a look in Harley's direction. "Hey, don't look at me, Puddin', you know I'd never tell a soul before you want'd me to, cross my heart and hope to die." The girl even made the motion for good measure.

"That's not the point of our discussion tonight," Jack said, turning back to Jonathan, his elbow pushing Harley off the armrest as he forcibly took it for his own recline. She hopped up, stood, let out a loud huff, and stalked over to Harvey, draping an arm around him.

"Hey, sugar, you ever gonna tell a girl how you got them scars?" she asked, shooting a wide grin back at Jack, and pulling the Career a few paces away.

"I think he's a good fit," Harvey said, before he was whipped around so his back faced the pair, and Jonathan was left raising an eyebrow at the look on Jack's face.

"Well, Mr. Hamill," he began, and Jack raised a hand.

"It's Jack. I'm not one for high-brow classist titles. In the arena, we are all equal."

 _And some are more equal than others,_ Jonathan thought darkly. Aloud, he said in the same silky soft voice, "Jack. I know you want to say something. Do it, and I'll be on my way."

"Straight to the point!" Jack replied, clapping his hands once. "I like it! So business-like, so clinical, so emotionless. It is perfection!" He gave a low chuckle at Jonathan's expression. "Alrighty, you got it. I have a pack with people of certain quality, and I'm inviting you in. It would be in your best interest to agree. I make an excellent enemy otherwise."

Jonathan knew the words had been coming, and he knew, at least in part, the kind of person that Jack Hamill was. Despite his flair and flamboyance, he liked getting to the point as well, and beating around the bush would only be an unnecessary delay.

"Is Pamela also in?" he asked, and Jack gave him the first flicker of surprise in the days Jonathan had been watching him.

"No. Are you being serious with this question?"

"Yes. I'll meet you in the arena. I'll join your pack — the enemy of my enemy is my friend, _friend_. But only if you extend this invitation to Pamela." There was a long silence.

"Why?"

"I'm making up for something a long time past," Jonathan said frankly. Jack was like a viper, his legs whipping off the footstool and his upper body folding upwards until he was right on top of the tribute, eyes glittering behind the chalk.

"And what, oh what, could have happened oh so long ago that you're still guilty of, eh?" Jack asked. Jonathan tasted the hot breath that spiraled out, and it was he who kept the silence pregnant this time, his face a picture of stone. He had a bit of making up to do with Pam, and this seemed like as good a place as any to start. He watched a flicker of irritation cross the other's forehead, and then it was gone, replaced by a loud, high-pitched and unstable laugh, the kind that caused spittle to fleck out and spray his face with droplets of saliva. He made no move to clean them from his face.

"Alrighty, alrighty, keep your secrets, you crafty devil; you got yourself a deal!" He held out his hand, and Jonathan took it without a moment's hesitation, giving the chalky man a wide smile of his own.

One of them had made a deal with the devil. Jonathan wasn't sure which he was.


	30. Chapter 29: The Line Begins to Blur

**(A/N): And we're back with our Friday update! This time, we're taking a break from our focus on the tributes themselves to show a bit of what's going on behind the scenes with the victors as they try to support our kids. This chapter features Logan, written as always by our own Canucklehead Cowgirl.**

 **Thanks to the writers who reviewed the last chapter, as always. I know we say it often, but we mean it every time: This show of support for your fellow writers is so, so important.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Nine —The Line Begins to Blur**

 **Capitol Training Center**

 **Logan Howlett, 24th Victor**

 **Written by Canucklehead Cowgirl**

* * *

" _Although this may be a most difficult thing, if one will do it, it can be done._

 _There is nothing that one should suppose cannot be done."  
_ ― _Tsunetomo Yamamoto, Hagakure: The Book of the Samurai_

* * *

It was odd being back in the Capitol on the other side of the Games.

Logan watched his two tributes as they made their way through the first few days. At that point, there really wasn't much that he could do for them as the stylists made over the two Wayne children and they got settled in.

Nothing he could do outside of keeping Creed away, that is.

Helena and Dick had to put up with a small entourage of Sentinels and cameras that were following Logan and Creed at a safe distance for large parts of their day — waiting for the inevitable when the Capitol would get a show, and Tivan and Uatu would get something juicy to talk about.

And the cameras had very nearly gotten their juicy moment on the first night, too.

While the kids were being prepped and the stylists were having their moment to shine, the mentors had all been gathered up to wait for their tributes to be released, so they could take them up to the suites. It was there that Creed and Groot had come over to Logan before the others had a chance. It was, after all, their job to make sure that Logan knew what was going on.

When the two older victors came to a stop in front of him, Logan glanced up at them both with a frown, and it looked for a moment like Groot was encouraging Creed to speak — though the monster just hemmed and hawed and rolled his eyes before _finally_ grumbling out a 'fine'.

"I'm s'possed to tell you what you're gonna need to do," Creed muttered almost unintelligibly.

"So you _know_ then?" Logan shot back. "Pretty sure that's a shock to everyone."

Creed glared and took a step closer. "Listen you sawn off little—"

"Bring it, ya second rate, worthless sack 'o crap," Logan sneered up at him, and it very nearly kicked off right there had it not been for several of the victors from other districts stepping in and breaking it up as the cameraman nearby looked supremely disappointed. They weren't the only ones, either. With all the training Logan had been doing, he'd been just waiting for Creed to ask for it like he was right then.

Groot and Sam Wilson had pushed Creed back bodily while Peter Quill and Jessica Drew intervened on Logan's side, though they didn't push him nearly as far back as the others pushed Creed.

Instead of charging like Creed had, Logan had stood his ground, waiting for him. He let his fists stay at his sides, and as soon as the others got in the middle, he allowed them to push him back a few paces without any resistance.

"You can't start anything," Jessica said in a quiet hiss. "Not in front of the cameras — not if you want to keep a low profile."

"I know," Logan shot back just as quietly.

"This is not the place, man," Quill said, though his tone was a bit less friendly than Jessica's.

"I _know_ ," Logan insisted more strongly than before as he met Quill's gaze.

The two older victors shared a look and took their hands off of Logan's arms and shoulders as they stepped back. "You're … holding up well," Jessica said, her brows drawn together a bit. "Usually the new ones aren't so … you know. _With it_."

Logan gave her a dry look. "So what are you sayin'? I'm supposed to take a free pass to sit back and watch these kids die?" Logan challenged. "I call bullshit."

Both of them looked pleasantly surprised at the amount of fire Logan had going. "Well alright then," Quill said with the beginnings of a crooked smirk before he waved Logan over.

"How about we fill you in on what you can expect instead of trying to hear it from Creed, who I have seen since _his_ first year, and I can reliably tell you he has never tried to do anything for anyone," Jessica said with an understanding expression on her features.

"Yeah, I'd gathered as much, surprising as that seems," Logan deadpanned, though that only got a sigh from Jessica and a wider smile out of the lone Five victor.

"Holy crap, you _do_ have a sense of humor," Quill said with a laugh.

"Peter — _don't_ … just don't," Jessica said as she took a seat next to Logan and then leaned closer. "Alright, listen. Normally, the new guys are a little scared and shell-shocked, but you've got all kinds of 'fight me' going for you. So, as much as I hate to say it — you're probably the guy we'll be competing against the hardest for sponsors."

"But seeing as your old mentors aren't exactly known for their ability to drum up support, you _might_ want to pay attention to how _we_ do things instead," Quill said.

Logan looked at both of them suspiciously. "Why should I listen to you again?"

Jessica let out a little sigh and gave him a much kinder expression. "We're in a unique position," she said. "And this little club you found yourself in is pretty exclusive. Like it or not, we're not your competition. Not really. More like peers. We covered this last time you were here, Logan. Come on. Don't tell me I'm that forgettable."

"You know you're not," Logan said low and quiet, though he gave her a little smirk that earned a smile.

Quil was nodding along, and Jess let out a breath as she leaned back in the seat next to Logan.

"So," Quill said, leaning forward. "Before you know it, we'll have to go be nice to the sharks out there and drum up support for our kids. We get these little tablets? Handles it all electronically for us. Also makes it hard for them to change their minds about their pledges."

Logan frowned deeper at that. He didn't like the premise of panhandling for anyone. Particularly when dealing with the same creeps that had been _overly friendly_ at the end of the victory tour.

"Pretty sure I had that same reaction, with less … growl," Quill said with a smirk. "But it's about all we can do for 'em … so..." He shrugged openly. "Whatcha gonna do? It's what we're stuck with."

"No," Logan grumbled. "There's always something that can be done."

"Yeah," Quill said shifting in his seat, his eyebrows high on his head. "But you might wanna keep that sentiment on the down low, or they'll be painting you up like Magneto Junior."

Logan let out a little huff of a laugh and shook his head, though it only seemed to bolster Quill.

"This isn't too hard, but it is annoying. And demeaning," Jessica said, ignoring Quill for the time being. "But if you're not with your tributes, you'll need to be with us — and the Capitolites. Schmoozing."

"Yeah, we all kinda stick together," Quill said. "Kind of. I mean, it's hard when we're talking up Capitolites unless our kids are in an alliance — which, who knows, right?"

Logan glanced over to where the kids had disappeared and nodded. "Right."

* * *

" _I know nothing about how to win over others. I only know the way to win over myself." - Yagyu_

* * *

Logan watched with Jessica Drew as the new tributes disappeared behind the training room doors. He'd done what he could to get to know Bruce Wayne's kids, though from what he understood from them, their father had more or less done all that he could to be sure that the kids were physically ready for anything. And Dick had come to the Waynes as an accomplished gymnast. So with them, it wasn't the physical they needed assistance with.

It was more about tactics. Survival skills. And God-damned _likability_. Again, Dick was pretty well set there, at least in the likability side of things... but as far as tactics went — if he knew anything about it, he was blatantly ignoring anything he knew. On the other hand, it was almost as if the brother-sister duo were opposites. Helena didn't seem to care what people thought of her, and she was more likely to call people on their attitudes… but she sure was tactical about her approach.

He was more than a little surprised to find himself relating to Miss Wayne as much as he did.

"Come on," Jessica said, taking Logan's arm to draw his attention. "We have to go do the thing."

"I hate this part already," Logan said quietly, though he didn't balk.

"Everyone does. You're just grumpier since you're the popular one this year. Everyone loves that you're still … well. _You_. Funny as that might seem," Jessica teased.

"Ha-ha," Logan replied dryly as the two of them approached the large, open room where all of the magic behind the scenes happened.

All of the victors were gathering in a lounge-like area, and waiting for them beyond those walls were a healthy number of Capitolites, mulling about and speculating already. Many of them were grinning toward the victors as they came in, excitedly looking for their favorites.

"They'll watch us for a while," Jessica said quietly. "And when you need a break or need to breathe — act like you have something better to do, come back to the lounge. Only victors are allowed here."

"Sounds fun," he replied, though he did note that none of the other victors had yet to go and engage the overly eager-looking sponsors.

Jessica gave him an encouraging smile. "Come on, might as well try and make nice with some of the other victors first." She tipped her head toward where several different groups were already gathering up. Charles Xavier and Erik Lensherr were, as usual, sitting in a corner furthest from the wall shared with the Capitolites, discussing something quietly with their heads together.

Quill, in spite of his playful mood the day before, made a beeline for Groot and Drax as soon as he stepped through the door. The three of them seemed familiar enough with each other that even Drax had a small smile, and Logan was pretty sure that wasn't something that was even possible.

Logan stalked through the room slowly, taking in all the little groups. Most of them were discussing their tributes with each other — and it didn't pass Logan's notice that they seemed to be putting on a show even here. He discreetly glanced up to the corners of the room, quickly spotting the tiny cameras there that were watching every move they made and likely recording every word.

His attention was drawn toward the Fantastic Four, as the usually tight-knit group seemed to be in a state of dissent. It appeared as though, against all odds, Reed Richards had found a way to isolate himself from his own family. His wife, Sue, and her brother, Johnny, were both looking as if Reed had flat betrayed them. Grimm had already walked away from the three of them in favor of the bar in spite of the early hour.

Logan, along with several of the others, watched the display for a moment, but before he could decide how best to handle it or gather what was going on, Ophelia Sarkissian seemed to slither her way up to him and wrapped herself halfway around his arm.

"You don't want to get involved in their family drama," Viper advised in a hiss at Logan's ear, tugging at him to join her at her table in a dark corner.

"You tellin' me you're not curious?" Logan asked, though he didn't allow himself to be dragged away easily.

"Not particularly," she replied, brushing her dark hair out of her eyes with her free hand. "Not when I have you to keep my attention." She gave him her best smile and tipped her head again toward the spot she'd set aside. "Come on. We can have a drink before we go out to our public."

Logan was going to argue the point, but when he glanced over to see Jess well wrapped up with a few of the other younger victors, he really didn't have a solid excuse to say no. And both she and Quill had said that they _all_ tried to back each other up. "Lead the way," he said finally, earning a broader smile from the green-clad vixen.

The two of them sat down, and to Logan's irritation and Viper's satisfaction, as soon as they were tucked away, the flashbulbs outside started to go off. "Is that all you wanted?" Logan asked, turning toward her with a frown, though he wasn't surprised or even really all that angry. "Cheap photo op?"

"Of course not," she replied in an oily tone as she laid her hand on his wrist and leaned forward. "This is just the start."

He frowned deeper and resisted the urge to pull his hand back from her as he leaned back in his chair. "Start of what?" Logan asked, but before Viper could answer him, Jessica pulled up a chair and invited herself to their conversation.

"What's going on over here?" Jessica asked with a friendly smile between the two of them, and to Logan's surprise, Viper looked tickled that Jessica had joined them.

"Just trying to get to know our newest a little better," Viper replied as Logan looked up at Jessica, suddenly a bit more untrusting of her than he had been just moments before as the two women started to chat like old friends. As the two women talked, Logan pointedly left his drink untouched.

The longer the they kept up the sisterly act, the more Logan started to wonder about his initial assessment of Viper. Admittedly, he was pretty drunk the last time he'd seen both of them. He watched them go back and forth as if it was a tennis match, and after a few minutes of watching the girls do their thing, he got up to leave them to it, but Viper grabbed his arm and pulled him closer on his way past her.

"You'll want to be wary of who you trust," she said quietly, her lips brushing his ear. "I'm sure Jess already told you as much. But … mind those who have too much faith in this system and the men who run it. They have secrets they don't want coming to light." She gave him a significant look, and he stared back at her for a moment before Sam Wilson clapped a hand on his shoulder with a friendly smile.

"You ready to meet a few of these guys, Logan?" Sam asked with a smirk. "I know you didn't get around to most of us last time you were here, but I'm not gonna take any excuses this time around."

"Sure," Logan replied, turning slowly away from Viper, though it was clear she had his interest piqued.

"Find me later," Viper called out airly as Sam brought Logan over to where a few other victors were gathered … preparing to go out into the shark tank of bloodthirsty Capitol sponsors.

"You know a couple of these guys already," Sam said easily as James Rhodes and Peter Quill gave him a little nod. The others nearby seemed to be studying Logan as closely as he was studying them. Bobbi Morse was reluctant to get too involved, and Johnny Storm looked angry at the world in general — the glare he wore seemed almost accusatory as he glowered at several victors, Reed Richards in particular.

Logan simply took a seat as they began what he very quickly realized was their usual means of discussing the Games.

"I know I said this last year," Quill started out, his tone quiet. "But I really think I got a couple that won't hand it over." He looked over at Logan, and for just an instant, he looked as if he wanted to take it back, both hands held out in front of himself. "Ah … no offense, man."

"Taken anyhow," Logan countered. He held Quill's gaze until the older man turned away. No one _gave him anything_ but a hard time and nightmares. And if the doctors were to be believed, he very nearly didn't make it out himself.

The others shared a look, but it was Sam that rerouted the conversation. "You guys got a few interesting ones this time out," Sam said to Johnny. "What's the story there? Some kind of special nursery school fight club in One no one knows about?"

"You're really not funny," Johnny said at almost a low hiss. "It wasn't … _I_ didn't make the call. We'd picked a different girl, and _someone_ took it on themselves to change it."

"I thought you worked as a team," Quill said with an almost clueless smirk, though not one of them bought his frat boy act when it was something this pressing.

Johnny glared at him and muttered out an almost incoherent 'shut up, Quill' as he pushed by Peter — bumping his shoulder hard.

"Seriously?" Sam asked, giving Quill a dry look. "All that you could say, and you knock his family? Come on now." He shook his head and tried to change the subject. "Anyone have any alliance requests yet? Because I don't mind telling you, the ones I'm working with … it's gonna be like pullin' teeth."

But Logan kept his thoughts to himself as Rhodey started to talk about how smart his tributes were, and soon after, Quill was again getting excited about his own pair. Before long, it was past time for the group to move on, and they moved closer to the gathered Capitolites just outside the doors.

By then, several of the others had already made their way out into the crowd and were starting to mingle. Capitolites were drifting toward some of the victors out on display already. Bobbi Morse had several talking with her in no time, as did Norman Osborn and Peter Quill.

"First day's really just about seeing who you think will be open to working with you," Jessica told him — having appeared nearly out of nowhere. "If you don't look terrified — which you don't — _they'll come to you_." She gave him a little wink and headed out, though she hadn't made it five steps before someone was engaging her.

Logan watched from a distance until someone came up and rested a hand on his shoulder, turning his attention in a heartbeat. The dark-haired woman gave him a calculating smile that didn't reach her gray eyes as she took his hand in hers to introduce herself. "I wasn't expecting to see you out here so quickly. Rhodes stayed in that room for _hours_ before facing the lions," she said with relish. "Giuletta Nefaria."

"Charmed," Logan replied easily, allowing a small smirk as she smiled outright.

She drew in a breath and slid her arm through the crook of his as she pulled him away from a few of the other victors. "You have a _pair_ of promising tributes," Giulietta said. "Even if I've never been too interested in what happens out in the sticks of Seven …"

"What changed your mind about that?" Logan asked, though he remained relaxed.

She very nearly cackled as she turned to face him. "Nothing really. I just … truly enjoyed the last day of your Games. Watching the Stark boy …" She grinned wider than before — and that one looked genuine. "... the look on his face was just … _priceless_." She let out a laugh that had Logan wanting to crack her one, which was odd, since he never felt that way about a woman. "If you need _anything_ at all … come find me." She gave his arm a tight squeeze and strutted off, still clearly amused.

His other interactions with the Capitolites wouldn't prove to be better. Most of them wanted to make friendly — to be seen chatting with the newest victor as they prepared to start the lion fight to crown the next. Those weren't too hard to handle, though the way that the Capitolites watched him … and how they discussed the kids …

A lanky woman that Viper identified later as the reclusive yet famous socialite Yuriko Oyama seemed to spend most of her time glaring at him and watching as he tried to keep from hitting the rich and powerful of the Capitol in their perfectly-bleached fake smiles. It didn't take much of her glaring before he finally met her gaze and glared back, stopping only after she turned her head and found something better to do.

Of course, there was Lex Luthor, who wove his way through the victors as if he belonged with them, hobnobbing and laughing loudly at his own jokes as most of the victors tried to at least be polite to him. When he made his way up to Logan, it was to try and get insider information out of him on his tributes. "There has to be something special about them. Or one of them," Luthor had said with a hungry kind of gleam in his eyes. "Surely you can let something slip. They were trained, weren't they? The rich and powerful always take care of their own.… Isn't that right?"

Logan drew in a breath and turned his way. "I wouldn't know," he said finally, if nothing else to get the guy to bother someone else. "I grew up in the woods … with the _wolves_ — thanks to my rich family. So I'm probably not the one to ask how the rich and powerful _take care_ of their own."

Lex paused, his smile gone for an instant before it returned in full force. "But that makes you the perfect person to ask, doesn't it? You know how cutthroat it can be on both sides of the tracks."

The little victor bristled at that. "If you're tryin' to compare a cocktail party to an eight-year stretch of survival with wild animals and subzero temps, you're more delusional than I gave you credit for," Logan said dryly. "Which I suppose is its own kind of impressive."

"Have you shared that wealth of survival knowledge with your tributes?" a perky blonde reporter asked, cutting into the conversation with a microphone extended and an almost nervous smile on her face as she waited for his reply.

As Logan turned to look at her, Luthor clapped his hand on Logan's shoulder and sidled up to him with a smile for the camera. "Miss Vale," Luthor said brightly. "Of course he has. Seven actually has a worthwhile victor to work with for once."

Logan turned his head and looked up at him with a distrustful glare as the flashbulbs went off, and moments later, as the blonde tried to ask another question, Logan shrugged Luthor's hand off of his shoulder and stepped away from them, flatly ignoring the girl and the questions that followed him.

He was just about to the point of hitting someone when Viper slipped up next to him and wordlessly pulled him into the lounge. She didn't ask before pushing a drink into his hand. "They'll only get worse," she promised. "You should get used to it now. They're not accustomed to seeing a new victor so … _lively_. You have their rapt attention." It sounded almost like a purr, and it was clear she was pleased. Logan looked irritated until she dropped the flash and tried for a more human approach. "You need the drink, darling. _Obviously_."

Logan let out a breath and nodded before he tipped the glass back, with Viper watching him carefully as he drank. As he set the glass down, the bartender made a point to give him another double while he pinched the bridge of his nose. The end of this fundraising crap couldn't possibly come quick enough. But once he'd gotten a little liquor in him, Viper grinned and latched on to lead him back to the sharks.

When the day was out, Jessica was sure to pull him over and get him away from the terribly awkward conversation that he was openly frowning from. The two of them were headed toward the training room, where the kids would be getting let out any minute, but before they got there, Creed came up to walk a pace or two behind Logan.

"We need to talk," Creed said in an even, no-nonsense tone that brokered no room for arguments.

"I highly doubt that," Logan replied without looking back at him.

"I'm not kidding. Just a minute or two, and I'll go back to doing what I always do," Creed said before he lowered his voice further. "If it wasn't important, I wouldn't bother."

Logan finally turned to look at the guy and was surprised to see that he looked perfectly serious. "Fine," he replied and followed Creed into a rarely-used room, closing the door behind him.

"Keep away from Viper," Creed said, his tone absolutely unyielding. "You can't trust the other victors. But especially _not her_."

"I don't take orders from you," Logan scoffed.

"Listen, Runt — this ain't a debate. She's one of the most dangerous people here, and you _don't_ need the trouble she brings."

Logan stared at him in disbelief. If it was _anyone else_ talking to him in that tone — with that expression on their face — he'd believe them. But this … this was _Victor Creed_ sounding _concerned._ "I don't have time for whatever bullshit game this is, Vic," Logan muttered, already waving him off. "I have _work_ to do for these kids. Not that you got clue one as to what that's about." He pushed past Creed and ignored anything else his old mentor had to say as he went to gather up Dick and Helena with Moira and Jubilee.

* * *

"How are they holding up?" Jessica asked over Logan's shoulder as he walked away from his two tributes a few days in.

"As well as can be expected, I suppose," Logan replied. He'd spent the past two days listening to the others as they talked about their tributes just as callously as most of the Capitolites they had to deal with.

Schmidt was one of the worst offenders — right up there with Stane and Osborn, though Osborn wasn't having that hard of a time gathering attention, since his perky little blonde seemed to be a pro at drawing attention all on her own. What he didn't expect was Jessica Drew's blatant non-attempts to help her tribute. In direct opposition to Osborn, she was parked out in the lounge — on the opposite side of the room from Creed, of course — but they were doing the same thing, and it had Logan frowning.

"You gonna make an effort for yours today?" Logan asked.

"Not a chance," she replied. "Unless Norman wants some help with the girl, I'm not interested."

"Jess …"

"Listen. I get it. I do. You want to help. But ... this was a prime chance to take out the trash and not even need to get my hands dirty over it," she defended. "I'm not going to help that misogynistic sack of crap, but you — you _do_ have a couple of good ones to take care of. Work with that. I'm just going to be catching up on my reading."

" _Jess_."

"Go," she said, making shooing motions, though as he stepped out of the lounge, he saw Creed approach her out of the corner of his eye, and he very nearly turned around right on the spot — had it not been for the Capitolite waiting to snag him.

He was nearly pulled sideways as Luthor made his presence known, already excitedly talking about how Five was going to lose another goodie two shoes with more looks than sense — which, honestly, was not the best way to make friends with Logan. _At all_. He glared into the lounge, where Creed looked like he was yelling at Jess — or at least giving her a piece of his mind — and Jess, unbelievably, was trying to calm him down rather than telling him where to stick it.

"I want you to meet a friend of mine," Luthor said diplomatically as he pulled Logan's attention back to him. Logan allowed the man to lead him to another tall, obviously well-taken-care-of Capitolite woman with a predatory smile. "Mr. Howlett, Selene Gallio is one of the most _generous_ contributors in the Capitol," Luthor said as the black-leather-clad woman turned their way. He leaned over Logan's shoulder and let his voice drop low so really only Logan could hear him. "Of course, everything comes at a price, right?" Selene gave Logan a slow, clear once-over — emphasizing Luthor's point — and Logan felt his fists ball up at his sides.

It wasn't like it was the first time one of these Capitol types had looked at him like that. It did, however, make Logan a little less tolerant of it every time someone _did_ give him such an obvious appraisal, and more importantly, it put him on edge. Not to mention the fact that Selene wasn't anywhere _near_ as subtle as most of the Capitolites about her intentions either. Once Luthor had done his part to introduce them, the man flat vanished.

But Selene wasn't going to wait for Logan to decide to be friendly. She simply pulled herself as close as she was able, one arm around his back and the other resting on his chest as she started running down what she liked about his tributes — both of them.

It didn't take long for Logan to figure out that, for Selene, it wasn't really who won — it was making sure that she had the victor she wanted on the hook.

Across the way, he spotted Reed, who was talking in hushed tones at the bar in the victors' lounge with Ben Grimm. He seemed to be pleading with him over something, and Logan very clearly saw him say 'trust me'.

Sparkling bright laughter erupted on the opposite side of the staging area where the Capitolites were, and Logan turned toward the source. Sue Storm was smiling and being chatted up by a tall, dark Capitolite with a massive, _hideous_ ring on his right hand.

"You know I'll back whoever you're trying to save, Susie," the man said, smiling in a familiar way as he leaned in, and to Logan's surprise, she didn't back away, instead just smiling wider at him as she rested one hand on the guy's shoulder.

"That's Victor Von Doom," Selene said to Logan in a low, near purr at his ear when she saw him watching. "He's been after her for _years_. It's high time she lost the dead weight and moved up from that frumpy little nerd."

Logan turned to look at her and had to lean back for as close as she was leaning in. "Pretty sure that's not—" But that only got a wider smile as she cut him off.

"Since when do you care what's allowed and what's not?"

He let out a breath of a laugh and had to concede to that. "Fair point," he agreed. She seemed delighted at his answer and started to direct him away from the spectacle that was Sue Storm and Victor Von Doom flirting. Out of sight, out of mind, it seemed.

"I'll get us a couple of drinks," she said with a wider smile. "Don't go running off. I'm not done with you yet." She turned and left, heading right for the bar next to the exit, where Viper and Schmidt were sharing a few words.

 _Of course. No chance of getting out clean_ , Logan thought to himself as he turned his attention elsewhere.

Logan was _looking_ for Jessica while he dodged the Capitolites. He had questions for her about all of this garbage. A glance into the lounge revealed that she wasn't tucked away in there, so he started to walk through the crowd, actively seeking her out. That in itself was a trick, seeing as the place was crawling with Capitolites, and naturally, many of them were more than willing to chat him up given half a chance. He slipped past a few overly done-up characters and barely dodged a slim and quite lovely blonde that looked like she was headed his way. Not to mention the disappearing act he had to do when Selene clearly locked onto him and started to make a beeline.

Logan had finally spotted Jessica talking with Bobbi Morse when Luthor once again got in his way, and with a growl to himself, Logan decided to just push his way through and find out from Jessica what the hell she thought she was doing.

"Did you and Selene come to a deal _already_?" Luthor asked as he stepped into Logan's path, one hand on the young victor's arm to stop him.

"Not really your concern," Logan replied, shrugging him off. But then Logan paused as he thought back to all the business dealings he'd watched his father do when he was a kid. "Though I suppose I appreciate your interest level."

Luthor made a little noise that bordered on disbelief and amusement. "You can't just walk away from her," he said, going from flabbergasted to soothing in a smooth couple of words. "That's just shortsighted. You _need_ to come to an agreement with her."

Logan took a step back to really focus on the intense expression on Luthor's face. "What's in it for you?" Logan asked suddenly, very nearly scowling as he tipped his chin up in defiance.

Luthor looked visibly flustered for an instant before he recovered. "That's really not your business."

"If it involves me, _it really is_ ," Logan countered, tipping his head to the side for a second, then turned the tables on him, stepping closer as Luthor stepped back. "So what is it? What's _your_ deal?"

Luthor was starting to look more uncomfortable, and he had no answers for Logan when Selene found him again and smoothly slid between the two men, directing Logan away from Lex.

Logan took the drink she handed him, though he didn't want it at all as she pulled him toward a very private-looking corner to monopolize his time.

But then, a purple-haired model knocked into her — hard enough to make both Selene and Logan spill their drinks, and Selene bristled. Her drink had spilled all down her front, and she turned, glaring and hissing curses at the woman before stalking off, muttering under her breath about ditzy eye candy.

Though as soon as Selene was gone, the woman turned to Logan and very gently took the glass out of his hand and poured the contents into a nearby plant. "You really don't want to drink anything she gives you," she said evenly before she met his gaze. "Though honestly, I'm surprised. You've managed to cope with her a lot longer than anyone else I've seen."

"What d'you mean by that?" Logan asked, though that only got a smirk out of her.

"Only that she has a tendency to drain all the life out of the men she spends time with." She gave him a sly smile and extended her hand in a more businesslike fashion than he'd seen since his arrival. "Betsy Braddock, former model. Keen eye for talent."

"Logan," he replied, taking her hand for just a moment. "Nothing special to report."

"So _you_ say. Let me get you something that won't have you too foggy," Betsy offered with an amused smile. "And we can chat well away from Selene and her _friends_."

"You another one of these …" Logan tipped his head toward the groups of Capitolites grinning and joking as they made their predictions.

"Not really," Betsy replied. "I rarely give money to tributes unless I think they really do have a chance to win, and only then if they're worthy of it." She grabbed two bottles of water and tipped her head toward a table apart from the sleazier dealings. "So," Betsy said as she got settled in and fixed him with an appraising look that was far and away different than he'd dealt with so far. "Tell me about your brother and sister duo."

* * *

The living room was dark when Logan staggered in just before dawn, but even in his mildly-inebriated state, he stopped to glance in, knowing the kids should both be in their rooms, probably sound asleep still.

As he focused on the dimly-lit corner, he realized there was someone awake..

Helena was sitting in one of the oversized chairs, her legs curled under her and a big mug warming her hands.

"Little late for you to be up, isn't it?" Logan said with a little rasp as he stepped forward and rested one hand on the back of the couch.

The girl sitting there looked up at him, sized up his unsteady posture and rumpled clothes, and rolled her eyes. "Great. Another two points for testosterone. What a shining example you are…"

Logan frowned. "Look, you don't know what's goin' on, Hel—"

Her response cut him off and came out more sharply than he expected. "No, _you_ look. I already had the 'I'm a big boy and can do what I want' conversation with my brother tonight, so _you_ can save it. I'm sure he'll be tickled to know that our esteemed mentor is _also_ out all night tomcatting around." She paused and drew herself up a bit more — the Wayne clearly showing before her tone turned positively icy. " _And it's Helena._ "

"I wasn't …." Logan let out a sigh and stepped toward her. "I know you won't believe me, but It's not what you think," he promised. "Not that it matters." He looked around the room and took the seat nearest to her. She was still fuming, and he was honestly … _tired_ as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why don't you settle down and tell me what happened with your brother."

Helena turned slowly to stare at him and shook her head. "I just did. He was out all night with Kory — I'm not a prude, I don't care what they were doing, and he really seems to care about her — but for Pete's sake, we have things to do tomorrow. He should be getting some rest. So should she, for that matter. No one's willing to face up to the realities." She took a couple breaths and watched him for a moment.

Logan had rested his chin in his palm as he let her get it out of her system, and only after she seemed to be looking for a response did he speak. "The reality of it is that they may not get another chance at this." He gave her a moment to consider it before he went on. "Is it the smartest thing, or the best strategy? Absolutely not. But whether he wins or loses — they both aren't coming out of that damned arena. One, maybe. But not both, and I promise you, you don't want them thinking about what they should have done beforehand once they _are_ there." He shifted in his chair and tried to lean back. "Anything else on your mind?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched him. "Sounds like you were in their boots."

"Nope," Logan said, shaking his head. "But I knew a few that were."

"Hmh," she said, clearly not entirely convinced. It may not have been another tribute his year, but anyone could see that there was clearly a lost love. "Okay, yes. Tell me what the hell you were doing tonight if it 'isn't what I think'." She repositioned herself so that she was leaning on the arm of the chair facing him, took a sip of her mug, and waited.

Logan thought about it for a moment but decided honestly was always the best policy with the young Miss Wayne as much as it was with her father. "I've been securing people to fund the two of you," Logan replied frankly.

Helena frowned. "And that requires … what. You look a bit rumpled for the type of fundraising I'm accustomed to."

"They don't have the same methods here," he said with a sudden sour look. "Clearly."

The abrupt silence blossomed into a pronounced pause. Helena had looked away and then looked back to him. "They make you _do things_? Seriously? For the promise of sponsoring?"

"Not exactly," he said, shrugging lightly. "And it's more a suggestion than a forced thing."

"I don't want you to have to do that for us. Dad can sponsor anything we need—"

"Right now, this is a 'keeping the options open' situation," he replied. "I have no idea how high they're going to set the bar for what you might need. There's still the matter of 'equalizing' things for districts with less victors than others. That hasn't been explained yet."

She took another sip and drummed her fingers on the mug. "And I suppose that even if we didn't need their money, the fact that they're supporting us and not someone else would make a strategic difference…"

He nodded slowly. "Not something I'm thrilled about, but yeah. That's part of it."

She let out a breath. "I'm sorry it's that way. It's bad enough for us, but you're a victor. You're supposed to be done with all this." Shaking her head, she added, "But I guess winning isn't anything at all."

"You know, that's what I thought too when they told me what the deal was," he said, nodding. "But it's awfully hard to do any good if you're dead."

"I suppose." She sipped thoughtfully. "Thanks for telling me. It makes the idea of dying a little less—"

"Terrifying?"

She grinned. "I was going to say annoying, but I can see 'terrifying' as an apt description."

"Don't worry about my side of things — I promised that I'd do _everything_ I can to help you two. And if that means I gotta be nice to a bunch of sociopaths with the right connections … so be it."

Helena struggled with her next words. "No, I can't just _accept_ that. If you were a woman, forced to whore yourself out to keep us safe, I'd be furious. I can't help but feel the same way about anyone forced into this kind of situation, or I'd be a hypocrite." She looked at him seriously. "If there's anything we can do to help, let me know."

He let out a long breath and chose his words carefully. "I have a lot to work with right now," he said slowly. "I _could_ absolutely refuse — but that'd be just as useful to you as if Creed was your mentor. It's my call to monopolize on the _popularity_ I have going for me right now."

Slowly, she nodded. "There's got to be a way out of this. It's got to stop."

He gave her a little smirk. "Workin' on it, Miss Wayne."

* * *

 _People buy into the leader before they buy into the vision. - John C. Maxwell_

* * *

It was the last day that the kids would be spending in training, which meant the following day would be spent somehow coaching them through the interviews, and all he could hear in his head was Fury pointing out that he was a crap interview. _Fantastic._

For the moment, though, he was headed into day four of the mind-numbing conversations and schmoozing the rest of the mentors were doing with the Capitolite sponsors. Four days of the same thing was starting to wear on him — so it was a welcome relief when, before he would have entered the lounge, a nondescript SHIELD agent put a hand on his arm.

"Can I have a word with you?" the man asked.

Logan glanced toward the entrance to the lounge and nodded. "Please."

The man smirked as he started to lead the way — the opposite way they'd just come. "I'm sure you're terribly disappointed to leave the scintillating experience out there. I can't believe they scheduled a fourth day; no one needs to watch Lex Luthor preen himself _that_ long."

"It's even worse up close," Logan muttered. "Didn't think anyone could be that in love with themselves."

"Remind me to introduce you to Worthington," the agent said with a little chuckle.

"That's alright, I'll pass," Logan replied. "What did you want?"

"Not me — my boss. Director Fury wanted a word," the man said simply.

Logan let out a breath that hid a curse but gestured for the agent to lead on. "Is this a 'stop pissing off the Capitolites' talk?"

"Oh lord, I hope not," the man said with a little smirk. "I haven't seen Luthor off his game in years. It's kind of enjoyable."

"Also, more concentrated in person," Logan said with a smirk of his own.

They rounded a corner, and the agent stopped outside a door with an electronic pad for access. The pad identified him as 'Clay Quartermain', and he stepped back once the door opened. "I'll take you back when you're through."

"Do you know a longer way back?" Logan asked before he stepped through the door. "Because I'll screw with Luthor on purpose if I get 'lost'." He didn't get more than a smirk for an answer from Quartermain before the door slid closed, and Logan turned to find himself in the director's office.

The room was wide open, with little in the way of decoration short of the large desk and a few chairs that sat in front of the tall floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city.

Logan took a quick look around as he approached the director, who was gazing out of the windows and looking out over the city. "So," Fury said without looking up at him. "You have questions."

"Alright. What the hell am I doin' here, and why did you have me going through old history books?" Logan asked.

Fury turned to face him at last. "I'd think it would be obvious," he said. "Or are you still operating under the delusion that it was an accident you came to be where you are now?"

"No, that much was pretty damn obvious," Logan replied. "But you're going to have to be a little less 'super spy' and a little more human for me for five minutes. Someone's spectacular show has been eating up most of my time to think lately."

Fury smirked as he set out a device that Logan recognized from the last time they'd met when he'd said no one could overhear them.

"The president is losing his grip on sanity — what's left of it — and there _will_ be a war once he's gone, mark my words," Fury said. "SHIELD intends to make sure another Thanos doesn't come out of that war — which is why I need people like you."

"To do what?" Logan asked, looking as if he thought Fury was the one losing touch with reality. "I'm pretty sure that if I got into your psych profile on me, it wouldn't say anything about any kind of leadership. I'm a loner, not a leader."

"That's where you'd be wrong," Fury said. "Everything you did in your Games showed how much of a leader you can be. You took care of your alliances, even if it might not have been in your best interests. You armed one competitor, and you saved others."

"One of whom I killed later anyhow."

"After you were forced into it. You gonna try to tell me your whole motivation to get out wasn't so you could beat down Victor Creed and keep him from victimizing others?"

Logan looked to his hands and, after a moment, silently shook his head.

"In every instance that counted, you led by example and tried to help those around you," Fury said, unblinking as he watched the young man. "Like it or not, you _are_ a leader. Deny it if you have to. You can't argue the fact that you _are_ a victor, and that gives you sway, despite what the Quarter Quell rules are trying to undermine. The fact that you came out of your Games the way you did is only further testimony to that."

"I came out a villain," Logan replied with a little sneer.

"I swear to God, Logan, if you start listening to Creed," Fury said, shaking his head. "Even the Capitolites know that yarn is crap. You haven't been in this long enough to know it, but Elizabeth Braddock doesn't waste her time with 'villains'. Watch her — she won't talk to anyone she doesn't think is honorable."

Logan was quiet for a while, reflecting on what he'd been trying to emulate out of the books _he_ had brought to Seven. The ones on Bushido rested at the forefront of his mind, outlining honor in particular. Finally, he drew in a long breath. "Moving on…" Logan said before he met Fury's gaze. "I've done everything you've asked. Cut back on the drinking. Avoided fights with Vic. And I've read every page in every book you gave me. At least twice."

"And a few more you picked out yourself."

"Did _you_ read 'em?" Logan shot back, openly appraising the director himself. "Might be something you can learn from."

"I might have skimmed through them," Fury replied, getting a grim smirk from Logan as he shook his head.

"You said I needed to trust you. And I have. Blindly. Every time I come back here for … _them,_ I stay to learn more from your trainers," Logan said as he leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. "I don't like going in blind, Nick. It should go without saying that I don't like what the Capitol is making me come back here for all the damn time. I don't know how to do whatever you're asking me to, but if it's to just keep in line and bow down, you're out of your damn mind."

"That's not it. Don't worry, though; you'll figure it out," Fury said, but that just had Logan letting out a breath of a laugh.

"You get some kinda kick outta—" He gestured at Fury with both hands. "—holding information from the people you _say_ you trust? All while telling them to trust you? You don't get it. _Still_. It has to go both ways, Nick."

"You and I, we have a lot in common, Logan," Fury started to say, though the young man clearly couldn't believe his ears as the man continued. "You're the best. And you do what you do to protect people." He paused and let his voice drop to a hush. "And on top of that, you're probably the most ruthless person I've ever met."

Logan's entire demeanor went completely flat. That … couldn't possibly be a good thing, but he knew watching the man that he wasn't lying. Whatever it was, it didn't feel like a compliment.

Fury drew in a breath and let his shoulders relax as he tried to engage Logan at a more personal level. An attempt to clarify what he was trying to say. "The principle SHIELD was founded upon was pure. _Protection_. One word. To protect one man against himself or a whole country against a mad dictator. I know that's been twisted over the years, but the belief that drives us is the same. The people at the heart of SHIELD, the ones who carry on that principle, are still here and are fighting to keep that tenet alive. No one can do it all on their own like you've been trying to do. But, I've found a person can do anything — once they realize they are a part of something bigger."

Logan watched him with an open expression, just intently and honestly listening.

"It's time for you to start thinking bigger, Logan," Fury said as he fixed him with a more serious look. "You remember what I told you the last time we spoke?"

"Yeah," Logan said, nodding lightly. "You still haven't explained that. 'Death is not the end'. The hell does that mean, anyhow?"

Fury smirked and got up to walk over to the bookshelf behind his desk as Logan watched him with a growing frown. "It's original intention was metaphorical. It's supposed to be something to instill hope," Fury said. After punching in a code and offering his palm to scan, the bookshelf slid aside to reveal an open hallway, though it wasn't empty, and on seeing the tall, slim young man with dark curls, Logan simply stared for a moment.

The corner of Kurt's mouth twitched upwards, and his eyes sparkled with mischief in that familiar troublemaking way. "It's been too long, _mein Freund_ ," Kurt said softly. He stepped forward slowly out of the hallway and into Fury's office, keeping his gaze on Logan.

"Elf ..." Logan breathed out before he asked a question of Fury, though he didn't so much as blink as he continued to stare at Kurt in open shock. "Is this … some kind of trick?"

"You wanted me to explain 'death is not the end'," Fury said. "Well. I've always felt that actions speak much louder than words. This—" He gestured toward Kurt, who was still just smirking Logan's way. "—is your two-way street. A show of good faith on my part."

Logan blinked a few times before quickly crossing the space between them to wrap up Kurt in a tight hug, though it took a moment before he could barely get the words out to apologize as the guilt he'd been trying to tamp down rushed back all at once.

Kurt threw his arms around Logan in return before he could get farther than a murmured 'sorry'. "Logan — Logan, what on earth are you apologizing for?"

A dry and disbelieving chuckle was his answer as Logan shook his head. "You're kidding me, right? If I can't apologize for killing my best friend, then there is something much more wrong with me than I thought."

Kurt sighed gently. "Oh, _that_? Logan, I thought I told you it wasn't your fault way back when it happened."

Logan finally let go of him and stepped back to look him in the eyes properly. "And you were wrong, Elf."

Kurt's smile dropped a hair. "What do you mean? You were hallucinating. We all were."

Logan nodded. "Doesn't make me any less responsible for it."

Kurt took Logan by the shoulders. " _Lächerlich_ _._ You can beat yourself up all you want about what happened in that arena, but I'm not holding you responsible — and I never will."

Logan let out a sigh and took a few deep, slow breaths as he drank it in. Obviously, both of the young friends were glad to see the other in person, and for Logan, to see him at all was nothing short of energizing.

But it couldn't last. Fury cleared his throat and gave Kurt a look. "I hate to cut this touching reunion short, but you should be going. The longer you're here, the more likely it is that we might have problems."

Kurt deflated slightly but nodded. He was about to head down the corridor once more before he stopped, turned, and wrapped Logan in another hug. "I wish I could have seen you sooner," he said. "I missed our Wolverine."

Logan couldn't help but smile at that and gave Kurt a tight squeeze in return. "Missed you too, Elf. We'll have to get this show on the road so we can have some fun for once — before one of us dies for good."

Kurt clapped Logan on the shoulder. "That we will." He gave a little two-finger salute to Fury before turning and disappearing down the secret hallway.

When the door closed, and audibly locked, Logan let out a breath and took a moment to process what he'd just seen and regain his control, centering himself before he turned back to Fury. "Alright, Nick. What do I need to do?"


	31. Chapter 30: Beyond the Academy

**(A/N): Welcome back to our Tuesday update! This time, we're returning you to Thea Queen, written as ever by the lovely BandGeek24601.**

 **Thank you to all our writers who reviewed not only our last chapter but the previous chapters. It is so so so fun to read everyone's thoughts on these chapters, and I can honestly tell you that we grin every time we see a good review come in.**

 **In that vein, thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for your review. We can't give any spoilers about future reunions, but keep your eyes peeled! ;)**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty - Beyond the Academy**

 **Assessments for Districts One Through Four**

 **Thea Queen of District One**

 **By BandGeek24601**

* * *

 _"Though she be but little, she is fierce!"_

 _-William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream_

* * *

Finally, all of the training sessions had ended, but Thea hadn't quite decided whether that was a good or bad thing yet. She had been training every day for the past five years, planning on being as prepared as possible for the Games by the time she was eighteen. Now, five years early, the time had come to be assessed, scored by the Gamemakers based on a mere ten minutes of showing off.

As little as she wanted to care about this assessment, she knew just how important it was to get a good score. It was that score that would determine how many sponsors a tribute was likely to get. If you got a one, no one would want to sponsor you because you're so likely to fail. You'd be wasting their money. But if you got a twelve, everyone would want to sponsor you because you were sure to win! Neither was really a likely score, though, so Thea just hoped for a good one.

Because of her status in District One, being a Queen after all, sponsors wouldn't really be a problem. But all the same, she didn't want to make Malcolm think she had just forgotten everything he'd taught her. As much as she hated him for forcing her into the Games, she knew the things he had taught her would keep her alive.

As she sat, waiting for her turn to perform in front of the Gamemakers, she tried to think of what she would show them. She could show her expertise with a sword, since Malcolm had taught her so much of that, as well as hand-to-hand combat. Another option she had was the archery skills she had acquired from Roy. He had taught her a great deal about how to shoot an arrow with deadly accuracy, so she had many things she could show in the ten minutes she would be allotted.

Looking at Slade as he walked to the doors of the assessment area, hoping for reassurance or advice from him, she saw him glance back for a brief moment with a smile. He gave her a slight nod and walked through the doors, and that was enough to set her mind at ease a bit. As much as Malcolm said that the other tributes were to be used and not trusted, she knew her trust in Slade was well-placed.

After all, a promise is a promise.

* * *

 _The first day at the training center, there had been an immense tension in the air over dinner. Thea and Slade didn't argue or fight in front of the Fantastic Four and their escort; they simply didn't speak to each other. Malcolm always told her to never trust anyone, so it was easier to just avoid talking to him all together._

 _When she went to her room to turn in for the night, she heard the door open again after she had already closed it. She looked to the doorway and saw the eighteen-year-old that she had been "teamed up with."_

 _"What do you want?" she asked, frustrated that she was still not left alone. She didn't want to deal with anyone, let alone him. She had no reason to trust_ him _at all._

 _"I just wanted to see who my teammate would be. I was a little worried when they picked a thirteen-year-old to fight, but we're a team anyway," he said, smugly. He leaned against the doorway, the actual door closed, and was seemingly analyzing Thea's every move._

 _"We are not a team, so don't call me that. I may be thirteen, but I can handle myself enough that I don't need the help of a cocky son of a—"_

 _"Fight me," Slade said, cutting her off and pushing himself away from the door. This threw Thea off-guard, so she stayed silent for a moment to regain her composure._

 _"That's against the rules. We aren't allowed to fight each other as tributes until we get into the arena."_

 _"We only get in trouble if we get caught." Slade seemed to decide something as his smile grew minutely. "Just throw a punch. You're not gonna actually hurt me, I can promise you that, Speedy."_

 _Hearing her nickname sent her over the edge. Only_ Ollie _could call her that. She advanced with all the force her body had and immediately went to kick Slade in the gut. Before her foot could make contact, he caught it and flipped her onto the ground. He crouched down and moved to punch her in the face, stopping his fist mere inches from his target. After a moment, he got back up, still standing over her, and simply said, "Dead."_

 _He offered Thea a hand back up, but she refused to take it. She was still so angry at him. She got back up on her own and tried another tactic. She tried to use her elbow against her assailant's face, but he again caught it. She then tried to kick him where it would_ really _hurt. Catching that limb as well, he used his new leverage to again drop her to the floor. He was careful not to actually harm her, but he still put his forearm to her throat and said "Dead."_

 _"What do want from me!?" Thea burst out as she launched herself from the floor. "What is it that makes you so set on throwing me around? Are you trying to figure out my skills early so you can kill me sooner in the Games themselves? Or are you just trying to be a jerk?"_

 _"I'm not trying to kill you, Miss Queen." He sounded slightly irritated by the accusations._

 _"So you're just throwing me around to show me how weak I am compared to you. Way to stick it to a thirteen year old girl." Thea watched as his fists clenched at her words, though she was still too angry herself to really use that to her advantage. "I mean, if you have a list of targets on people's backs for the bloodbath already, feel free to put one on me. I'm sure I'll get killed by someone during these Games, so it may as well be someone from home."_

 _"I am not going to kill you, Thea. Trust me, I won't."_

 _"Trust you? You want me to trust you? I have been lied to so much in the past twenty-four hours that trust is a bit of an issue. My brother has been training in secret for a few years already, but I finally called him out on it after the Reaping. My_ real _father, who is also my trainer from the academy, was actually the one that volunteered me for the Games; he convinced Reed to put me in. My mom didn't even come to visit me because apparently she was so upset that she couldn't face me, though I'm pretty sure Ollie was lying about that too. What would make you think that I would trust_ you? _"_

 _"I am here to help you, not kill you. You_ have _to believe me. You can trust me. I promise."_

 _"A promise means nothing to me. What kind of promises could you ever make to me that would make me trust you more?"_

 _"Not a promise to you, but maybe one to your brother."_

 _Thea stopped her rambling in an instant, staring dumbfounded at the young man in front of her. She didn't know that Slade Wilson even_ knew _her brother, let alone made a promise to him. "You made a promise to my brother? What was it?"_

 _Slade took two steps forward and spoke quietly. "I promised him I would take care of you in the arena. In return, he says he will help us with sponsors."_

 _Trying her best to take in that information, but still somewhat stuck on the fact that he knew Oliver, she asked, "How do you know Ollie?"_

 _"I helped train your brother in secret. He wanted to make sure you were protected one way or another. No matter what you think of me, I plan to keep that promise."_

* * *

Thea was brought back into the present when her name was called to begin her assessment. She took a deep breath as she rose from her seat, and she walked through the doors to begin her show.

Walking in, she saw the extensive array of weapons and other survival stations around the room, waiting for someone to utilize them. She had a feeling that the swords had already gotten some use because of Slade, but she debated using them anyway. First, she may as well show off what Roy taught her back home.

She approached the elevated platform where the Gamemakers sat and straightened her posture, showing confidence like Malcolm had instructed. "Thea Queen. District One."

Knowing how pressed she was for time, and how impatient the people of the Capitol would most likely be, she went straight to the archery station to begin her performance. Grabbing the bow and a quiver of five arrows, she walked up to the human-shaped targets that were a decent distance away. Drawing an arrow back and taking aim, she let loose her first arrow into the center target, just above and to the left of the heart.

She tried to keep her confident air by not looking at her audience, but it took a lot to keep her focus on the targets in front of her. Even with her mind wandering slightly, she shot four more arrows into the other two targets, not as accurately as she hoped.

Her frustration slowly building, she put the bow back and walked briskly over to the array of swords near some fairly beat-up dummies. She gazed at the swords on the wall, memories of Malcolm Merlyn flooding her thoughts, and grabbed the one that looked the most like the one she used back at the Academy. Then, picturing the dummy as her former trainer, she swung the sword and sliced into the abdomen of the dummy.

That's when things started getting out of hand. Thea began to swing her sword with more power and rage than finesse and control. She slashed and hacked away at the dummy in a way that was unlike Malcolm had ever taught her. She was taking out all of the anger she had pent up inside her on this stationary dummy and barely showing any of her training. She only stopped when a voice cut into her thoughts.

"Thank you, Miss Queen. You may leave now."

Looking up at the Gamemakers, she saw that it had been the voice of the Head Gamemaker, Nick Fury. His hard look snapped her out of her madness and cued her to leave. Head hanging slightly, she opened the door to see Slade waiting for her along with a couple of the other districts' mentors. In particular, Thea could identify the mentors from Four, Odin and Octavius, waiting for the play-by-play from their tributes for sure. As soon as she stepped out and closed the door behind her, Slade stood to meet her. Putting a hand on her shoulder, he gave her a small smile.

"How'd it go, kid?"

Thea shrugged and looked down at her feet. She eyed the mentors, hoping to not let them hear her. "Well my aim was kinda off, so I went for swords instead. I pictured the dummy as Malcolm and I just...I lost it. I lost control and just started hacking away at it. I didn't show any of my training, really. I'm going to score a three, and Malcolm's going to be so mad at me, and everyone is going to think I'm an easy target, and—"

Thea's rambling was cut off by Slade's calming words. "Hey, hey. I'm sure you did fine, kid. You won't get a three. You'll for sure do better than the majority of the other tributes. Plus, you don't have to worry about what score you get. Sponsors will be lining up to help you no matter what you get."

Finally meeting the eyes of her district partner, she smiled, grateful for the support and kindness he showed her. He treated her so kindly and showed her that he could be trusted. He would be a valuable asset to have in the arena. More than that: he would be a great _friend_ for her to have in the arena.

They sat in silence, deciding to wait for at least a few of the other tributes to finish their assessments before they left. They needed to gauge who could be useful and who could be dangerous. The Career pack this year was bound to be a failure, Thea could tell. After studying the Games for years in the academy, she knew when alliances were destined to fail. Slade obviously knew even better than she did. But were any of the careers even worth an alliance? Especially after the rooftop meeting, Thea and Slade knew that there were very few (if any) Careers that would be worth the effort.

Harvey Dent, the boy from District Two, was the next one to exit the room. He looked so confident, sure that he had done well. At first, Thea and Slade were a bit impressed by his confidence, but they both quickly dismissed it. Thea could remember how he acted before she went in for her test; he would look around to make sure no one was looking before flipping that stupid coin of his. She didn't really want to team up with a crazy kid. He could easily turn on her before she knew it. He had wanted to bring Jack into the Career Pack, afterall — the only tribute that could rival his insanity.

Thankfully, he didn't stick around to chat. He left Slade and Thea alone to wait for the rest of the Careers to show themselves. Who knows where he went, but Thea didn't care enough to ask.

After the next ten-minute window, Harper came out. Her expression seemed unaltered from her normal, mildly annoyed face. She didn't seem upset by her performance, but she didn't seem eager to share, either; Thea just left her alone to be safe. She didn't want to accidentally make an enemy of this girl. She didn't seem like someone Thea could really trust, especially since she was planning on going into the Games with someone like Harvey.

Slade was a little braver and decided to actually talk to Harper. "How'd it go?" In response, Harper merely shrugged and gave a half smile. Who knows what she did in there, but she seemed to chalk it up as a success.

Next to walk out was the boy from District Three. Thea could tell from the days of training and the few minutes before she went in for her assessment that he was close with his district partner. He only really ever talked with her or the girl from District Four, Diana, but his relationship with Diana had deteriorated quickly when she figured out he didn't want to be allies with her. She could also tell that he didn't really know what he was doing… and he knew it. He walked out with a look that said, "I did what I could. There's nothing that can change what I did in there, but I _know_ I didn't do very well."

Making a mental note, Thea decided that he would not be the best choice for an ally. If she was going to choose any allies for the Games, she wanted them to know what they were doing… at least more than this guy did.

If she was looking for any allies, they were apparently not going to be from District Three; the girl looked even more shell-shocked than her partner. She was obviously nervous, but Thea couldn't really tell why. Was it because of her assessment? Was it just about the Games themselves? Really the only person that would have a chance of getting a clear answer out of her was her partner, so Thea didn't even try to ask.

No one seemed very talkative. There was an immense amount of tension in the room, but it was cut as soon as the boy from District Four finished his assessment — Kaldur. He walked out of that testing area looking like he'd already won the Games themselves. If Thea didn't know any better, she would have said that he'd just told off President Thanos himself.

As Kaldur looked around at the small group of tributes, his gaze went past his mentors and fell on Harper. He walked over and sat next to her. Touching her arm briefly to get her attention, he seemed to be trying to give her both company and a bit of friendship. Based on how much she seemed to relax, this guy was doing a great job. They started to quietly talk over the upcoming Games, though nothing specific, considering there were others around them. Kaldur kept looking around at the other tributes, seeming to gauge whether anyone else was worth the conversation as well.

He seemed to be waiting for his partner to come out before he would leave, since he kept looking back at the door. Then, Diana walked out, just as confident as her partner was when he had emerged. She seemed more neutral than her partner, though. He had seemed almost mischievously accomplished. She seemed mildly satisfied before hiding even that emotion.

Diana scanned the room, appearing to blatantly ignore her partner, and gave Thea a slow nod of acknowledgement as she went to speak to her mentors. She seemed to have a soft spot for Thea since she was so young and still a skilled Career tribute.

Kaldur could apparently tell that Diana was not going to be happy talking to him, so he opted to leave while his partner talked to Odin and Octavius while she waited around for the Fives. She'd gotten to be very buddy-buddy with them, and Thea could easily see the alliance forming there.

Seeing as the Careers had all emerged, further confirming that they wouldn't be the best allies to have for the Games, Thea decided that it was as good a time as any to go back to her room. Following a decent distance behind Kaldur, she and Slade made their way back.

There was very little conversation, even between the two of them, but at least there wasn't nearly as much tension now that they were alone. They were quickly becoming friends, so they were much more relaxed without the pressure of the other tributes being around. He was the only other tribute that she was confident in having an alliance with. He had proven that to her on multiple occasions. Going into the arena with him instead of the Career pack seemed to be the best option.

After the short trip to their floor, Thea was greeted by Reed Richards' almost creepily kind smile. "Hey, Thea! How'd it go?" he asked.

Slade kept walking, leaving young Thea to deal with Reed.

"It… went well? I guess?" Thea was both creeped out and confused by Reed's kindness and interest. He may have been one of her mentors, but he hadn't been this interested earlier. In fact, he was usually avoiding her.

"What did you do for the Gamemakers?"

She walked to the couch and plopped down onto it. "Well I shot some arrows, but I didn't do as well as I hoped I would. So, I tried swords instead. Then I got carried away and lost all of the restraint that I'd had drilled into my skull by the Academy. It was like I had some kind of bloodlust or something, all because I was angry at Malcolm…" Then she looked up at Reed. "How could he have convinced you to put me in? Why did you let him push you to do this?"

"Thea!" Susan walked in before Reed had the chance to answer, and she drew Thea's attention.

Thea immediately got up off the couch and stormed away from Reed, trying to shove past Susan as well. But Susan wasn't about to let her get away, grabbing Thea's arm to keep her in place. "Leave him alone."

"Why should I? You two have been mad at each other since the train. You are just as upset that Reed chose me as I am! You all are! Why can't I be mad at him too?"

"There's no point wasting your time being mad at him! You're in this contest no matter what. There's no changing the tributes, no going back. You'll be going into that arena whether you like it or not. The most you can do now is decide whether you fight or let yourself be killed." Susan then let go of her arm and walked away.

Thea sat in shock for a moment. Susan's words made her realize that she needed to just let all of that go. She was right: there was no going back.

Along with Susan's words, Ollie's final advice echoed in her mind. _Survive._

Thea got up and went back to her room, deciding to focus on who could make good allies for the Games. Even though she felt more comfortable with just Slade as an ally, she knew it would be best to have a short list of other tributes that could help her survive in the long run. She needed to forget about her hatred for Malcolm, her anger over being chosen. These Games were going to happen whether she liked it or not, and she didn't plan on giving up without a fight.


	32. Chapter 31: Laughing Gaslight

**(A/N): Here we are with our Friday update! This time, we're taking you back to the lovely Harley Quinn, written as always by Canucklehead Cowgirl.**

 **Thanks to our writers who reviewed both this last chapter and previous ones. We always love reading the reviews, even (and sometimes especially) the ones for older chapters, because they're just so fun, and it's nice to see every writer get their well-deserved love :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-One - Laughing Gaslight**

 **Private Assessments Districts Five Through Eight**

 **Harleen Quinzel of District Eight**

 **Written by Canucklehead Cowgirl**

* * *

" _Sometimes people don't want to hear the truth because they don't want their illusions destroyed." - Fredrich Nietzsche_

* * *

Clark wasn't going to be there long — and as had been the case since nearly the beginning, Harley was tiptoeing on the line of the rules … breaking the normal protocol that the Capitol had in place. In this case, it was refusing to walk in single file. Instead, she'd skipped ahead and took Clark's arm, just ahead of Kara, who she gave a little wink and a giggle to over her shoulder before she let her face show an expression of pure shock.

"Holy hard musc-o-lees," Harley said with wide eyes and a wider grin as she squeezed Clark's arm and then looked up at his surprised expression. "You really are somethin', Big Blue. _That really is your color, by the way._ "

Clark was at a loss for words as Harley all but hung off of his arm on the way to their private assessments. He let out a little awkward kind of laugh as she smiled up at him.

"You know, if they was assessin' your arms, you'd be a twelve at _least_. Jeez-o-peez. Is the rest of ya that solid too?" She peeked behind him for a moment, then stood up straight. "That would be a yes," she whispered, mostly to herself, but Clark suddenly looked a bit overwhelmed.

She tipped her head to the side and gave him a little squeeze before the little group came to a stop, and the Sentinels waiting shot Harley a look in warning. Naturally, she didn't pay them any attention as she grinned their way, cracked her gum, then popped up on her toes to give Clark a quick peck on the cheek. "Good luck in there, Supes."

She waved his way with her fingertips as she watched him walk off and then slowly spun on her toes to face the rest of the group. She let out a little 'hmph' as she tapped her fingers on her hips and then rolled their way with a bounce as the door closed behind Clark. She dropped into her seat, giggling. "That is one super sweet, super strappin' super _sucka_ ," she said in a laugh. "What a _dream_ boat."

She tried to lean her head on Jack's shoulder, but predictably, he almost cringed away from her. She glared at the side of his head as she stewed. She was gettin' real tired of the hot and cold routine. "You're givin' me whiplash, _Puddin',"_ she said with a bit of venom, crossing her legs primly as she attended to her pigtails.

She thought it all over for a moment. Biting her bottom lip before she leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, she looked up the line. "Hey," Harley called out, tipping her chin toward the front of the line, looking past Jack as if he was just part of the scenery. "You got somethin' goin' with him, honey? You … little blonde Five girl. You got a thing with Big Blue?"

The three girls ahead of her all seemed to have their own reactions ranging from shocked with Kara to a slightly bemused Helena — and the boys simply had no idea what to do with her.

Kara tried to ignore her, but as Harley continued to get louder, calling for her, Jason finally elbowed her and gave her a look. She let out a sigh and finally turned Harley's way. "Are you talking to me?" Kara asked.

"Who else would I be talkin' to?" Harley said, looking at her incredulously. "Come on, Blondie — what's the story? You two sweethearts or somethin'?"

" _No_ ," Kara insisted, pulling a face at the very idea. "We're _related_."

"Oh. Well … there's gotta be some kinda drama goin' on there — the way you two are tiptoein' around each other … somethin's _obviously_ up." Harley giggled and got to her feet for a moment to better look her over. "I know they said you're cousins of some kind, but I just don't see it. I mean, you're cute an' all … but he's all … you know what? I'll bet someone was adopted." She leaned forward to stage whisper with one hand to the side of her mouth. "If you're not _really_ related, I think the kissin' cousins thing doesn't apply, you know what I mean?"

She was mid laugh when Jack pushed her back bodily — hard enough even to thump her head on the wall. "Hey!" she half squeaked, raising one hand to the back of her head as he glared at her.

"Not now, my little hell's belle," Jack almost hissed. "Quit playin' with your food."

She frowned his way then pursed her lips. "What difference does it make to you who I play with?" she asked. "You can't decide if you wanna be nice or not." She crossed her arms and started to twirl her foot, chewing her gum with a bit more gusto.

She stared across the room at the opposite wall, blatantly abandoning any attempt to be friendly with Jack for the time being. She was in no frame of mind to deal with his mood swings. _And she had work to do._ Sure, he was doing his own thing … goin' for some kinda lame intimidation tactic, but he didn't seem to understand that a lot of 'em … weren't gonna intimidate easy. Throwin' 'em off their game was a better bet.

She leaned forward again and openly looked Jason up and down — she could get away with some picking, but she didn't think he was going to be anywhere near as easy of a mark as that sweet, smokin' hot super man. At least not yet.

Angela was no fun at all. She thought she was the only one with a handle on what was going on psychologically with the kids in the draw. But she wasn't as smart as she thought. Vindictive — oh yeah. But her game was long-term. And Harley didn't think that the girl would have the _time_ she needed to run her racket. It wasn't that Harley didn't appreciate a long game … it was just that the way that girl was goin', she might not make it through the first few days.

In fact — the way she kept looking to Mistah J … Harley frowned and let out a huff, blowing her bangs up and out of her face. Clearly, Angela just didn't understand the arrangement she and her Puddin' had goin'.

* * *

 _Training days had been fun at first_ — _but they just got so_ boring _when there wasn't nothin' fun to do. She'd stuck to Jack until he got nasty with her and physically shoved her. She stumbled and fell to the ground, and of course, the Sentinels intervened, but before anyone could make a fuss, she'd just held her head high and headed off to find something better to do._

 _Clark was at the weightlifting station … and she suspected that he was unintentionally showing off that farm boy physique. At least … she didn't think he looked like he_ knew _how he looked to the girls_ — _most of which were watching him, or pretending not to watch him._

" _Hmm," she said to herself, scanning the rest of the tributes … the cutie from Seven was playing with the kid from One … potential rivalry in the making there. The girl from Twelve was watching both of them … and the only one that wasn't watching anyone else_ — _or at least … any of the boys_ — _was the pretty redheaded girl at the plants station._

 _But she didn't look like she was learning. If anything, she was tenderly seeing to the plants that were in pots and planters on display. That was where Harley was headed._

" _Hiya, Red," she said as she skipped up to her with a friendly smile. "Whatcha doin'?" But the girl didn't respond right away. Harley tipped her head down to try to get her attention, smiling a little wider when she realized that the redhead hadn't noticed her still. "Wow, you really love them plants, don'tcha?"_

 _When there was still no response, Harley let out a little 'hmm' and walked away, only to look over her shoulder then bop back over_ — _a bit more enthusiastically. "Hi, gorgeous, I'm Harley! Whatcha doin over here with all the pretty flowers?"_

 _The young woman looked up at her, face still downturned. "Do you always let your district partner treat you like that?"_

 _Harley just stared at her for a moment. "What… whaddaya mean, Red? I don't …. He doesn't …" she stammered for a moment before she followed the girl's gaze to where Jack was clearly making plans with new friends. "You just don't know him like I do."_

" _You'd be surprised how much I know about men like him," the girl replied before going back to her work. "You can call me Pamela."_

 _Harley tipped her head to the side. "No…. I think I'll stick with Red. Fits ya better'n 'Pammy'."_

* * *

The exit of Miss Danvers caught her attention, and again, the group at large seemed to become more still — more reserved, if that was possible.

"Man the nerves in here … you can cut 'em with a knife," Harley said with a drawl. "Lighten up, _jeeeez._ "

But naturally, the rest of them seemed less than entertained by her take on things. Harley smiled a little to herself. "Ya know," she said, breaking the silence of the hall they were staged in. "This whole gladiator-like fight to the death is kinda _nice_ and all? But the most important thing to keep in mind is that the friendships we're all making right now? You just _know_ they're gonna last us the rest of our lives." She was nodding and looking perfectly genuine until her own joke got the better of her and she fell apart laughing hysterically. "It's funny because we're all gonna _die_!"

Jack was smirking at her, chuckling lightly, though when she beamed at him, the laugh fell, as if he remembered that he was mad at her. And just like that, her laugh died out as well, and she let out a huff. It really was tiring dealing with his mood swings.

"Your girl's funnier than you are, _clown prince,_ " Jason said as he got up to make his way to the doors. "That was a good one." Harley shot him a grin and a wink just before he disappeared behind the doors. But the venomous glare she got from Jack only tainted the compliment.

She got to her feet and brushed herself off as she started to walk up the line, looking for new company now that Kara and Jason both had gone in. She thought about sitting next to Angela but then decided to take a different angle. She straightened up and gave the younger girl her most metered tone and a wide-eyed expression, slowly nodding as she spoke. "It's okay, honey. You can sit by Mistah J before you go into your assessment and utterly make a fool of yourself." She grinned widely and gestured for Angela to go, but when the girl just stood her ground, Harley let the smile fall.

Angela had opened her lips ever so slightly in surprise but caught herself before long. She smiled. "Thanks, Blondie."

The younger girl gave Harley an appraising look that just had the perky blonde giggling before she shooed her with both hands. "Go on, honey, you need all the help you can get!" Harley said with a little snicker. Angela frowned the tiniest bit, but got up, only to look over her shoulder at Harley as she made her way to talk to Jack.

"Have fun, sweetie," she called out. She looked at the open spot next to the Seven boy and dismissed it quickly. "I'm here to talk to my _friend._ " Harley looked over her shoulder haughtily and simply climbed onto Dick's lap. She dramatically over-exaggerated as she wrapped one arm around the back of his neck, then grinned at him, posed up like a pin-up girl. "Heya handsome. Ya miss me?"

Harley didn't miss the glare that Jack was giving her; rather, she ignored it. This group was much friendlier — and less likely to stab her in the back.

Helena frowned as a pigtail caught her in the eye. She turned and noticed the girl perched on her brother, opened her mouth, and closed it again. Dick was smiling, clearly enjoying the attention — but also blushing a little at her obvious forward attack. Moving the pigtail out of the way, Helena leaned over to look at her brother. "Need any help with this?" The smirk that played around the corners of her mouth made him blush more earnestly.

"I'm fine. Fine."

"Mmmhmm." Helena looked at Harley and nodded. "Be careful. He hasn't had all his shots."

Harley giggled outright and tipped her head back so she was looking at Helena — maybe a little too closely. "Oh, that's okay — he's kinda cute … not sure the kind I'd wanna bring home or nuthin'. Might need a flea dip. Or two."

"Possibly. He does tend to climb around a lot. Lord knows what he's picked up in the trees."

Dick shook his head at both of them and grinned. "I'm told it's cute. The tree-climbing."

"Izzat right?" Harley asked, shifting herself so she was facing Helena, but still very much curled up on Dick. "You hangin' round the trees like some kinda circus monkey or somethin'?"

"That's the whole point, Harley," he grinned. "I _am_ a circus monkey."

Helena rolled her eyes. "I cannot tell a lie. He _is_ a monkey."

"So is she the one that has to turn the music box while you dance for money? You got one a them cute little hats and a tin cup?" She was grinning widely as she pictured it. "I might have some pocket change for the right dance."

Helena held back a laugh, but her lips twitched. "Well, I try to keep him in line. But I'm sure you know how it is…"

Harley waved one hand and leaned closer to Dick. "Nah, I don't like to mess around with tryin' to train the ones that ain't already housebroke. I got better things to do."

Dick's sister looked at the pigtailed vision for a few moments, suddenly serious. "I'm glad to hear that. Your district partner… "

"Has been suckin' on sour grapes lately," Harley whispered as the three of them started to put their heads together — blocking out the other tributes in line.

"Oh, is that what that is?" Dick asked, grinning. "I just thought he had an unfortunate accident, didn't want to bring it up."

Helena nodded briefly, keeping eye contact with the girl. "You shouldn't let anyone treat you that way."

"Believe me, honey — I'm figurin' that out real quick," Harley said, wide-eyed, as she nodded her agreement. "And I'm bein' careful. You an' Red been helpin' me see things I don't like too much."

"Good." Helena grinned for a split second. "But I really don't think _this_ one is any kind of solution."

Harley looked shocked for a moment, blinked a couple of times, then turned to look at Dick. "Him?" she asked, the smile creeping across her face before she wrapped her free arm around his shoulder in a little hug. "Naw, this one's just cute as a button and sweet as sugah. Isn't that right, Tweety pie!" She gave him a kiss on the cheek with a giggle.

"Whatever happened to bird brain?" he asked, not even trying to get out of it at this point when his sister was so clearly entertained — something he didn't see often enough — and Harley was having a blast.

"I figured I'd graduate ya to somethin' more fittin'," she replied.

"I kinda liked it though," he teased.

"What about 'Wonder Boy'?" she asked. "Cause it's kinda a wonder how you got into that parade outfit, birdbrain."

"Ask Jubilee. I just put the thing on," he shrugged. "And I'm a circus monkey, remember?"

She let her voice drop low and leaned toward his ear for effect. "Well, I hope you kept it."

"Oh, sure," he said, nodding seriously. "What guy doesn't need a skin-tight suit that makes him feel like an idiot?"

"I'm reasonably sure it's a requirement for all victors," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "I'd kinda like to see the last … _four_ of 'em in theirs — all lined up an' smokin' hot. Just be glad your stylist didn't give you a fur-trimmed union suit like that bottle blonde ya got stalkin' around."

He grinned at that and leaned forward. "He's still mad about that. It's _beautiful_. I couldn't stop laughing for… ever."

"Well good," she said with a genuine smile. "Guys like that … they're a little too stalkery for my tastes."

* * *

 _Harley had gotten her introduction to the Sevens in the wildest way possible, she was pretty sure. It was right after the chariots, and Harley was having the time of her life_ — _grinning widely and waving to the crowd right alongside her Puddin'._

 _But as soon as the chariots came to a stop off-stage, Mistah J was again heading off to better things. She let out a little huff and watched him go, a crestfallen look on her face for just an instant before someone else caught her attention._

 _One of the Seven victors was openly looking her over, and though the short-shorts and skin-tight shirt was certainly revealing_ — _it was not meant for_ this _guy's entertainment._

" _Whatcha lookin' at?" she called out, tipping her chin Victor Creed's way as she popped a fresh piece of gum in her mouth._

 _Creed smirked as he watched her from a few arms' lengths away. "Looks to me like the prettiest girl this year," he said with an attempt at a friendly smile. He was dressed up … suit and tie. Hair pulled back into a tight ponytail like some kinda sleazy high-dollar businessman._

" _Oh yeah?" She popped her hip and gave him the same appraising sort of look. "What's with the suit, mistah? Don't think I remember you dressin' like that before. Ain't you more of a fur-trimmed union suit kinda guy? You know. Caveman wit' long locks an' all that?"_

 _Creed smiled outright_ — _the action a little disturbing to anyone but another psychopath_ — _and Harley simply held his gaze, not backing down in the least. "Tryin' a new look."_

" _Is it because a' your little problem?" she asked at a mock whisper_ — _but it was clear suddenly that the rest of Seven was paying attention to the conversation_ — _as well as the two victors from Eight, who had been talking with Groot, though all of them had abandoned their conversations and were watching the interaction intently._

" _Harley, don't bother Mister Creed," Osborn instructed as he quickly took a couple of steps away from Groot, though he was sure to grab Logan by the arm to pull him along to stop whatever it was that was about to go down._

" _No bother," Creed drawled out, taking a step closer to the comparatively tiny girl. "Girlie, I ain't got no_ little _problems."_

" _No kiddin'." She narrowed her eyes and smirked at him as Logan and Osborn got within an arm's reach to intervene if need be_ — _clearly, they had a plan in place. But Harley wasn't ready to cut out, and she gave both of them a broad grin. "No, no … it's aw'right; it's not like he's lyin'," she said cheerfully, waving them both off, and the two men stopped. "It's pretty simple really. He's trying to make an outward change to cover his inadequacies and self-consciousness. Personal_ shortcomings. _Things like that. Very common with men_ past their prime _."_

 _Osborn looked almost horrified, Logan entertained_ — _and the little blonde kept going. "You see, Mistah Creed," she said, taking a step closer to him and reaching out to straighten Creed's lapels. "The fact that you're pushing for such a sophisticated exterior suddenly speaks volumes about the depraved, savage, and frankly underdeveloped cognitive capacity that for some reason …" She patted his chest with both hands as she looked up at him. "You're just_ now _trying to hide behind instead of your previously animalistic facade. Why is that? Is it not workin' for ya anymore? Girls don't think you're pretty enough suddenly compared to the little dark-haired hero over here?" She shot Logan a little smile, and he just stared back at her with a crooked smirk. She popped her shoulder up to her ear before she turned back, reached up, and pinched Creed's cheek like an overly affectionate aunt._

" _Quit tryin' ta be somethin' you're not, honey_ — _because it … is_ nevah _. Gonna. Happen." She scrunched her nose up and turned toward the other gathered victors and the Seven tributes with a grin before Dick Grayson simply fell apart laughing_ — _and it was obvious he wasn't the only one amused as Logan simply let out a little chuckle and moved to get his tributes in gear._

" _Careful, darlin'," Logan warned Harley as she approached the Sevens, where Osborn looked both irritated and relieved at once and Dick shouted 'That was beautiful!'. Dick was still laughing, and it was clear that both Logan and Helena were entertained still as Jack finally marched over to reclaim his district partner. The little group of Eights began to move on ahead of the Sevens toward the elevators, minus Creed, who seemed to be glaring after them_ — _and at Harley in particular._

 _Harley pulled her arm free of Jack for just a moment, then turned around to call out to Helena from two doors ahead of them. "Hey! What is going on with the boys out in Seven, huh? If every one of 'em's built like these fellas, I might have to move." She waited just long enough to catch the looks on both of the dark-haired young men_ — _and the smirk Helena gave her was simply golden. Before Jack could raise a stink, Harley spun on her toes and all but danced off, with Osborn muttering to her all the way into their elevator about not bothering other mentors._

* * *

Harley was ripped from her thoughts, long ago having lost track of time, as Jack pulled her away from the Seven kids specifically to haul her back to her seat next to him — and isolated from those remaining in the room. It wasn't until just then that Harley realized that Angela had already gone in for her assessment.

Jack's grasp threatened to leave bruises on her upper arm as he dragged her back to her seat and pushed her down. "What are you thinking?" he demanded, glaring down at her — looming over her menacingly.

"I'm makin' friends," she defended as she pulled her arm away from him, her chin thrust out defiantly.

His eyes narrowed. "Making friends? None of these idiots are your friends. They're fodder."

"No kiddin'?" she countered with a little glare of her own before she crossed her arms and pointedly turned away from him, nose in the air. His hands balled into fists as he slipped into the chair beside her. He leaned as close to her as he was able, nearly contouring her from behind.

Jack's voice hissed in her ear, his face pressed into her hair. "Don't get smart with me, _darling_. Keep it up and just see what happens."

She turned his way just slightly, the smile gone completely, even before she took his close proximity to mind. But she didn't retreat. "You think I don't know you got plans with everyone else? I'm not afraid of you."

Muscles moved under the chalky make-up as Jack's jaw clenched, and he leaned back into his chair for a moment. He refrained from arguing more, however, instead crossing his arms and long legs and slouching. If it was anyone else, she would have thought he was pouting.

She looked him up and down and twisted her torso to square up with him." _You're_ the one that needs _me_ ," she said, whisper-quiet. "I know it, and you know it. Even if you won't admit it."

Helena and Dick glanced at each other and frowned. Helena moved so that she was turned toward Jack, her muscles tense and ready to move if need be. Dick, meanwhile, got up and nearly perched on Harley's seat, not quite sitting in her lap as she'd done to him, but returning the favor in his own way. He shot a glare Jack's direction before he turned toward Harley with a friendly tone to say, "Wait, wait, I didn't tell you the best part of the ponytailed halitosis machine after we got back to the suite the other night."

Harley grinned up at him, then took just a moment before she wrapped one arm around his back and held her finger over her upper lip like a mustache. She lowered her voice as far as she could. "My, my, my, what a big, strong fella _you_ are! Tell me, have you been a good little boy this year?"

Dick looked surprised at the question for a moment before he burst into honest laughter when he realized there was an actual mustache drawn onto her finger — not able to answer her because he was laughing too hard.

Which got Harley laughing. And the two of them were just cracking each other up all the way until Jack simply shoved Dick away from the bright-eyed little blonde. Harley let out a little ' _eep'_ as the Seven boy tumbled backward — but he didn't go alone. He'd somehow managed to hook his foot under Jack's arm — high — and with a yank, he let gravity do all the work as the two of them tumbled over.

They had barely hit the ground when the Sentinels pulled them apart before they could get any further into the fight that it was clear both of them wanted. The two boys were being held back by their arms — and Jack was the first to try to make nice, grinning maniacally at Dick, who was glaring openly and not at all his usual cheerful self as the Sentinels kept between them.

There wasn't any time for discussion, though, before Dick's name was called — Angela was done with her assessment — and Dick hesitated for a moment before the Sentinels made the decision for him and took him away from what was left of the group.

The Sentinels released Jack after Dick left through the doors. The lanky teenager approached quietly and sat facing Harley. She refused to look at him. He cleared his throat and gently placed a hand on her knee. "I'm sorry, Harl."

"Yeah, sure ya are," she shot back, but at least she turned to look at him. "Bird brain didn't do nothin' to deserve that. He was bein' _nice._ "

Jack's eyes had taken on the puppy dog look that he saved only for her. "I've been so distracted with all this I've been neglecting you. It's no wonder you've turned to other, less deserving people." He waved a hand in the general direction of the doors.

She didn't argue his point, almost reluctantly shrugging one shoulder up to her ear. "Yeah?"

"Yes!" He adjusted so he could clasp both of her hands in his. "I'm trying so hard to find a way to keep us both safe. I know it seems like I'm making a lot of secret plans, but it's all lies to protect you." He was whispering so only Harley and Helena could hear him — but he _knew_ they both could hear it. "You have to believe me, Pumpkin. I would never intentionally hurt you. Please forgive me?"

She looked more reluctant than he was used to seeing from her when they'd have their little spats. Normally, by that time, she'd have thrown her arms around his neck and all would have been forgiven, but this time … it was different, and Jack didn't like it one bit. "Awww, you know I love ya, Puddin'," she said, though her tone was decidedly not upbeat.

Jack's face took on a dramatic pout. "You're still mad. I know it. I've gone too far this time, haven't I? What can I do to make it up to you?" He gently tugged at one of her ponytails in an attempt to get her to smile.

"I don't know, Mistah J," she said, shaking her head slowly, and for just an instant, she met Helena's gaze past his shoulder.

"Hmm," her partner mused. "I suppose I'll have to make it a surprise, then. I'll prove to you I'm sorry if it's the last thing I do." He clapped his hands to catch a Sentinel's attention. "Garcon, I request the finest reservation at your best restaurant. I won't take no for an answer."

The Sentinel in question rolled his eyes, and a couple of the others shook their heads as Harley let out a little giggle.

"There's my girl," Jack smiled, gently taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "All's better now? Right?"

She hemmed and hawed for a moment, but she didn't shrink away from him before she simply nodded her head. "Yeah. Sure."

Jack's arm snaked around her shoulders and pulled her tight against him. "I knew you couldn't stay mad at me." He grinned over at Helena. "She truly loves me."

Whatever Helena thought of the whole fiasco, though, was something for Harley to discover later, as it wasn't any time at all before the Sentinel called out for 'Helena Wayne', leaving Harley alone with Jack once again.

And as usual, when the two of them were alone — or close enough to it — he kept the more tender charade up, cracking little jokes and being playful until she finally gave him a smile. At least for as long as it took Helena to do her assessment — and then with a stunning flourish, Jack swept her hand to his lips and gave her a quick kiss, leaving Harley watching as he positively strutted out of the waiting room, leaving her for the first time in a while all alone — save for the last guards that had stayed.

She stared after the door, the smile fading quickly as she took in the very empty room. The guards were pointedly not looking her way, and she could feel her nerves prickling up on the back of her neck, trying to get the better of her, before finally, at long, long last, the guard called her name to go in.

She popped to her feet quickly, and she tipped her chin down before she straightened her pigtails and reached into her pocket to pull out a tube of bright red lipstick. The guard tried to rush her, but she just held up one finger his direction as she made the final, sweeping pass along her bottom lip, carefully popping her lips so as not to smudge the reapplication. She shook her head, tossing her two-toned pigtails over her back before she straightened up and strutted into the assessment room.

The room was wide open, with a vaulted ceiling — and there was absolutely anything a tribute could want to choose from in the realm of weaponry. In fact, everything they'd been allowed to play with in training was there — including the equipment.

Harley walked to the center of the room and waited for the sedately calm group of Gamemakers to look her way, though they weren't all very engaged with her to start with.

She cleared her throat and waved their way with the tips of her fingers. "Hello, ladies and gents. I'm the _fabulous_ Harleen Quin-zel, formerly of District _Eight_ — but that's _Harley Quinn_ ta yous," she said with one hand on her hip and a confident smile, each word perfectly annunciated.

A few moments passed, and Harley looked like she was waiting for something just as much as the Gamemakers were. She was holding her hands in front of herself and looking at them expectantly. "You may begin any time, Miss Quinzel," Fury said finally.

"What? I don't get no music or nothin'?" she said, looking horrified, but when he just shook his head at her, she looked put out and shrugged her shoulders up to her ears. "Jeez. No wonder it looks like a funeral in there." She looked around the room and then up at Fury. "You guys ready?"

She waited for Director Fury to give her a little nod, and as soon as he'd acknowledged her — and it was clear the others were watching just as closely — she took a quick look around the room and kicked off her show with a springing somersault. She flipped all the way over to the parallel bars. Then, she twisted and twirled and contorted herself around as she worked the bars, giggling the whole time — and letting out a little 'woo-hoo!' from time to time before she stuck a landing and then cartwheeled to a rope that was hanging down from the ceiling.

She quickly scaled the rope, and once she was high enough, she supported her weight with one arm and pulled the slack enough to wrap it around herself as she started a little arial routine — with no hands, of course, and singing to herself the whole time.

The Gamemakers were watching her with a curious sort of look until she hung upside down by one leg wrapped in the rope and seemed to dance down it to the floor. She twirled over to the weapons rack. She could feel them watching her, though none of them saw what she'd swiped until she threw the throwing stars at the dummy — and then did a backflip with a baseball bat in one hand.

As soon as her feet hit the ground, she swung the bat hard for a line drive, knocking the head clean off the nearest training dummy, then took out a knee on the one next to it — and the one next to that got a downswing to the forehead before the last one was then pulled off the stand with an upside-down handstand. She'd wrapped her ankles around the dummy's neck and yanked it free — tossing it to the ground — where she flipped over to it and went to positively destroying it. She stood over it — one foot on either side of the dummy — and just went to town.

If it wasn't the bat, it was her feet — and it took Fury three times shouting at her before she heard him. " _Miss Quinzel! Harley!"_ the director shouted, on his feet and glaring at her as best he could. "You are _dismissed._ "

She was out of breath as she looked up at him and then grinned — only to kick the dummy a few more times and whip the bat at the first dummy she'd decapitated.

She took a few steps toward the Gamemakers and curtseyed, the broad, winning smile still in play before she turned and skipped to the opposite doors, pausing before she stepped through to blow a kiss Fury's way.


	33. Chapter 32: Feeling Sleighted

**(A/N): And we're back with our Tuesday update! This time, we return you to John Constantine, written by the ever-talented BstnStrg13.**

 **Thanks again to our authors who have reviewed both the most recent chapter and the older ones. Collaboration only works as a group, and we're lucky to be part of this one! Thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for your reviews; we love hearing from you!**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Two - Feeling Sleighted**

 **Assessments for Districts Nine through Twelve**

 **John Constantine of District Twelve**

 **Written by BstnStrg13**

* * *

" _I am to wait, though waiting be so hell."_

 _Shakespeare (Sonnet 58.13)_

* * *

Was there anything worse than being a tribute for District Twelve?

As if being chosen for the Avenger Games alone wasn't a rum deal. As if being dragged hundreds of miles from his district to the Capitol and displayed like a zoo animal in front of people who had too much to eat and too much free time wasn't enough of an insult. No — John Constantine had to be a tribute for _District Twelve_.

Because — clearly — Nick Bloody Fury, Director of SHIELD and head Gamemaker, liked to do everything in numerical order. He liked to start with "1" and end with "12," and touch each number in between in its proper sequence. Which meant that John and Kory were last for everything; last tributes to be reaped, last in the Chariot Parade, and now last to be assessed by the Gamemakers. The waiting gave John too much time to sit and think about things he would rather not think about.

He thought about them anyway.

He thought about them as he tried to settle more comfortably on his seat in the waiting area, hoping his nervousness didn't show. He was there for his private training assessment with the other tributes from Districts Nine through Twelve. The boy from Nine had gone in a minute ago, so they were only just getting started. He figured he had well over an hour to sit twiddling his thumbs… and thinking.

Back home, he never minded being alone with his thoughts, because he could be just that — _alone_. He could head down into the mines and escape his father's contempt and his sister's concern and feel the silent darkness wrap around him like a soft blanket. He had no fear of the dark; it was peaceful — a friend. Here… here he was forced to wait and think under bright, sterile lights surrounded by people who would be trying to kill him in a few days. It wore on him.

He'd known the minute he'd been reaped that he was ill-prepared for the Games compared to some of the tributes. He'd heard all about the Career districts and their training programs. Hell, for some of them, their entire _purpose_ was to prepare for the Games. What he hadn't known was how many other tributes had trained as well. Even his district partner, Kory, the beautiful redheaded flirt, appeared to have studied hand-to-hand combat with their district's Sentinels. She tried to hide it, but John could see that she felt far more comfortable with a knife in her hand than he did.

Blackagar, doing his best to mentor Constantine, had attempted to persuade him that training wasn't everything. It had been an awkward discussion, particularly given that Blackagar didn't talk. _If you think_ _the Games are won on fighting skills alone_ , he'd written on a small notepad during their train ride to the Capitol, _then_ _think again. Brains and cunning matter. And even the Careers are a long shot if they don't have someone on the outside helping_ _them_. _You need sponsors_. Blackagar had thumped the notepad a couple of times with his pen to emphasize that last point.

All of which was fine, John thought, except how were you supposed to impress people and gain sponsors if you only got to them when their attention spans were exhausted? There were eleven districts and twenty-two tributes ahead of John and Kory in the assessments. He had to face the fact that by the time they got to District Twelve, the powers-that-be might be tired or bored or just not care anymore.

He shifted uncomfortably, moving his weight from one butt cheek to the other, wishing he could get up and walk around. It shouldn't be much longer before the District Nine girl was called. The boy — Jervis Something — had been in there for a while. The girl's name was Rachel Roth (John had better luck remembering the female names), and he wondered what she was choosing to highlight as her skill. The few times he'd seen her, he'd liked her. She was small and quiet, but by no means meek. And like him, she was adept at hiding. It made him chuckle to imagine the Games coming down to just the two of them — they could both disappear for a week and drive the Gamemakers crazy.

Maybe if the Games were dull and the ratings were low, Nick Bloody Fury would be out of a job. That would be sweet indeed.

He looked up to see the boy from District Ten grinning at him as if he could read Constantine's thoughts. The kid's name was Gar or Garfield – something like that. Gar seemed to have knack for making people like him. Even John found himself wanting to return the kid's infectious smile. _He'd better hope that he can make people like him_ , John thought, because he was younger than many of the tributes and small. He would benefit from some kind of alliance. If it came down to Gar going one-on-one with a tribute like Slade Wilson, for example, John didn't think the kid stood much of a chance. Gar didn't seem worried by it, though. And unlike John, waiting didn't appear to be getting on his nerves. He sat confidently in his chair, observing everything with lively, dark brown eyes.

John allowed himself to smile back at Gar; partly because he liked the kid, but mostly because thinking about Gar had turned his thoughts to alliances. And there…there John had been handed his first bit of luck since he'd come to the Capitol. Not a little piece of luck either, but a great, big, glittering chunk of good fortune that he was pretty sure he didn't deserve.

Because Diana Prince, female from District Four, had asked him if he wanted to be part of her team.

Diana Prince.

Wow.

* * *

 _The tributes were at lunch, with the private assessments scheduled to run that afternoon. Constantine had given up trying to sit with Kory, even though she was his district partner. She had latched onto Richard Grayson during training and seemed determined to stick with the District Seven tribute. It was disappointing, but John had quickly realized that he and Kory had little in common. They didn't even really share District Twelve. Kory was from money, and John was a miner; they were worlds apart in the same geography._

 _When Diana Prince appeared to gesture for Constantine to join her, John looked over his shoulder, certain she must be signaling someone behind him. When he saw no one, he turned back to Diana and saw her lips curve in the smallest hint of a smile. She gestured again._

 _He walked over and sat next to her._

" _John Constantine," she said formally._

 _He nodded._

" _I am leading a team that will include tributes from Districts Four and Five. I was hoping you might consider joining it."_

 _John felt his jaw drop. "Me?" He stared into her eyes, certain he had heard wrong._

 _And there it was again, that tiny suggestion of a smile. "You, John Constantine."_

" _Why?"_

 _It was a stupid thing to say, and he was sorry the second he said it. He should have been confident_ — _he should have employed the same glibness he used bargaining back home at the Hob to pretend that her offer was not unexpected. But he couldn't. There was something about Diana Prince that just screamed integrity. To be anything less than honest in return felt wrong._

" _I have watched you in training," she said matter-of-factly, "and I believe your skills will be an asset."_

 _Constantine frowned. He'd spent most of his time during training practicing his camouflage skills, sleight-of-hand tricks, or climbing obstacles. He'd avoided any kind of hand-to-hand combat and most of the weapons. He had swung an axe a few times, partly just to show that he could but mostly because it reminded him of a miner's pick and felt like home. And he'd made the younger tributes laugh by picking the pocket of one of the trainers without him noticing._

 _All in all, he'd doubted he'd impressed or intimidated anyone._

 _Diana Prince, on the other hand, had been most impressive. She was strong, she was skilled, and anyone with a brain could see that she was a natural leader. And she was from District Four, a district that bred Careers. Even if her team wasn't the Career Pack, it was going to be a force to be reckoned with._

 _He wondered if she was making fun of him. He studied her eyes closely and saw no hint of mockery. During the four days he'd seen her in training, she'd been intimidating, but she'd never done anything cruel. He decided her offer must be sincere._

 _He exhaled. It felt like the first time he'd really breathed since he'd come to the Capitol. "Yes," he said simply._

 _She nodded as if she'd known all along that he would accept. "Both Clark and Kara from District Five have agreed as well."_

" _I see." He'd thought he'd detected a distinct frostiness between the District Five cousins a few times during training, but he wasn't going to question Diana's choice. If she thought she could deal with it, he wasn't about to doubt her._

" _Who's leading the Career Pack?" he asked, out of curiosity._

" _Jack Hamill, District Eight."_

" _Oh." He hoped Diana's strategy included avoiding the Careers for as long as possible. She didn't strike him as a person who would run from a fight, but she also didn't seem the type to be foolishly combative._

 _She was watching him carefully, the way his sister sometimes watched him back home. It felt like he should say something else, maybe ask an intelligent question about the team to justify his inclusion on it. But nothing came to mind. So, in the end, he just said, "Thank you," and extended his hand to her._

 _They shook briefly. Her grip was firm, but her skin was soft. Accustomed to living with people who spent half their lives underground, John couldn't help noticing that she smelled different; the scent of earth was missing, replaced by a clean, slightly salty fragrance. He remembered that her district was near the ocean and wondered if she'd tell him about it. He'd never seen an ocean._

 _And now that he was in the Games, there was a decent chance he never would. But he would push that thought aside for now. For now, he was just going to enjoy his good luck._

* * *

 _"_ _ **Rachel Roth, District Nine."**_

Constantine jerked upright in his chair as the colorless voice on the loudspeaker brought him back to the present. He glanced at the clock and saw that he'd used up a meager eight minutes thinking about Diana Prince. Rachel rose with an enigmatic expression and walked to the door.

"Good luck," Gar called out with a grin. "Knock 'em dead." Everyone else sat in silence.

She nodded in acknowledgement and then disappeared into the assessment room.

Now there were four tributes ahead of John. He looked once more at Gar, wishing the kid would be his usual chatty self and say _something_. He didn't want to go back to thinking.

He turned to Kory. "Nervous?" he asked his district partner quietly. It was a silly question. Everyone knew that his fellow tributes were nervous. Everyone also knew that they didn't want to admit it.

Kory shrugged. "I've got a plan," she said in a low voice.

She didn't expand on her answer, and John didn't probe further. He wondered if her plan included dazzling the Gamemakers with her beauty. Noh-Varr, their stylist, had done of masterful job accentuating Kory's wide green eyes, and the snug training uniform suited her curves perfectly. Of course, Kory had had the raw material for him to work with.

But then, so did a number of the girls at this year's Games. John was beginning to appreciate that beauty could come in many forms. Diana, for example, had the strength of her convictions, her integrity and — he hoped — her compassion as well as her dark hair and sea-blue eyes to make her beautiful. And he sensed that she had a purpose greater than herself and her survival — even if he didn't know exactly what that purpose was. It made him envious. If he were to die, he wanted it to be for a reason. Something real; not the bullshit reason that the Capitol gave every year.

John wished his sister, Cheryl, were here, wished he could share his thoughts on beauty and purpose and dying. He suspected she might tell him that he'd grown up in the last few days.

" **Garfield Logan, District Ten."**

Everyone's eyes shifted to Gar. Rachel had taken a mere five minutes to demonstrate her skills to the Gamemakers. John wondered if that was good or bad. Had she impressed them or had she merely given up?

Gar bounced to his feet. "Isn't anyone going to wish _me_ luck?" the kid asked cheekily.

A few of the tributes mumbled a lackluster _good luck_ , and Gar smiled as if they'd given him a heartfelt hug. "I guess I'll see you all later," he said. Then he, too, disappeared into the assessment room.

Three tributes ahead of Constantine.

John wondered whether Gar would show off some of his animal sounds to the Gamemakers. During training, he'd imitated more birds than John could identify and had convinced a number of tributes that there were wolves outside of the training area. It was an unusual skill, but John could see how it might come in handy during the Games. If you could distract an opponent, you could gain an advantage.

He sighed, the sound coming out louder than he liked. He noticed Jade, the female from District Ten, studying him. She looked away as soon as he caught her. She'd been impressive with knives during the training sessions, but she struck him as something of a loner. The only tribute he'd seen her exchange a few words with was District Two's female, Harper Row. He guessed that Jade would show off her knife-throwing skills for the Gamemakers — and would probably receive a decent score. Better than his was going to be, anyway.

" **Jade Nguyen, District Ten."**

Two tributes ahead of John.

His heart was starting to beat faster now that his assessment was minutes away instead of an hour. District Eleven's tributes, Jonathan Crane and Pam Isley, still looked composed, although their postures were stiffer than they had been ten minutes ago. Constantine wasn't surprised by Crane's self-possession. The guy had been confident in every training session and — in Constantine's opinion — a bit of an aloof prick. Pam had also been aloof, but in her case John attributed it to shyness rather than arrogance. Looking at her now, he had to give credit to her stylist; the girl had gone from being one of the least striking female tributes to a real looker. Her training suit showed off her figure and strands of auburn hair were escaping her ponytail to frame her face in soft spirals. Her eyes were green, greener even than Kory's. And unlike Kory, she didn't flaunt her good looks. In fact, she seemed unaware of them. She glumly studied her shoes or a spot on the wall ahead of her — refusing to make eye contact with any of the tributes.

" **Jonathan Crane, District Eleven."**

And now the minutes which had been moving much too slowly for Constantine were passing too rapidly. He twisted in his seat, feeling oddly exposed and vulnerable in the snug training uniform. Noh-Varr had smiled the first time John had put it on.

* * *

" _Oh, I think you may grab a few female sponsors with this," the stylist said cheerfully._

 _John studied himself in the mirror. "Seriously?" he asked. He thought he looked like a black and grey pencil._

 _Noh-Varr nodded. "Some women like the wiry look," he said confidently. "Some men, too, for that matter. It shows off the muscle that you have in your shoulders and arms. You couldn't see it in those baggy District Twelve coveralls." He patted John's shoulder. "And now that we've given your hair a trim, you're really quite respectable. Your family will be proud."_

" _Oh… good, I guess." Cheryl might be proud, John thought. He doubted his father was even going to watch the Games._

* * *

" **Pam Isley, District Eleven."**

Now his heart was pounding really fast and the palms of his hands felt damp. Pam headed in, and it was down to just him and Kory in the waiting area.

" **John Constantine, District Twelve."**

He rose from his seat, hoping his legs looked steadier than they felt. He sent a silent prayer to whoever might be listening — _Oh please, don't let me screw up too_ _badly_. Kory looked up at him and to his surprise whispered, "Good luck, John." He felt a brief warmth as she reached out to touch his arm, and then he was walking through the door and alone in the assessment room.

He looked up to see the small gathering of Gamemakers and sponsors peering down at him from the balcony. To a person, their faces were bland, expressionless. There were no smiles and no scowls; just polite, almost uninterested, stares — as if they were browsing in a store for items they didn't really need. After a few seconds, a number of them went back to sipping from their wine glasses and casually chatting with each other. He wondered if this was part of the ritual or if they were truly bored.

" **You have ten minutes to show your skill,"** one of the voices said.

It wasn't Fury's voice. Maybe it was that new Gamemaker, Nygma, that Blackagar had noted. John took a deep breath and looked around the room. It was laid out exactly as Blackagar had drawn in his diagram. There were a couple of racks with bows, arrows, and swords, and a few tables laden with slingshots, knives, and axes. Unfortunately, there were no mine tunnels. If there had been underground tunnels to navigate, he thought, he really could have shown them something.

John walked slowly toward one of the tables, doing his best to look confident. If things went well, ten minutes would be more than enough. He and Blackagar had come up with a plan that they hoped would surprise the Gamemakers and make them remember Constantine. They both knew there was no chance John's fighting skills were going to compare to those of many of the tributes. So they'd decided to focus on other talents.

It started with the axes. John went to the table and picked up the heaviest one there. He began to swing it exactly the way Jackie Lukus, the axe trainer, had shown him, using tight, precise movements. It wasn't as much about combat as it was about reminding potential sponsors that the skinny kid from District Twelve had the strength of a miner and wouldn't succumb easily. With every swing, John could feel the pocketwatch his boss had given him press against his hip where he had tucked it under his training uniform. He thought about his boss and about his sister, Cheryl, and how much he wanted to get back to both of them. He swung the axe harder.

After a minute, he put the thing down. The axe was only the warmup — not the main attraction. He turned to the knives, glancing upward once more toward the balcony. About half the Gamemakers were watching from the window; the other half had turned their attention toward the buffet laid out against the wall. _It's surprising_ , he thought bitterly, _that food is such a distraction; they_ _certainly have enough of it_. Still, half of them watching should be enough.

He selected a knife and hefted it lightly in his hand, as if evaluating it for its weight and balance. After a few seconds, he turned to face the target a healthy distance away and assumed the stance that the trainer Talia al Ghul had shown him. He hesitated briefly, then pulled his arm back and snapped it forward, letting it flow freely in the throwing motion she'd taught him. His arm ended up by his side, his hand empty.

The Gamemakers who were still watching glanced casually toward the target, no doubt planning to compare his accuracy to that of any knife-throwing tributes who had gone before him. After a few seconds, though, they exchanged puzzled glances and stepped closer to the balcony window to stare more intently. They murmured something to each other, and pretty soon all the Gamemakers and sponsors were clustered at the window. They talked quietly among themselves. And then they turned to stare at John.

Because the knife wasn't anywhere to be seen — not in the target, not in the area around it, and not in Constantine's hand. John had made it disappear.

As they continued to stare at him, John took the opportunity to repeat the throw, just to show that it wasn't a fluke. He then swept his hand over the table, making a few more of the knives vanish. He saw their eyebrows go up and felt an urge to grin. John Constantine, the last male tribute to be assessed, had gotten their attention.

It wasn't an easy trick, not with the tight training uniform. Zatanna, the trainer for distractions and illusions, had worked hard to leverage Constantine's natural talent for sleight of hand and teach him something really eye-opening. John hoped he had a chance to thank Zantanna before the Games began.

He looked up at the balcony and took a small bow. That had to be worth a score of at least a four, he thought, or maybe even a little better if the Gamemakers were feeling generous.

He turned and left the assessment room.


	34. Chapter 33: Dimensional Awareness

**(A/N): Hello, and welcome back to our Friday update! This time, we're returning you to Cisco Ramon, written as always by the lovely Ophelia Claire.**

 **Thanks as always to the writers who reviewed the last chapter(s). It's always fun to see even the lesser-known characters getting some love and winning over writers and readers alike! Thanks also to ThatOneGuy875 for your review; glad to make you smile!**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Three- Dimensional Awareness**

 **Night of Scores**

 **Cisco Ramon of District Three**

 **Written by Ophelia Claire**

* * *

" _As far as the laws of mathematics refer to reality, they are not certain; and as far as they are certain, they do not refer to reality."- Albert Einstein_

* * *

Cisco winced as he sank into the squashy chair. Every part of his body ached, including places he didn't even know _could_ ache. The most physical activity he'd ever done in his life was in gym class at school, and the last few days of training had been way more intense than any of that.

To his left, Caitlin was already curled in another chair, a book on her lap, but Cisco could tell she wasn't really reading it. Without lifting her chin, her gaze kept darting up to the large TV mounted over the fireplace. The sound was low as Taneleer and Uatu discussed parades past and how twenty-five years of costumes stacked up. Cisco noted that for the most part, the costumes had been mostly spandex at the beginning, with plenty of bright colors and not much left to the imagination — not a great look for teenagers. Nowadays, while the outfits were still colorful, they were a little more muted than they'd been in the past, and the material was a little thicker and not quite so revealing.

Although… Cisco shuddered slightly as he recalled his almost-outfit, the one he'd caught a glimpse of on his stylist's tablet as she scrolled through her designs. One of Cynthia's earlier designs, it seemed, was something that reminded him of the Nine's boy from last year. It had a similar red inverted "V" that stretched from his shoulders to his waist, but the difference between his and Kurt Wagner's was that his had nothing under the "V." Cisco was not quite ready to go bare-chested in front of all of Marvel.

Thankfully, Cynthia had opted for a stylish black leather jacket with red and gold accents, matching sneakers and sleek wraparound sunglasses. He had been _much_ more comfortable in that.

Some styles hadn't changed much over the years. Four's tributes had always been in leather numbers that looked battle-ready. Cisco remembered seeing them in the chariot behind his and Cait's. He recalled how much the girl's had reminded him of the armor that ancient civilizations wore — the Greeks, he had thought. Fitting for a Career district.

His thoughts turned once again to the conversation he'd had with Diana a couple of days ago. Once again, he wondered if he'd made the right choice in declining her invitation. Once again, he weighed the pros and cons in his head.

 _Pros: Diana thinks I can actually contribute to the group. I'd stay alive longer. If I go out, I could actually help someone win. I could make traps for the Justice League_. A small smile flickered across Cisco's lips at the name he'd given Diana's gang. He didn't know if they would even use it, but he hoped they would. He was _sure_ it fit them.

 _Cons_? Cisco looked over at Caitlin. She felt his gaze on her and glanced up, one eyebrow quirking upward. Cisco shook his head dismissively and glanced away.

 _I can't abandon her. Not for anything, not a team, not even victory. Together or not at all._

Caitlin looked back down at her book.

 _I just hope she has the same plan._

Perhaps once they were actually in the arena, he could convince both Diana and Cait to change their minds. Caitlin didn't want to join Diana's new pack in the first place. Diana hadn't outright said she didn't want Caitlin with them, but Cisco had caught the expression that had flickered over her face during their conversation over ropes.

If Diana thought he could be of assistance, he was sure he could convince her that Caitlin could help them too. Caitlin didn't have his electronics knowledge, but her genius lay in engineering, just like Tony Stark last year. Cisco remembered Tony vaguely from school, but the boy had been a year older and crazy smart, even for their school, so Cisco hadn't seen him much. If Tony could build a metal suit from a box of scraps, Cisco had no doubt that Cait could make something just as impressive.

The parade recaps on the screen continued for a few minutes more. The Five kids were wearing honest-to-god capes, and Cisco was pretty sure that one girl was dressed in plants. Even for Eleven, that was hardly trying to be creative. He was suddenly even more thankful for his leather jacket. Cait had been almost as lucky as he'd been — a long, navy, leather coat cut stylishly over a skirt and top, with blue accents to her makeup. Both of them had had their hands coated in a substance that began to glow on contact with skin (his white, Caitlin's white-blue) as a nod to Three's electronic manufacturing.

Since arriving in the Capitol, the "inventions" part of his brain had been working more than usual. Seeing technology that he couldn't even dream of had given him brand new ideas. He wished there was a way to call home and tell Barry everything if he didn't make it home to try everything out.

Cisco blinked. There he went using 'if' again. If he didn't make it home, if he died in the Games... The reality of his situation? There was no 'if.' There were psychotic teenagers five floors above him that wouldn't hesitate to kill him on sight. He'd watched the tiny girl with the dip-dye pigtails choose a massive warhammer — almost comically large — from the weapons rack and solidly decapitate one training dummy and cave in the chest of another during training. And he was pretty sure she did it just for _fun_.

After all, she'd _giggled_ after doing so.

Stane came sauntering into the room in the way he always did, with a severe look of disapproval for everyone the room contained. The way that said _I make the decisions around here_ and _I own your whole life right now._ The way that made Cisco want to kick the man where the sun didn't shine. The way that made him want to drag Stane down to the training center and stick him in the electro-net from a couple days ago until he told Cisco what had gone down between him and Hartley to make him agree to send Cisco into the Avenger Games.

Stane sat down in the leather recliner in the middle of the common area and snatched the remote from the center table. He turned up the TV just as Taneleer gave the camera a gleaming, toothy grin.

" **Well, my dear viewers, it's the time you've all been waiting for. We have received the scores for this year's tributes. Let's see how they stack up."** Someone offscreen handed him a stack of actual envelopes and he popped the wax seal off the top one.

" **Kicking off this year with a bang, from District One: Slade Wilson, with a score of '9'."** The young man's face appeared behind Tivan, with the number '9' revolving slowly next to his chin. " **No surprises there. A strong start as usual to the Career pack."** Tivan laughed. " **What are the odds that we'd get two tributes with such similar names from the same district? Wade Wilson and Slade Wilson... even their chariot nicknames were similar! Deadpool and Deathstroke."  
**  
Uatu laughed as well. " **This year's Wilson is a little easier on the eyes, don't you think?"  
**  
" **Indeed** ," said Tivan. " **Moving on to our lovely young lady from One, we have Thea Queen, with a solid score of '8'. Very respectable, especially being one of the youngest tributes we have in the running this year."  
**  
" **And don't forget, she was hand-picked by the Fantastic Four,"** Uatu added. " **Clearly, they thought she'd be successful, and it looks as though she's already proving them right."**

Uatu took the next envelope from in front of Tivan and opened it, seamlessly moving on." **From District Two, we have Harvey Dent, also scoring '8'."  
**  
'8' was what Tony Stark had scored last year. Cisco had been racking his brains during the training days leading up to the session, trying to figure out what Tony had done to earn that score. Fifteen minutes was hardly enough time to rig up something electrical, even for the famous _Tony Stark._ Cisco went back and forth for days between several options for his own session. None of them would get him an '8'.

* * *

 _Cisco sat on the left-hand bench waiting his turn to go into the assessment room. Caitlin sat next to him, twisting a few strands of her white-blonde hair together into different braids as she seemed to be studying everything at once. Cisco knew that when Caitlin's mind was busy, whether with complex math or with nerves, her hands needed to be busy. He usually tried to talk to someone, but that… didn't quite work for this._

 _No one spoke much; and he was grateful that he didn't have to listen to the giggly Harley who chattered aimlessly to anyone in the vicinity, regardless of if they were talking back or not._

 _Cisco shifted so that his arm just barely brushed Cait's, both of them taking at least a small measure of comfort in each other's presence. They, along with the rest of the waiting teenagers, watched the faces of tributes as they disappeared into the training room one by one, trying to gauge their success. They saw confident Slade and worried Thea, cocky Harvey and indifferent Harper as each of them disappeared behind the tall, heavy-looking double doors that separated them from the assessment room and the judges it held inside._

Cisco had debated talking to Harper more than once; she seemed like she belonged in Three. She wasn't a typical Career

— _brainy rather than brawny and. from what Cisco had observed, a knack for electrical work. But Harper was closed off, and any time Cisco even gave her the impression he was headed her way, she'd pack up and head somewhere else._

Harper had been gone for a while, though, and before he knew it, Cisco's name was called.

Cisco glanced back at Caitlin, then beyond her to Diana moments before he walked into the assessment room. It held all of the same equipment and weaponry as the training room, but it was strange to see all of that equipment without the activity of two dozen teenagers and nearly as many trainers. The silence was heavy, and his footsteps echoed, even though he was subconsciously stepping as quietly as he could. He stopped in front of the elevated viewing area, where the Gamemakers sat expectantly.

"Uh, Cisc- Francisco Ramon, District Three." None of them gave him any sort of confirmation, but Cisco stepped backward a couple paces and then turned and hurried to the combat mats. Weapons of all sizes were stacked up, and a sparring partner was waiting at attention, but Cisco wasn't there to fight. He searched among the items until he found what he was looking for: a net, one that he'd noticed paired with a trident during training. The sparring mate moved forward, but Cisco waved him away with a quiet, "Uh, no thanks."

Cisco dragged the net into the center of the room and then hurried to the electronics station. He turned over wires and tools, jamming things into his pockets until they were full to bursting with spools and screwdrivers and switches. Finally, he snagged two coils of rope before heading back.

Back at his net, Cisco began threading wire along the rope, up and down the squares. He left a long strand trailing from a corner and set about tying his ropes to each corner. Once the ropes were attached, he tied each one to a hook above the net meant for boxing bags. He sized up his trap, trying to gauge the connection points that he'd learned a couple days before. He ran a long wire through the connection points and stretched it to the table leg of a nearby station.

He stood back, biting his lip. This was where things could go very wrong, and he only had one shot. He unrolled one last strand of wire from his spool and wrapped one end around the stuff already attached to the net. The other end went very carefully into that nearby station's power system. The net hummed slightly with electricity.

Now for the grand finale…

Cisco hefted the nearest training dummy and tossed it with a grunt, sending it skidding towards the net. It hit the trip wire and landed squarely in the middle of the net, which snapped upwards, cinching the dummy inside and sending electricity crackling through it.

That had been the plan, at least.

 _What_ actually _happened was that two corners of the net fell from the hook and the dummy tumbled out. The wire sparked in several places and an acrid smell filled the air._

Cisco stared at the wreck of his project for a moment before turning back to the judges. His cheeks burned, but he managed a "thank you" and headed for the door.

* * *

 **Cisco was snapped out of his thoughts by his own name being said. He refocused on the TV in time to hear his own score** **—** **'** **4'. He didn't flinch, he didn't sigh** **—** **it was actually higher than he'd expected, considering his train wreck net, but maybe they'd liked his concept.**

Caitlin's score followed shortly after

 **—** **a '5'. Not significantly better, but out of the lower third of the score range, at least.**

Four's scores were predictably stellar

 **—** **an '11' for Kaldur and a '10' for Diana. Cisco hadn't seen Kaldur training much but clearly he was as talented as Diana.**

Cisco was surprised that Five had a second year of even stronger tributes: both of them pulled a '9', although Cisco had heard a rumor that the girls from last year and this year were related, so maybe it ran in the family.

The rest of the scores passed with most of the tributes sitting right in the middle, for the most part, and the commentary from Tivan and Uatu reflected that, though there was a bit of a pause when they were a little more than halfway through.

District Eight had managed to surprise them. Or at least Jack's score had. Harley had probably just swung that hammer around and flattened a few dummies. Cisco figured they might even toss one into the Arena for her.

The '1' that Jack had earned, though… Cisco didn't ever want to even think about talking to him, but that '1' piqued Cisco's curiosity almost enough to ask him what exactly he'd done in the room.

 _Almost_.

Maybe he'd wanted to draw attention to himself, though goodness knows he didn't need it. Maybe he'd just weirded out the Gamemakers so much that they didn't want to give him anything else.

The commentary reflected the obvious surprise, too. Tivan seemed almost entranced, murmured, " **And this is a first in Games** _ **history**_ **."**

" **Even tributes with no training whatsoever can usually scrape at least a '2',"** Uatu said. " **He would have had to learn absolutely nothing."**

" **Or it could be a case of hiding his potential,"** Tivan said. " **Unfortunately, we just won't know until at least the interviews ... and beyond that, to the Games themselves."**

But that was really the biggest "newsworthy" moment from the rest of the commentary. Everything else was fairly average, and they seemed more interested in talking about things like Pamela Isley and Kory Anders' parade outfits than their scores.

When it was all through, Cisco sat back and ran back through the mental list in his head as Stane switched off the TV then simply stood there for a moment with his hands on his hips as if he was the one that had to fix all of this on his own.

Slade Wilson:9

Thea Queen: 8

Harvey Dent: 8

Harper Row: 4

Cisco Ramon: 4

Caitlin Snow: 5

Kaldur Ahm: 11

Diana Prince: 10

Clark Kent: 9

Kara Danvers: 9

Jason Todd: 6

Angela Hawkins: 5

Richard Grayson: 8

Helena Wayne: 7

Jack Hamill: 1

Harleen Quinzel: 8

Jervis Tetch: 4

Rachel Roth: 3

Garfield Logan: 5

Jade Nguyen: 6

Jonathan Crane: 5

Pamela Isley: 5

John Constantine: 6

Kory Anders: 7

After a moment of looking incredibly annoyed, Stane simply walked out without saying anything to them, unsurprisingly, but Rhodes was still hovering.

"I don't want you guys to get too discouraged by your scores. Last year, Steve Rogers only pulled a '6' and ended up being one of the final competitors. Logan won, and he only got a '7'. Thor scored an '11,' and the youngest competitor in the Games killed him. They had given her a '3'. So…anything can happen, you know? You're both talented. You scored low in a time-sensitive situation with direct observation from the people that will be setting the odds. The Games are a totally different experience."

Caitlin nodded. "Yeah, because the Games are completely non-time-sensitive, and no one will be watching," she said dryly.

Cisco snorted, and Rhodes shook his head with a half-smile.

"Okay. Bad example. But you know what I'm trying to say, and I stand by my point that something about the arena makes you think a little differently. Your critical thinking skills either skyrocket…or crash. You guys are already crazy smart, I know that. You got this." Rhodes clapped a hand on the back of the chair he'd been sitting in, took a moment to meet both of their gazes, then headed to his room.

Caitlin glanced over at Cisco. "Well, I prefer his pep talks to Stane, I guess. What did you do in there?"

Cisco shrugged. "Electric net. Had the idea at the electronics station the other day. Diana mentioned making it into a trap when we were talking, so I rigged one up. Or tried to." As Cisco recounted the details of his almost-success with the net, Caitlin nodded appreciatively.

"I think I maybe just had a short somewhere. Connected stuff too fast, you know?" Cisco finished. "What did you do?"

"I'd been working on this idea for gloves that could cause instant frostbite. Like third-degree, you know? It can cause permanent damage to skin, usually needs amputations. Thought I had it planned out enough to build a mini-prototype, but when I tried to test it on the dummy, it just frosted over a little."

"And you were still able to get that built in fifteen minutes?" Cisco asked, impressed with his friend. "You deserve, like, an '8' at least just for getting it built!"

Caitlin smiled wanly. "Thanks, Cisco." She bookmarked her page and stood up. "We've got interviews tomorrow and prep all day; we should head to bed."

Cisco yawned. Apart from the assessments, they had had a pretty lazy day, but the day had held tension since that morning, and Cisco was exhausted. "Sounds like a plan. See you in the morning," he said before he and Caitlin disappeared into their rooms for the night.


	35. Chapter 34: Life As We Know It

**(A/N) - Hello, and welcome to our Tuesday update! Today, we're peeking in on an old friend who's been working deep under the Capitol. Yes, it's time again for another Tahiti chapter! Many thanks to our supportive collaborative authors for their reviews, and thanks as well to SlimSummers2002 for your thoughts - they really do make this whole effort more fun! So without any further ado -**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Four - "Life as We Know It"**

 **Tahiti Labs, Deep Underneath SHIELD**

 **Bruce Banner, formerly of District Six**

 **Written by Miran Anders**

* * *

 _Anger is an acid_

 _that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored_

 _than to anything on which it is poured._

 _-Mark Twain_

* * *

"Ten."

Even in the cool of the gym, sweat poured down his chest, down his face and into his hair. He grunted as he lifted the heavy weight for the tenth time, straightening his arms with forced precision, trying hard not to clench his teeth. The bench beneath him creaked quietly, and in his mind's eye, he saw—

 _Rain, hard rain in the dim and dying light. Trees, surrounding the two men in a clearing. Lightning flashing in the distance, growing closer. And in front of him_ — _bleeding, weary, but not slowing_ — _Logan. He felt the punch, felt himself scrape down the tree as he fell, felt the skin tear on his back._

"Eleven."

 _A blur of movement, a moment of startled shock as Logan's loosened claw stabbed deep into his leg. The sudden, rushing sensation when the artery severed, the hot blood flooding down his thigh, burning against skin chilled by the rain._

"Twelve."

 _A figure appearing, a shadow of light glowing behind his attacker. A woman calling to him, reaching_ —

And then, nothing. Absolute nothing.

"Damn it!" The weight came down heavily in its cradle, and Bruce sat up from the bench, sweat streaming down his chest. "Damn it."

He was _dead_. He was still dead. But now, in this other self… He was alive.

Even though it was nearly a year ago, he still struggled with the memories. And while every test they ran said he was 'sound in mind and body', he was intelligent enough not to tell them what kind of things he remembered when the blood was pounding in his veins. And wise enough not to ask if there were _other_ things. Things he wasn't allowed to remember. Things that hid, unsettling, in his brain.

And what was worse? Had they sanitized his death to keep him sane? Or, in the transfer of memory, could the new brain not accept the entirety of the horror? Did it simply take what it was able to deal with and throw the rest away?

He wiped his face with a towel and walked over to the heavy bag, taking a long drink of water on the way.

Sometimes, he felt like a stranger in his own body. This 'current' body. This _guest house._

They tried to tell him it wasn't _entirely_ new. By harvesting cells from the brain of his — he shook his head at their phrasing — 'former' body, they had used original DNA to jump start the process of differentiation that was so unique in brain tissue. They grew his new brain from the blueprints of his former one, so to speak. And so on with the rest of him. So it was, still, his body. His _current_ body. Just not his _former_ body. They made it sound like changing clothes, or moving into a new house.

He dropped the towel and water bottle on a stack of mats and began taping his hands. His workouts were a daily reminder that however this body came to be, it was _his_ now. He did his best to keep it strong, just in case. His brain was sometimes more of a challenge, as the pounding anger at being used and abused drew out odd shreds of memory. Sometimes, _very_ odd.

He noticed in the last few months that he rarely entertained thoughts of killing himself anymore. What was the point? They made it clear that they could just grow him again, and probably wash out any disturbing tendency toward self-slaughter.

 _That is, if they haven't done that already._

He started punching slow and easy, working his intensity up. The idea that, somehow, he and the other scientists could make it easier for the ones who were coming after them — for the next hapless round of victims of the Games — kept them sane. The idea that there was a possibility that they could introduce a sense of morality in a hopelessly immoral practice kept them trying. The idea that this couldn't _possibly_ go on forever, and there was a chance, however slim, that they could change things from the inside, gave them a shred of hope.

And whether they were deluding themselves or not, that faint hope that somehow, a revolution could change life for all Marvel, change their world… kept them going. Allowed them to sleep at night, even knowing that they were part of the dirty underbelly of it all.

He pictured one face after another on the heavy bag, and punched until his arms ached, his shoulders were burning, and his brain was tired of remembering. Until the sharp pains of anger grew dull.

Usually, it worked.

* * *

Bruce came out of the locker room freshly showered and feeling relatively calm. His dark curls, as usual, were still damp, and setting themselves in their customary abstract style — tamed only by the occasional run of his unsettled fingers through them. Walking down the hallway in the pre-dawn quiet, his feet found their way to his current home lab without his brain contributing anything helpful at all. The door was open — the entire Tahiti level was secure — and he shrugged into his lab coat as he headed over to the small, in-line incubators.

He always got the scanner loaded before dealing with anything else. It usually took a good six hours to process everything, and if he wanted to run a follow-up on any of the tests, it was good to have a little time at the end of the day.

Nothing overtly human, this time. Just brain cells to see which of the treatments, if any, were accelerating growth without compromising DNA structure. Some were promising. Some developed frighteningly odd mutations, which Bruce disposed of without reporting to make sure that they weren't abused. Some simply rotted.

He sighed heavily as he glanced at the readouts, then moved three trays from the incubator to the scanner. The drives automatically hummed to life as the trays activated eighteen discreet devices, measuring a multitude of things on a microscopic, or even sub-atomic level. There would be two more devices by the end of the week, if Tony managed to finish the ones he was designing to read brainwave levels. _That_ had been a conversation.

It had been during their weekly 'recreation' to the outside world when it happened. Usually, on Saturdays, they got in a sort of transport tube car that sped them somewhere — they had little idea what direction or how far, being underground — and came out into a station that was little more than a docking spot for the train and a large elevator. It took them up to a decent-sized park somewhere outside the Capitol's city limits. They quickly found that while it was beautiful, not to mention big enough to hike and get lost in, it was bordered as tightly as their arena had been.

Depending on how work was proceeding, sometimes they'd get a whole day. If it was busy, they'd get a morning. Fresh air, a bit of sunshine… kind of like a dog run. And then: get the hell back to work.

* * *

 _Tony stretched his neck back in the sunshine, flexing his shoulders. "I'm just saying_ — _if we're working on the brain, which is clearly what we're trying to do here_ — _then the cell's ability to receive, transmit_ — _hell, even to create or respond to brainwaves, it has to be helpful, right?"_

 _Bruce looked at Tony over his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. "Okay. I just don't know if it'll make any difference in what we see. Not without a mind behind it."_

 _"You're talking software again. I'm just working on the hardware here."_

 _Taking a sip of water, Bruce shrugged. "I don't know how you can separate the two. Especially after what we've been through. I just_ — _"_

 _Tony interrupted him, leaning closer. "Listen. It might help."_

 _Recognizing his tone, Banner inconspicuously moved a bit closer as he reached for a strawberry the size of a plum. "How."_

 _Tony glanced around, knowing they were certainly being watched, no matter how casually. He lifted an eyebrow at Bruce, who nodded back. "Okay. So you know that program I was working on? The one that had the back door that Hank said no one could break?"_

 _"As I recall,_ you _managed it."_

 _"Yeah, yeah, but that's because I'm_ me _. Wouldn't it be… interesting, let's say, if there was more storage available behind that door?"_

 _Bruce furrowed his brow. The entire project made him feel dirty, and there wasn't a day that he and Tony weren't trying to come up with some way to make it better for the tributes that were going to be coming through this year. Most of their ideas were hopeful dreams, but sometimes, they found things that could improve some aspect of this insanity. As long as it fit within SHIELD's plans, they could discuss it freely. But whenever what they needed to talk about was something they were doing in private, for the personal benefit of the humans that would be worked on, brought back… they put everything in technical terms._ Just working on a computer, nothing to see here.

 _Now, if Tony was suggesting that they could regrow the tribute brains with some kind of, well, hidden back-up_ —

 _"Hang on. You mean a redundant system? So that if the original_ — _well, a copy of an original, let's say_ — _was corrupted, someone like you could go in through this back door and find the… default program?"_

 _Stark was nodding, drumming his fingertips against the rock he was sitting on. "Yeah. You know there's a lot of room in the storage system that we aren't using. Why not access that? See if we can use it for… something."_

 _"But will the original programming shift over to a copy? What if it's just not available?"_

 _"From what I've studied of the implants_ — _" Tony stopped, shook his head. "From what I've seen of the copying software, it takes everything. It's up to the end result programmer to sort out what's redundant, or unnecessary."_

 _They were silent for a few minutes, finishing their lunch. Finally, Bruce spoke. "It's not much."_

 _"It's something." He glanced around again, dark eyes bright when they came back to his lab partner. "Wouldn't you want that, if it were your brain?" His eyes rolled momentarily. "If it were_ your _computer's programs being messed with?"_

 _They locked eyes for a long moment. "Yeah. Yeah, I would."_

 _"Okay, then."_

 _Bruce glanced skyward. "So, which? Alpha, Beta, Theta?"_

 _"Gonna start with Beta, I think. Way up front, should be easy to spot. Maybe two weeks."_

 _They stood and gathered their scraps as a voice came from everywhere at once. "Technical Crew, return to labs now."_

 _"Yes, Mother." Bruce grinned at Tony's customary yelled response, and they walked back to the elevator entrance, deep in thought._

* * *

"Good morning, Bruce. What's new?"

Banner startled from his memory and saw Hank Pym standing at the door. "Morning, Hank. Nothing yet. Well, a couple things, actually. The dendrite stability is up fifteen percent after being treated with the D26. Looks like a winner."

"Fifteen? That's tremendous. I had high hopes for that one, but that's outstanding. How many runs?"

"Looks consistent in the first three. The next two should be done by tomorrow." He snapped his fingers, remembering. "Hey, did Tony talk to you about the new scanner array he wants to add?"

Hank looked thoughtful as he took a few steps into the room and cleared his throat. "While I don't agree with his … _enthusiasm_ , I believe that brainwave analysis could be a useful tool for calculating accurate cellular structure, and quickly." His eyes added, _and that's all I'm going to say about that._ "I told them so upstairs, and they agreed, although I'm suggesting he lean toward theta analysis. It has an interesting effect on the hippocampus along its longitudinal axis."

"Really?"

"Yes. We're finding that there's actually a cascade effect for when the wave hits. An actual temporal difference in how the cells respond."

"Wow. I wouldn't have expected that. It would certainly give a dimensionally detailed analysis if it was measured across a temporal axis as well."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Theta. Hmh." Bruce tapped a stylus on his hand and shook his head. "Of course, knowing Tony, he'll design redundant scans for every wave we know, and some we probably don't."

"It's true. Which is why I asked for more than he projected."

They shared a grin at their colleague's passion for side projects. Hank often likened him to a puppy with a new chew toy. "Great. Thanks for greasing the wheels. I know he's pretty excited about it."

"It's only fair. They agreed to the scans for Pym particles, although I'm still fine-tuning the magnetic fields. Speaking of, if you need me, I'll be down in B. When Stark gets in, tell him he needs to check the electronics for the new tanks. They'll be in by the end of the week, and we better be able to hook them up."

"Will do. Thanks, Hank."

Bruce activated the scanner and typed a few instructions into the display. Once the system was happily humming away, he walked over to his desk and flipped open his tablet, checked the time, and jotted down a few surface observations.

He was distracted enough that he startled a bit at the familiar voice behind him. "You didn't turn it on? Come on, Banner! All the work we've been putting in, and you don't even—"

"Morning, Tony." He kept working, ignoring his lab partner's exasperation.

"Fine. Just, fine." Tony turned to his desk and keyed in his password. "I think it's working now."

"I believe you said that the last three times you tried to use it."

"Look, Banner. I don't rain on your—"

There was a brief, incredibly loud noise, like a radio trying to tune in five stations at once, followed by a ringing silence. Then it happened again, for an even shorter time. Then _prolonged_ silence. Bruce turned and stared at Tony, and they both stood up, walking hurriedly to the main computer in the lab.

"I hope you didn't fry it."

"I didn't. I couldn't have. I hope." Tony cleared his throat. "Hello?"

An incredibly sexy female voice responded in a breathy whisper. "I'm… I'm here, Tony."

"No. No, no, no!" Bruce smacked Tony in the chest with the back of his hand. "No."

"What do you mean, 'no'?"

"I mean, _no_. We're not going to have it making you drool and lose track of what you're doing, that's how I mean 'no'."

"It's not an _it_. It's just… just a…"

"Just a _what_?"

"Just a rather… _very_ intelligent system." He snapped his fingers, his eyes brightening. "Yes. JARVIS. Perfect. Yes! It's Jarvis!"

Bruce nodded, looking back to his screen. "Uh-huh. Or just a rather vexing inept system…"

"Oh ye of little faith. Spoilsport." Stark walked over to the monitor and changed a few settings. Then, he took a breath, looked at Bruce, and said, again, "Jarvis?"

This time, a very calm male voice with a rather charming accent answered quite formally. "I am fully uploaded into the lab system and ready to assist, Mr. Stark."

"Great. Perfect." He actually giggled as he looked at Bruce. "Oh, and Jarvis? This is Bruce Banner. You should help him out, too."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Banner."

"Ah… hello." Bruce gave Tony a bemused look. "This is weird."

"Yeah, but think of all the time we'll save!"

"Do you really think this is the best time to shake down an AI?"

The voice returned, calmly. "I believe I can find, for the most part, any discrepancies in my programming, Mr. Banner. Any that seem troublesome can be downloaded to you and Mr. Stark."

Tony was practically dancing. "Perfect. Perfect, Jarvis! Now go through the calendars for my contacts and register anything that pertains to me. I'll want reminders, so I don't have to go looking. Got it?"

"Already done for both of you, sir."

Bruce didn't know which was more amazing. The fact that Tony — with some help from him, admittedly, especially in the personality programming — had created this AI, or the fact that Tony was dancing around. _Like a puppy with a new chew toy_.

"And while it isn't on your schedule, Mr. Banner, according to the lab camera logs, you normally do something near the aquarium about now."

"Jarvis, you can call him Bruce."

"No, sir, I don't believe that would be proper. According to my titular subroutine, it is most professional for you and Mr. Banner to be addressed properly."

Tony's head dropped to one shoulder and he turned slowly to look at Bruce. " _You_ did this, didn't you?"

"It makes sense. We need an assistant. If it treats us professionally, we'll treat it professionally. No goofing around."

Tony opened his mouth to protest and closed it again. "Fine."

"The aquarium, Mr. Banner?"

"Thank you, ah… Jarvis."

Bruce walked over to a large, partly-filled aquarium. Half-submerged rocks and leafy plants had turned it into a realistic little pond.

Bruce checked the lights and temperature of the water with the same calm efficiency that he gave his experiments as a turtle the size of a hockey puck looked up at him expectantly. He spoke to it in a surprisingly soft voice. "Good morning, Sup." Then, he pulled some pellets out of a small container and dropped them in. The animal wasted no time in splashing in off his rock to go after his breakfast.

Tony was back at his monitor. "You know, I could rig a feeding station and just have Jarvis—"

Bruce rolled his eyes but smiled. "I think can feed the turtle, Tony," he said, but then his expression grew thoughtful. "But then again, it might not be a bad idea to have a system in place for when bodies — well, you know. When things start rolling in."

"Right, right. Should be a piece of cake."

" _Don't_ give him any more cake."

The lab mascot always cheered Bruce up. It was nice to have another living thing around — especially one whose motives he never had to question. Of course, the person who brought it to them seemed pretty trustworthy, too. She had been, ever since the day he 'woke up'. And by now, it was as if she had adopted him as a big brother. An arrangement that didn't bother him in the least.

* * *

 _It had been a month since Bruce had 'awakened'_ — _although he tended to think of it as being 'downloaded', now that he knew more about the process_ — _and he was just beginning to settle into the routine. Wake up, go to the gym, do the workout to try to get this new body some muscle tone, shower, and head to the lab. It was becoming routine. It was becoming… stable. Not something he liked to think about, but stable. Stable enough that he had time to think about what was going on, anyway. What was really happening here._

 _It was on one of the rougher days when Cassie Lang came in with the box._

 _Bruce and Tony had both looked up from their monitors when she walked in, smiling._

 _"Hi, guys. I, um, have a question."_

 _"Sure. What do you need, Cass?"_

 _She grinned at Bruce and held out a box. "What kind of turtle is this?"_

 _Tony glanced over and frowned. "What kind of_ turtle _is this? That's the challenge we get these days? Oh, how the mighty have fallen…"_

 _Bruce shook his head and walked over to her. In the box was a turtle about four inches across. It had red marks on the sides of its head. He picked it up and turned it about, checking the carapace. "This would be a red-eared slider, Cassie. A friend of yours?"_

 _The girl managed to blush a bit as she tried to explain. "Well, no. Or yes. I mean, I found him_ — _it_ — _outside in the park, and I wasn't sure it would be safe there, and besides, he's really cute, and I can't keep him in my room because they said no, but this is a lab, and you guys don't have anything alive in here besides, well, bits and pieces of cells, and I thought, maybe…"_

 _Tony and Bruce grinned at each other over the top of her head. Bruce lifted his eyebrows, and Tony shrugged._

 _Bruce let out an exaggerated sigh. "Well, I suppose we could use a mascot. We'll need a tank."_

 _"Or a stewpot. Weren't you eating these guys in the arena, Banner?" Tony's eyes sparkled with mischief as Cassie abruptly hugged the box closer to her chest._

 _"One. I ate_ one _. You always make it sound like I was on a steady diet of_ — _"_

 _"That's right! You even named it… Dinner." Cassie's eyes were wide. "Maybe I should just_ — _"_

 _"Cass. I'm not going to eat your turtle." He gave Tony a look. "_ No _one is going to eat this turtle. I promise."_

 _She seemed to relax a little, and Tony chuckled quietly. "But just so we never forget the fallen, we'll name this one… Supper." He reached into the box and tapped the little creature on the back of his shell. "Hey there. 'Sup, Sup?"_

 _Bruce rolled his eyes, but Cassie giggled and looked into the box. "Hey, Supper! They named you! You've got a new home!"_

 _The men shook their heads, and Tony motioned toward the door. "I'll get some of the scrap acrylic and put a tank together."_

 _"Sounds good. Twenty, thirty gallons should be fine. Make sure you use the med grade silicone." Stark nodded and headed for the door, always single-minded when a building project appeared. "And you, Ms. Lang, need to get him some rocks… good sizes… and some plants that like water. Can you handle that?"_

 _She handed the box to Bruce and saluted smartly. "I'm on it." Then, with a huge smile, she stepped over and hugged him around the box, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "You're the best!"_

 _Bruce chuckled as she dashed out of the lab and looked down at the turtle, which was staring up at him rather expectantly. "Hello, Supper. Welcome to the lab." He looked around and saw the remainder of Tony's sandwich on his bench, pulled off a piece of lettuce, and gave it to Supper, who chomped it down with gusto._

* * *

After playing with Jarvis for half an hour — including uploading an extensive and _loud_ music collection — Tony headed down to the tank lab, leaving Bruce to finally work in quiet.

He wondered vaguely if it was rude to ignore the new AI, but since Tony had downloaded Jarvis to his tablet as well, it was easy enough to imagine the new assistant had left with him.

In the course of a day, Bruce made his usual rounds of the various labs. He tended to avoid the tank room more these days, since several of them had experiments floating in them. It just made things a little too _real,_ now that the final push was on for the Games.

He was relieved when Hank and Janet, who had been there longest, refused to do human testing in the new tanks. Pym had pointed out that they already knew the system worked, and they could do a dry run just as easily with cellular blocks, which, being taken from cows, provided the labs with an excellent supply of scientifically-grown steaks.

"Tony?" Bruce called out when he came into the largest lab. It was technically Lab T3, but since Tony saw the huge tubes that were used for growing bodies, he had dubbed it simply 'the tank room', and of course, it stuck.

"Yeah?" a distracted voice yelled back from high in the rafters.

"What's up, besides you?"

"Some of the wiring for the Bank One tanks was put in with the old stuff."

"Crap. I thought we got it all?"

"I did too… but at least now… we… have." He swung his legs off the top of the tank and slid down the outside of the ladder to the floor. "Jarvis, return power to Bank One."

"Right away, sir."

Bruce couldn't help but shake his head. Already, Tony was perfectly comfortable with his new 'assistant', wiping his hands on a rag as he walked over to Bruce. "I think I'm gonna ask if we can get Parker down here a day or two this week. We could use the extra brains for shaking down the new install, if they don't have him too busy being the homecoming queen."

Banner frowned at him for a second before it became a contained grin. "Yeah, right. You just want to show off the AI."

"Maybe. At least he's one of the few people around here who will understand how impressive it is." They smirked at each other and looked up at the tubes. "This place remind you of anything?"

Banner took a look around. The control consoles, the tubes of liquid, the floor with the inlaid drain that was almost always wet with something… "The sewers."

"Yeah."

"Is _that_ why I hate this lab."

"One reason out of thousands. Can you give me a hand with the console wiring? Now that the new bank is ready to come in, it's gonna need to get acquainted with the rest of these guys."

"Sure."

Tony stopped for a moment and looked around the room again. "Sewers. Although, now that I think about it, after the revolution, this place would make a kick-ass distillery."

Bruce looked at him blankly for a moment. Then, he said with an overly thoughtful frown, "Rise Again Rum?"

"Hmh. Test-Tube Tequila."

"Jarvis, check all known data for copyrights on these names."

"Absolutely, sir."

They spent the rest of the afternoon on their backs under the main console rewiring and coming up with names, and deciding the place may as well have a craft brewery, too. It made the afternoon fly. By the time they had finished and cleaned up, the only thing that looked different was a new, very complicated and heavy cable leading to the section where the last set of tanks would go.

Tony extended his hand, and Bruce shook it. "Thanks. Hungry?"

"Yeah. I should go check on the results in our lab before I leave for the day, though."

"Right. I'll clean up and meet you in the canteen."

"See you there."

Back in the lab, Bruce was checking through the final results of the scanner, which led to looking up some details of past tests, which led to writing up some theoretical data. When he glanced at the time, he realized he had been working, again, for almost an hour. He stood and tapped the stylus he was holding against the desk absently. "Crap. Ah, Jarvis? Is Tony in the tank room?"

There was a brief pause. "Which tank room, Mr. Banner?"

Banner frowned, almost amused at the confusion of the AI. _Oh, Tony. You think you're so clever…_ "The tank room, Jarvis."

"Yes, I understand the question, sir. I just need to know which tank room you're inquiring about."

"Which? The tank room, the one—" Bruce stopped, his eyes widening. "Jarvis, is there more than one lab with growth tanks in it?"

"That would be affirmative, sir."

Bruce stood very still, his heart pounding in his chest. "Hang on. There's a room with tanks stored, right? _Empty_ ones, the ones that are going in this week—"

"I had not counted the storage rooms in my calculations, sir, but if you like—"

"Hang on." He took a few deep breaths, the stylus in his clenched fist bending. "Is there another lab — besides the one Tony and I were just working in — that has bodies growing in it?"

This time, the pause was a bit longer, as if the AI understood his concern and was taking special care.

"Yes, sir. There are several growth tube units in a separate lab, more than half of which are currently occupied, or what might be called 'in progress'. It appears to have been constructed earlier than the lab you gentlemen are working in, as the technology is slightly less advanced. It's possible that it was here perhaps even before—"

Bruce swallowed hard and cut him off. "Jarvis… can you tell what — or _who_ — is in them?"

"It appears all occupied tubes are currently holding DNA typed humanoid forms. Since I only have access to specific DNA data for you and Mr. Stark, I can only positively identify two of them."

"Two?" The word escaped in a breathless grunt.

"Yes, sir. It appears that you and Mr. Stark have DNA compatible replacement bodies in storage."

The stylus snapped in his hand, and Bruce threw it to the ground. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, the angry, foreboding beating of rage. He tore off his lab coat and was screaming out Tony's name before he reached the door.

One word kept crying in his brain as he ran through the hallways to find his partner.

 _Replaceable._


	36. Chapter 35: The Readiness is All

**(A/N): Hello, and welcome back to our Friday update! Once again, we're bringing you a chapter this week from the incredibly talented Miran Anders, this time writing Helena Wayne!**

 **Thanks as always to all our writers who left beautiful and supportive reviews, and thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for your review. We always love hearing what you liked!**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Five - The Readiness Is All**

 **Pre-Interview Prep**

 **Helena Wayne of District Seven**

 **Written by Miran Anders**

* * *

 _"Foster and polish the warrior spirit_

 _while serving in the world;_

 _illuminate the path_

 _according to your inner light."_

 _-Morihei Ueshiba_

* * *

A zephyr'd breeze pushed softly on the curtains, opening them to the rosy pink light of dawn. In turn, its rays ever so gently touched the face of the girl in the bed, rousing her, symbolically, from the arms of Morpheus.

In response, the girl yelled, swore loudly with considerable vehemence, threw her pillow at the offending window, and curled into a ball, pulling the blankets over her head.

It had been a long week.

The training had been fine. She was used to training. She even learned a thing or two about some wild plants — both edible and poisonous — not to mention a vivid assortment of wild creatures. While she and her brother had wandered the outskirts of District Seven often enough, and their father had a tendency to collect _everything_ — including a veritable zoo of exotic snakes, bats and spiders in the sprawling cave-like cellars beneath the mansion — the acreage of Wayne Manor itself was kept pretty tame. Some of the strangest plants came from Alfred's herb garden, and she had learned all of those by the time she was five.

Knowledge and learning always fascinated her, just as it did her father. Kept her feeling alive. And she was pretty sure that 'feeling alive' would be important for the next few weeks.

With a guttural groan, she finally threw off the blankets and slipped to the side of the bed. As usual, once she had her feet on the ground, she was wide-awake. Dick always made fun of her for that. He warned people about the dangers of waking her up, and only did so himself by throwing things at her from across the room until she got her feet on the floor. _Then_ she could be reasoned with, he asserted, and not before. _A banana is good,_ he was fond of saying. _She clearly needs the potassium. Besides, it's easy to throw._ She shook her head ruefully at him, in his absence.

 _Jerk. Okay. Today. What's going on today… oh, right. The interviews._ Evidently, they were so very, very important. _Time to show off for the masses. Give them a preview of who to cheer for and who to boo._ She had just slipped into her underthings when there was a knock on the door.

"Helena? Are you out of bed?"

Helena rolled her eyes at the chirpy, cheerful sound of her stylist, Doreen, completely deserving of the nickname 'Squirrel Girl'. She'd even had Capitol-style augmentation to resemble her favorite rodent, although Helena couldn't imagine why anyone would want a tail. "Yes, Doreen, just give me a minute. I'm getting dressed—"

"Well, stop right now! Don't put on a stitch more! I have your interview outfit for a fitting. Just have to check the shoulders and the hem. You're so _tall_!"

Helena was frowning at the door as it opened. The bouncy little stylist dashed in with a long garment bag, looking far too cheerful for this hour of the morning, and latching the door behind her. She raised an eyebrow. "Locking me in?"

"No! Locking anyone else out! Privacy!" She giggled, although Helena wasn't entirely buying it. "Besides, we want to surprise them!"

Helena sagely decided not to point out how little the stylist had respected privacy when she burst in. Instead, she stood and groaned as Doreen unzipped the bag and hung a long, diaphanous gown on the closet door.

"Wait… a _gown_? Seriously? I thought we discussed this. I want to wear what I wore for training. I want them to take me seriously as a fighter."

"Of course you do. But you also want them to take you seriously as a _tribute_ — one that they want to con- _tribute_ to!" Doreen cackled at her own joke, but within seconds, the dress was off the hanger and on Helena. She tried to voice a complaint, but the stylist had already thrown a couple pins in the shoulders, clucked about the length being perfect, and spun her to face the full-length mirror on the closet door.

"Listen, I — oh. Oh, my." Helena stared at the woman in the mirror.

The gown was sleeveless, silk chiffon in a deep aubergine. It fitted snugly to the waist, but even in the slight breeze from the window, the skirt danced effortlessly, like smoke from a hidden fire. Under the sheer, billowy fabric was a short, fitted layer that hugged her thighs _just_ low enough, making the dress somehow both more modest _and_ more provocative.

The neckline scooped down, and hundreds of tiny, sparkling black jewels spilled across it and down between her breasts, pausing to spread out tendrils at her waist before narrowing again, trailing off only inches above the floor.

Helena heard a squeal behind her. "You love it, don't you? Don't you just _love_ it? How can you not love silk chiffon! It moves like a dream! Like you're always standing in a breeze! You're gorgeous! Here, put on these heels."

The matching high heels put Helena, who was already quite tall, over six feet — and she couldn't help but smile. High society demanded that she often wore elegant dresses and gowns, but she always leaned toward something demure, that wouldn't draw too much attention. _This_ was different. This _asked_ for attention, and not just for sex. She looked amazing. And powerful. It showed off her toned arms and legs, and she flexed without thinking. _Oh, yes. They'll know I'm a fighter in this._

"Okay, Squirrelly-girl, you win."

"I know! I _do_! Okay, off with it. I have to put a few more jewels on the shoes, do the shoulders, and that lining is only basted. You're like dressing a doll!" The stylist jumped up and down a few times, clapping her hands. "And once the makeup is on—"

"I can do my own—"

"Not tonight. Dress designer gets to. No arguments! I win! I _do_!" For a moment, all Helena saw was the swirl of a fluffy tail, making her pull her face back and blink. In seconds, the dress was off, and the Squirrel was gone, garment bag in tow, and Helena was left standing once more in her underwear.

"Bye," she said, with more than a little sarcasm. "See you later." She shook her head, went to the dresser, and got out a real outfit.

 _This is insane. Dressing me like a doll so that people will be more entertained when they watch me die. Dressing all of us up. So, so entertaining_.

The first shirt in the drawer was red, and had the new Quarter Quell logo on the left breast. Two interlocking scripted Q's, looking ever so sleek, so catchy. She had seen it emblazoned on pennants around the Capitol when they arrived, and it seemed to be branded on every bit of equipment they used in training. Everyone in the Capitol would want a piece of this Games. Would pay good money for any scrap, she was sure. _Especially_ if it was something that had been worn by a tribute... She stared at it.

 _Nope. Not a chance in hell._

She carefully — and perhaps a bit too thoroughly — refolded the shirt before tossing it into the garbage. Then, after picking from the limited choices, she put on dark jeans and a black V-neck shirt. Helena was content — like her father — to move in darkness, and wear her own if there wasn't any available. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and stared at the sparkle lying on her dresser. Her mother's necklace. Delicately, she fastened the chain around her neck. She held it for a moment, staring into the mirror. _I'm wearing both of them today, I guess._ It was funny that two people like her mother and father, so different and so alike, could be together. Could be friends.

 _And then, of course, there's figuring out who_ I'm _going to be friends with on the way. More entertainment for the masses._

Clad in shadows, she quietly made her way down to get some breakfast. The conversation she'd had with Logan about teaming up with anyone was still fresh in her mind, even though the talk itself was already three days old.

* * *

 _It had been the evening of the second day of training. Helena was sitting in the lounge, and exhaled quietly as she closed her eyes and mentally pictured the directions she was reading for fletching arrows by hand. Finding straight wood could be tricky. Depending on branches, bamboo-like grasses, maybe even dowels if they were in any kind of industrialized area…_ a knife to help with construction would be handy. Really handy.

 _Getting feathers would be the easy part. There were always birds. And she could harvest sinew from the goose or duck, or whatever that she got for the feathers. Of course, if she already had a bow and arrows, it would be easier to get the goose or duck… she shook her head out of the circular reasoning and tried to concentrate on the technique._

" _Time-consuming," she said in a soft voice as she opened her eyes. "May need some kind of glue, and if I don't know what the arena is going to look like, don't know if it's pine tar or contact cement that I'll be looking for—"_

 _A shadow crossed over the article she was reading, and she looked up to see her mentor._

 _She stared at him briefly, and when he didn't speak, she went back to her reading._

" _Moving on to things they don't teach?" Logan asked as he sat back in a chair, watching her._

" _They started teaching it. Just didn't have time to finish. Or the inclination, I suppose. We did a lot of work with bows, but no mention of how we might have to make our own. Luckily, I've had some practice with that, but arrows…" She dwindled off as she was reabsorbed in the text._

" _The quiver they give is usually pretty full," he pointed out._

 _Helena gave him a pointed look_. _"_ Pretty _full? Even if it's packed with twenty-five arrows, that means you only really get one shot at each tribute._ If _you get the quiver to begin with. Might make more sense to be prepared, don't you think?"_

" _Can't be surprised if you're prepared," he agreed. "Though as I understand it, most of the others are crap with a bow. You could get it from 'em easy enough."_

 _She barely avoided grinning. "Could. But then, if I wanted to make pistol bows…"_

" _Then I will be royally impressed if you can pull that off wherever they drop you," he told her with a smirk. "Not surprised. But impressed."_

 _This time, the grin escaped as she looked at him._ This from the guy who made himself claws. " _Well, I do live to impress you, your royal mentor-ness."_ Oh, God, I sound just like Dick.

" _I think that's usually pronounced 'Royal Pain in the Ass'," he corrected. "And I was sure it was_ Dick _that was worried about impressing people, Hel. I know the Waynes don't care about that nonsense."_

 _Helena tilted her head at him as her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "True." Folding the article and placing it in the notebooks they'd each been given — although few used them — she leaned back in the chair. "And it's_ Helena. _" Logan barely blinked as he looked at her._

" _Dick calls you Hel."_

" _Dick's my brother." She stared back at him, a snake and a mongoose sizing each other up. "And speaking of my brother, how do you think Dick is actually going to do, given that he trusts almost everyone? And wants to take care of almost everyone, even though all but one of us is going to die?"_

 _Logan let out a long sigh. "I really don't know," he admitted, shaking his head. "It's not like I'm any kind of an expert. And … I was the idiot trying to take care of other people last time out."_

 _Her eyes rolled. "Great. So I'm trusting the managing of my brother to someone who thinks it's a good idea?"_

" _You really think anyone can manage him?" Logan challenged._

" _You don't manage Dick. You work with him. I've done it for years."_

" _Well then that's probably more on you, since when it actually matters, I won't be able to give him another 'Damnit, Grayson.'"_

 _Her eyes flashed. "On_ me _? So I'm supposed to be right by his side until we're the last ones left, and then what?"_

" _You're supposed to do whatever it is you think is right," Logan said. "I don't like anyone's odds in this stupid thing. And I sure as hell don't want it to come down to the two of you."_

" _Well, golly, thanks. I hope we die soon, too." They both stood abruptly, and Helena froze, surprised, as she realized once again that she was a head taller than her mentor._

" _Not what I meant, Hel," Logan said, looking up at her. "And I think you know that."_

" _Helena. And I don't know what to think. This whole thing is… is an abomination. And now they're forming little clubs that will what, celebrate that? It's insane."_

" _It is," he agreed. "But … I think it gives most of them something to hold onto and keep them sane while they're in there. While they last."_

 _She took a deep breath, and he saw her shoulders drop as she made a conscious effort to get her feelings under control. "I suppose you're right. I forget how young some of them are." For a few moments, they stood in silence, until with a sigh, the ancient seventeen-year-old sat down once more and motioned for Logan to join her in the nearby chair. "So… I suppose you think I should be in one of these 'clubs'?"_

 _He thought it over for a while — probably longer than strictly necessary — before he spoke. "I think … if you have people you can trust, it's good to have someone to watch your back. But it won't make losing them any easier."_

" _Ah. People I trust without being too emotionally attached to. That almost makes sense, in a weird, professional, you-sound-like-my-father way."_

" _No such thing," he admitted. "And no reason to take a cheap shot at me." He managed to ignore her snorted laugh. "But even if you aren't attached now — if any alliance you're in lasts long enough to save one of them, or to save you — it'll hurt."_

 _Helena nodded but clearly didn't have a context to fit this situation into._ Yet. _She shook her head. "Okay. Fine." She drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair and considered her options. "I talked with one person in training that I think I could work with. The crazy one. You know, the girl who's attached at the hip to that weird joker, Jack. What an_ ass. _Nasty with her. Abusive. I get the feeling she's smarter than that, smarter than she pretends to be."_

" _She absolutely is."_

" _And she's pretty up front about her feelings. No guessing." Helena shrugged a nod. "I'll level with you. I'm more comfortable around women, especially in this situation. Men are the ones running this whole mess, and I'd rather stand with other women. At least some of them." She shrugged again. "I'm also not great in big groups, in case you haven't noticed. Dick tells me the 'Titans', or whatever Garfield is calling them today, is a big happy family…_ too _big for me."_

" _I don't blame you," Logan told her frankly. "I'm not real crazy about big groups either, and for the record, I think half of these groups are relying on the women to pull them through the hard stuff. Honestly, the girls are the ones to watch. Half of the guys that look like contenders will probably fall on their own swords to be noble."_

" _That'll save some time." She frowned in annoyance. "So I think Crazy Harley might be up for an alliance,_ if _she gets her head on straight and walks away from Jack. Preferably after putting a knife in his back." Logan's eyebrow lifted slightly. "And while I don't want a crowd, three's company. Maybe one other?" She looked at him. "Any ideas?"_

" _If you want to pull together a sit down, you have to know I'll back you up — whoever you want," Logan said evenly. "And really, Hel, you know who you think is worth the effort. I trust your judgement."_

 _The sideways look she gave him spoke volumes. "Right. Fine. I'm thinking Pamela." She waited for his response, a little more tensely than she would have been proud to admit._

 _Logan didn't hesitate to nod his agreement. "I'll talk to their mentors right now if you want me to."_

 _Helena let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. "Yeah. I think that's a good plan. I think it might… work." Her lips drew into a tight line. "I don't like the way it feels. Picking people you trust to work with, but knowing that if push comes to shove…" She looked over at him, her eyes suddenly glistening. "It's one of the reasons I can't team up with Dick."_

 _Their eyes met, and he spoke quietly. "I know."_

* * *

Shaking her head to clear the rehashed emotions away, Helena punched the code for the suite access a bit more violently than necessary. " _Alliances_. Right. Also known as 'how to get a group of people to trust each other until they start _killing_ each other'," Helena grumbled quietly to herself as the door opened and she walked down the hallway.

It was early, but the kitchen area was even more sparsely populated than usual. Just a couple of Squirrel and Jubilee's assistants, grabbing a quick bite before the final push. Luckily, it seemed no one on the stylist teams was stupid enough to wear one of the obscene red QQ t-shirts, or she might have had to remove it. She headed over to the breakfast bar, giving her egg order to a swiftly working Inhuman while she got herself coffee and some rye toast. _I wonder if anyone else had an early-morning stylist attack._ She was settling in with a mushroom and Swiss omelet — nowhere near as good as Alfred's — when her brother sat down opposite her with his own tray of eggs, bacon, and pancakes.

"Don't do it, Hel. It can't compare."

"Don't I know it. But I need the protein." She took a mouthful, chewed, shrugged, and took a long sip of coffee. "Alfred would be embarrassed by the food here."

"I know, right?" Dick smiled at her before his eyes grew more serious, the blue taking on the storm-tossed color of the sea. "How're you doing?"

"Ready as I'll ever be." She looked into his eyes. "You?"

He shoveled half a pancake into his mouth. "Mrf. Grmbld." His eyes laughed as he chewed.

"Honestly, Grayson. Talk about embarrassing Alfred."

Dick nodded and took a swig of milk. "Mkay." He gulped. "Yeah. I'm doing okay. You ready for these interviews?"

She took another bite and looked off in the distance with a shrug. "I guess. I had a surprise squirrel stylist attack this morning."

"Really? Me too. I've got to say, though, my suit is pretty on point." He grinned. "I look amazing."

She gave him a sisterly eye roll. "Of course you do." Then, her eyes sparkled with a bit of mischievous anger. "Just wait till you see what they've got me wearing."

"Let me guess. A black leather corset? Fishnets?"

Helena put a packet of jelly in her spoon and expertly catapulted it at his face, which earned her a laugh as he deftly caught it. "No, wiseass. A gown. It's pretty, actually. Aubergine."

"Aubergine?"

She gave him a flat stare. "You never studied." He chuckled on another bite of food as she went on. "Aubergine is dark purple. And it's… well, it's pretty."

He sipped his milk, wide-eyed. "Pretty? Did the grand and powerful Helena Wayne just say a dress was _'pretty'_?" He looked around in mock alarm. "We better get the paramedics; clearly you're not—"

"Shut up, idiot." Helena looked at him, laughing, and suddenly all she could think of was all the years they'd been together. Playing, fighting, training, living. Her eyes began to water, which made her angry as she stared at her plate. "Listen, Dick. These stupid alliances. I don't want you to think that—"

"Hel." He reached over and tapped her hand with his index finger. "We're good. Always will be." She finally looked up at him from her omelet, and his smile, as usual, made her smile as well. "I know if we're together, no one could beat us. _No one._ And that would mean we're the last two. And, well, I can't do that either." He gave her hand a squeeze, and she nodded.

"Thanks." They kept their hands together for a long moment. Then Dick shrugged.

"And besides," he said, his grin growing. "Spending time with Kory is, ah…"

Helena laughed, and brushed at her eyes. "Right. It's a sacrifice you're willing to make…"

Dick looked away and cleared his throat. "By the way, _aubergine_ means eggplant. So you're technically wearing something the color of a vegetable."

Her eyes narrowed, although there was a smile lurking. "Careful, Grayson. Someone will find out how smart you got traveling all over as a kid."

He shrugged and took another slug of milk. "Nah. Never happen."

They smiled warmly at each other, feeling absolutely normal for a few minutes until a familiar figure approached.

"C'mon, wonder twins, as touching as this is, we gotta prep for your interviews."

Logan plopped down next to Dick and reached over to grab the last of his bacon, taking a bite before sipping from a steaming mug of coffee.

"Our interviews?"

"You don't want to go in unprepared. Kinda like dealin' with an interrogation. If you're not ready for it, you're gonna spill your guts in all the wrong ways. You first, Hel, and then the boy wonder here."

" _Helena_ ," Helena said absently, having corrected him so many times it was becoming automatic. "Here?"

Logan shook his head lightly and frowned at her. "No. not here. Don't need Vic comin' in leerin' at you and throwin' you off your game."

She pursed her lips and lifted an eyebrow. "It'll take more than ol' Vic leering to throw _me_ , Wolfman."

Dick chuckled. "Nah, nah, it's Wolv-man. With a 'v'. 'Cause he's too small to be a wolf, so the wolverine name just… _sings._ I mean..."

He stopped as both Helena and Logan turned to glare at him. "Shut up, Dick," they said in unison, before stopping and frowning at each other suspiciously.

* * *

After breakfast, they walked farther into the suite, and Logan ducked into an office-like room on the left. "In here, kid."

"Kid? Really?" Helena shook her head. "And I suppose you're the old man, Logan? You've got what, a year and a half on me?"

He ignored her as he closed the door behind her and motioned for her to take a seat. "You know Tivan isn't the big problem."

"Tivan is an idiot. A mouthpiece for the Capitol."

"Exactly. And he gets a thrill out of all the attention. If he makes a splash, all he cares about is how it affects _him_." Her mentor shifted uneasily, and Helena couldn't help but remember his interview, already a year ago.

"I can see that."

"You _have_ seen that." He grabbed a chair and spun it around, straddling it as he sat. "So what will they be whisperin' in his ear about you?"

The girl stiffened momentarily, but it took a hunter to see it. "My life is pretty public, you may have noticed."

"Uh-huh. And what part might not be?"

The silence rang in the room, and finally, Helena grunted a sound. "Agh. Alright. My father — I don't know how much you know my father, really—"

"He's a good man, from what I've seen and can remember."

"Yeah. I mean, yes, he is. But he's not the best _dad_ , if you know what I mean. Not all the time. He gets distracted…" She looked at Logan, but he remained still, waiting. A deep breath got her settled enough to start. "He gave me a letter when he said goodbye." Her eyes began to shine, but it was anger, more than sadness that tinted her voice. "It was about my mother. She died when I was… well, six, I guess. But he never talked much about her. I thought maybe all the rumors were true, that he didn't really — that I was—" She stopped, made an exasperated noise, and started again.

"Dad's the one with the secrets. He's always helped the Sentinels whenever he could, tipping them off to terrigen houses, trying to keep the streets safe…"

"Doesn't sound that bad to me."

Helena nodded. "No, but I know he sometimes takes the law into his own hands. Sometimes, the Sentinels would arrive and find that some bad guy had 'accidently fallen and knocked himself out' in the course of a robbery…" She grimaced as she made the air quotes. "And evidently, that was how he met my mother."

Logan's eyebrows lifted. "She caught him bein' a vigilante?"

"No, quite the opposite." Her expression went from anger to defiance. "My mom was a street rat. Trying to survive. She had broken into a shop, and was stealing food… my dad caught her." For a few heartbeats, she paused, and the picture in her imagination almost made her smile. "He knew she had triggered a silent alarm and helped her get away instead of turning her in. And he kept finding ways to run into her."

"So they fell in love. Not a crime, last I heard."

"No, but from what the letter told me, evidently the gang she was 'protected' by had some muscle-bound ass named Zebediah Creed. He had eyes for most any pretty young thing and tried to blackmail her into coming back, to keep her under his thumb. Or whatever." Both of their gazes shifted, involuntarily checking to see if the man's son was nearby, even in the closed office.

"Ah."

"Dad did what Dad does. He managed to defuse the whole situation by marrying Mom and setting his sights on running old Creed out of business. No street gang could possibly mess with the wife of Bruce Wayne." She sighed out a resigned breath. "And now Dad thinks Creed picked me and Dick just to get even for disrespecting his father all those years ago. That now Creed's trying to take everyone he's ever loved from him…" Helena paused and closed her eyes. "Dad wrote that. But I don't know. I think there's more than that. I think Creed's just an asshole. And I sure as hell don't want my father to blame himself for this abomination."

They sat quietly for a few minutes, letting feelings settle. Logan cleared his throat. "I don't know that Creed's gonna share that with anyone, seein' as his family lost." He stood and spun the chair back into its place. "But if it's true, he's gonna make your lives as difficult as he can."

Helena lifted her hands and dropped them. "Don't I know it. And if it's true, poor Dick got adopted into this whole disaster of a family—"

"Don't. Don't blame your old man for tryin' to do the right thing. Don't blame anyone. Fault isn't gonna help you survive."

"Yeah, okay." She stood, crossed her arms, and looked at him. "That's really all I was worried about. Anything else, I've probably dealt with from some society bitch already. You think he'll leave it alone?"

"Creed? Spillin' that won't make him look good, an' his ol' man's ghost probably still haunts him… so yeah. Probably."

She nodded thoughtfully and stared at the floor, her voice quiet when she finally spoke. "You think I'm going to do alright?"

"I know one thing." The tone of his voice made her look up, and he gave her a lopsided grin. "If they try to screw with you, you'll sure give 'em Hel."


	37. Chapter 36: Time and Tide

**(A/N): And we're back with our Tuesday update! This time, we're bringing back Kaldur from District Four, written as always by robbiepoo2341.**

 **Thanks to all of our writers who reviewed during Miran week ;) The love and support you all show is wonderful! Thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for your review. Your comments literally always make us smile!**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Six - Time and Tide**

 **Interviews for Districts One through Four**

 **Kaldur Ahm of District Four**

 **Written by robbiepoo2341**

* * *

 _Words are singularly the most powerful force available to humanity. - Yehuda Berg_

* * *

In the partitioned area just off the stage where tributes waited to be called up for their turn vying for the Capitol's attention, dressed like little china dolls as if to accentuate their fragility, the noise level had progressed to a nearly constant thrum of frenetic energy.

But in the inches of space between Kaldur and his district partner, the silence was somehow louder than all the whispered instructions, all the rushed prep work the stylists were putting into last-minute changes, all the chatting back and forth between the other tributes who had managed to form friendships even in their short time there.

Kaldur did not regret anything he had said to Diana, and so he would not apologize. And she, proud daughter of Hippolyta, would never apologize to him either. So they found themselves with the inches screaming with silence in spite of the growing noise around them, and Kaldur deeply missed the quiet peacefulness of the ocean.

It was a different kind of quiet — not silence, never silence. The tides, the movement of the ocean in its constant state of change were _never_ silent. But all the same, it was quiet. Here, in the Capitol, it was electric, desperate, constant movement — not steady like the tides but disparate, fleeting, like fish scattered by an approaching shark.

He let his gaze rake over the other children being offered up as sacrifices in these Games, the now too-familiar heat rising up in his chest as he did so. Some of them were young — he could see both the Six and the Seven boy chatting with the small, green boy from Ten, who looked wide-eyed even as the girl from Nine joined the two older boys with attempted comfort of her own, a gentle hand on his shoulder ahead of this latest public humiliation.

On the other hand, some of these so-called children were the sharks scattering the minnows — Jack in particular, who fancied himself a leader when he could not even lead his own mind to sanity. The only ones who followed _him_ were either desperate or themselves insane.

The prep assistants called out the warning that the charlatan show would begin soon, and the busy thrum reduced itself to a gentle, constant, hurried whisper — still present, but much softer, though that somehow made it more pronounced.

And then, all at once, it was a roar, like a wave crashing down on the shore as the Capitolites on the other side of the partition burst into screams of passion, cheering the interviewer, Tanaleer Tivan, as he arrived to take in their adulation, soaking it in the way his too-pale skin could never soak in sunlight.

As the screams threatened to overtake all the waiting tributes' other senses, Kaldur glanced surreptitiously toward the chair nearest the stage, where the youngest of the so-called Career district tributes was leaning forward in anticipation, her face a mask of something akin to determination if it wasn't also marred by both anger and terror.

The Careers were a shambles — they had been from the start. Abandoning the usual protocol of pre-selected warriors from training backgrounds had truly not done the Capitol any favors in that regard. These children were a combination of ruthless and reckless and dangerous that Kaldur frankly did not want any part of, though he couldn't help but keep an eye on them. Had things gone differently, these would have been his allies, and although Kaldur made it a point not to dwell too much on the past or on possibilities that were lost, he was curious all the same.

He had made it clear what his feelings were on the subject of alliances, but that did not preclude him from watching those that, had this been any other Games, would have been at his side in the arena. Curiosity was no hypocrisy, no sin.

 _What's done is done, and what is, is._ This was what his queen had taught him since he was old enough to drink from her wisdom. And yet he couldn't help but also think, _And what could have been is best held to the light to examine and be grateful for your escape._

Thea Queen was ushered toward the stage and met with raucous applause — of course she was; she was the first tribute the crowd had seen, and she was so young and innocent. At least, to their eyes.

The cheering and wolf whistles had Kaldur biting his tongue to keep his anger in check, and he glanced over for something else to focus on that was not the Capitol cheering madly for a young, beautiful _child_ who would likely be dead before the week was out.

His gaze found the girl from Two — Harper — and when she caught it, she tipped her head his way and made a face. She had clearly (and loudly) lost her battle with her stylists, and even without a diver's eye for detail, Kaldur could see that she was uncomfortable in her own clothes. He nodded to her, a silent acknowledgement, and more obviously adjusted the sleeves of his suit. He didn't like the clothes they were forced to wear, either — the sleeves were unwieldy, and he was used to either no sleeves at all or at least tightly-fitted diving suits that stretched with his movements rather than encapsulating him in their stifling grasp.

Besides, the sleeves hid the long and winding tattoos that snaked their way from his wrists to his shoulders, the tattoos that he'd gotten when he started to study under Queen Mera, as a mark of his devotion.

He wondered if the Capitol knew the hidden meaning behind those tattoos. They could not stand any show of devotion to anyone but themselves, after all.

He traced the outline of the beginning of his tattoos with one hand, thinking of the heat just beneath his breastbone. It was the one thing he had managed to find in common with the girl who, in a different setting, would have been his ally had he not left the now-corrupted Careers to the inane leadership of Jack and his simpering followers.

* * *

 _Kaldur saw very little point in going through the stations. He did, of course, go through them, because Odin had requested it of him. While the old man knew as well as he did that Kaldur was a dead man walking, a symbolic sacrifice because of his devotion to Four, Odin had insisted that, at the very least, Kaldur should not go down without a fight._

 _Kaldur did not take_ orders _from the All-Father, but he did take his advice to heart, especially when he saw that there was genuine concern in the request._

 _He was sitting on the outskirts of the traps station, then, only half listening to the trainer give tips on nets._ Nets _. As if Kaldur needed any help in that regard. He'd known how to make and mend nets at nearly the same age he learned to walk._

 _At the very least, he could use his expertise to help the others. So many of these children had no idea of the larger games afoot — the least he could do was spend his time helping. Odin's advice was not to focus on the lambs, but he had also said that these Games were about power. And what better way to upset that power than to aid the powerless?_

 _Not an alliance. Never an alliance. He could not bear the thought of an alliance with these children when they were going to a slaughter. How could he_ lie _to them and tell them he would protect them when, in the arena, there were no guarantees?_

 _No, better to aid in the shadows, let them play their smaller games, and keep an eye on the powerless. Should the time arise, he would stand in their defense. But he would not ally with them and raise false hopes. Nor would he ask any of them to bear the burden of the target on his own shoulders. He would not bring destruction down on their heads the way the Capitol had done._

 _He let his gaze slide over the tributes, not only the younger ones sitting in rapt attention and desperately trying to drink in anything that could help them survive a little longer — he could not let his gaze linger on them too long or he would risk his temper boiling over, and he'd already lost it once with Diana — but also to the older ones. The boys from One and Seven showing off for each other, as if this was an actual game in practice as well as in name. The girls from Eight and Eleven giggling together as they approached Seven's girl to get her attention. He felt his chest tighten. Some of these children didn't_ understand, _and he saw no way to show them in the short time they had.… Perhaps it was better for them that they were ignorant to the blazing injustice of it all._

 _Finally, his gaze found the girl from Two, her arms crossed and her expression defiant as she had clearly set herself apart from the others in training. The expression on its own was intriguing, but more than that, this was not the first time he had seen Harper Row refuse to participate. There had to be a reason._

 _He was well-aware of the fact that this was one of Jack's little simpletons, and yet wasn't the point of his participation in the Games a gesture of solidarity, of strength against the Capitol? Perhaps a gesture of goodwill would go far. Perhaps he could even turn her from the folly of following that maniac who would burn the world just to watch the flames._

 _And if nothing else, it was wise to learn as much as he could of his soon-to-be enemies._

" _If you had trained at the centers, I would say you have no need of these lessons," Kaldur said as he approached the girl. "And yet…"_

" _I don't_ want _them," Harper replied with fire in her tone as she turned to face him, and he was surprised to see a strikingly familiar anger in her gaze. "It's stupid. No one's gonna learn how to kill people in four days flat. The only thing they're going to learn is how to get so sore trying that you die early in the bloodbath. Or paint a target on your back — not that I need any help_ there."

 _Kaldur raised an eyebrow._

 _When Harper saw it, she nearly sneered. "Yeah, I'm not an idiot. I know what the problem is here. I don't go to those training centers. I don't play their_ stupid _games the way I'm supposed to."_

" _You have no love for the Capitol, then," Kaldur finished for her before she could get too worked up. Truly, if there was ever a nearly literal interpretation of sparks flying — this girl was its embodiment._

" _At_ all _," Harper agreed._

 _Kaldur watched her for a long moment before he took in a breath. "Then we have something in common," he said, so quietly and softly, hardly moving his lips, that he was sure the eyes of the Capitol would not catch it._

 _At that, Harper turned to face him with an impish sort of light to her gaze as it raked over him. "Alright then, Four," she said at last, an almost approving smile turning up the corners of her lips. "At least_ someone _around here knows what's up."_

 _Kaldur smirked. "It is not hard to see the Capitol's machinations, but some are willfully blind."_

 _Harper waved her hand at him. "Yeah, sure. All I know is — screw them, am I right?"_

 _He couldn't help but laugh at that as he nodded. "Yes."_

* * *

Kaldur was brought out of his thoughts not by the noise of the crowd but by its absence — as they finally quieted down to listen to the interview conducted between Tivan and one of the youngest tributes that year.

He hardly knew the girl — after that disastrous first night, the only Career he truly knew was Harper, as even Diana was distant from him now — but he couldn't help but feel a rush of pride when he saw the _look_ in her eyes as Tivan put on his most sympathetic expression, reaching over to pat her knee in consolation as he brought up the topic on most people's minds: that she was the youngest tribute from One in the history of the Games.

Tivan preened and fretted over it, but Kaldur could see the glint behind his eyes. This skinny girl was history in the making, no matter her age, and Tivan knew it.

"And of course, we're all wondering — do you feel prepared to take on so many tributes that are older and bigger than you?" Tivan asked.

Kaldur's own anger was reflected in the flash of Thea's gaze as she thrust her chin out. "Bigger doesn't always mean stronger."

 _Good answer_ , Kaldur thought, a smile flirting with the edge of his mouth despite himself. He had seen in that first — and last — Career meeting that there was more to the Queen girl than a family name and her history-making age. _She and Diana would get along_ , he thought almost fondly before he remembered that his stubborn, arrogant partner had her head stuck too far up her precious _family honor_ to see the forest for the trees.

He glanced toward Diana, who was wearing a pleased little smirk at Thea's response, and he almost chuckled. _Of course,_ he thought. _A strong woman — Diana would approve nonetheless._

Tivan pressed Thea on a few other points: on her family name, her upbringing, and whether such a "young, rich thing" like herself — Thea glared at the descriptor of "thing" — would be able to make it far.

Finally, Thea seemed to be _done_ with his probing and leaned forward with danger that Kaldur had not seen before dripping off of her lips like seawater. "Don't worry about me," she said, her voice low and deadly. "I plan to do whatever it takes to survive."

Tivan seemed delighted by her answer — or perhaps by the unexpected danger; it was hard to tell — before he took her hand and presented her to the crowd, which roared its approval of the girl in a fiery red dress that seemed to match her passion.

Thea Queen made her way back to her seat with relief dripping off her shoulders, and Kaldur would have nodded his approval to Thea or even offered a word of encouragement — she _had_ done well — but her district partner was already there as he passed her on his way to his own interview. If Kaldur had not been watching, he would have missed the brief touch, a hand on Thea's shoulder, but he saw it nonetheless.

He knew that the much older tribute had taken it upon himself to take care of his partner. It was not hard to see, if you knew how to look. It was in the set of the boy's jaw when he saw any of Jack's crew look toward her. It was in the quiet way he watched and seemed to gravitate toward those few that took the smaller tributes under their wings. His competition with the Seven boy was proof enough of that. It was friendly, not truly competitive. Almost investigative.

It was hard to see, especially because the boy was so quiet. But the signs were there.

After all, Kaldur, too, was quiet, watchful, ever cognizant of those that were blind — either willfully or otherwise — as well as those who knew better. Slade Wilson was of the latter group.

When the boy from One stepped out onto the stage, he briefly touched two fingers to his temple in a salute, and Kaldur had to wonder if it was a tribute to something deeper, the way he and Diana had both shown deference to different aspects of Four in their own salutes. He had never seen the gesture before from One, but then, he did not know their customs. For a moment, Kaldur cursed his ignorance of the other districts — yet another thing that the Capitol had taken from them. How could they understand one another with such basic barriers between them?

Slade sat easily across from Tivan, in posture and ease every bit the man's equal, perhaps moreso. He seemed entirely unconcerned as Tivan tried to pry from him something more personal. Family, friends, lovers… "Surely there must be someone back home you'd like to say hello to."

"I already said my piece once, in _private_ ," Slade said in a tone that could be mistaken for emotional if not for the sharp edges.

 _This is a man who knows the value of words_ , Kaldur thought and tucked that observation away for later. He might need it, if he survived for any appreciable length of time, if nothing else to keep from being murdered needlessly by Slade's hand.

Tivan's smile did not falter, but if you knew where to look, if you had a diver's eye, you could see the glint of triumph flicker to an ember in an instant as Tivan, too, realized that Slade knew how to play his games.

The interviewer changed tactics, then, from a more personal line of questioning to one that instead focused on strategy, on death and the Games, though the violence itself was glossed over for the sake of the audience, as if their palates were not already wet for the blood of children, as if the next morning would not bring with it the final cries of innocents.

"You're an intelligent young man. Surely you've worked out a strategy for these Games," Tivan prompted, trying to draw more from the young man in front of him than the non-answers he had been getting thus far.

Slade leaned forward with a smirk playing at his expression as he finally gave Tivan what could be considered an interesting answer. "That's between myself and Oliver Queen."

Kaldur could see a few heads in the crowd of tributes turn toward the young girl in the District One seat, her face briefly as red as her dress before she schooled her expression. Tivan, too, was intimately and suddenly intrigued, leaning forward with bright eyes. "Isn't that the name of your district partner's older brother?"

"Correct," was the simple response from Slade.

But if Tivan had hoped for more from One's boy, he was sorely mistaken, as the boy fell silent again, and finally, the interviewer had to admit defeat and brought the interaction to a close. Kaldur couldn't help but smirk all the way through Tivan's final introduction of Slade to the crowd as it was clear the white-haired interviewer was at a loss as to how to play up an _angle_.

 _It's so much harder when we aren't puppets, isn't it?_ Kaldur thought with eyes narrowed, though he was sure to turn his expression into something more neutral and incline his head toward Slade in a silent acknowledgement as the boy came backstage. He had done _well._ Better than his partner, though the five years between them likely helped.

Harper was up next for her interview, and Kaldur pulled his attention from the pair of Ones so that he could catch her eye for a moment. She shot him a little secret smile that he couldn't help but return, still remembering the last words they'd spoken to each other — in private, after the assessments.

" _Find me during the Games. We'll give the Capitol a show they'll never forget."_

He grinned to himself as he fiddled with the sleeves of his suit. He knew it was likely folly to work, even temporarily, with one of Jack's ilk, but her anger, her passion — he would much rather help her to give the Capitol one more black eye before he died than ignore the chance. He had no illusions about surviving these Games, and he had no illusions about alliances.

He and Harper had a shared goal, a statement to make, and then they would part ways. He would not _trust_ her, not one of Jack's dogs, nor would he promise protection he could not even guarantee himself. But he would, for a brief instant in the Games, _help_ her. This was no alliance. It was, in Harper's words, a middle finger to the people in charge of this whole mess. And then he would leave her to Jack's insanity, if she was still so content to let him lead her.

He and Harper shared a talent for electricity and traps. It was not something Kaldur used often, being a diver, but he had always been interested in the raw _power_ of nature, even that which was bottled by an inventor's wire. And Harper had years of work under her belt in that regard. But more helpfully, Kaldur had years of netting, of trapping, of _outthinking_ the very tides themselves — and that was what they needed in order to turn the Capitol's own machinations against them.

It was risky. One wrong turn could kill either of them. But the moment Kaldur had bowed to Odin, he was dead all the same. The Capitol would not allow him to win. If he was not killed by another tribute, they would send mutts after him. Fires. Natural disasters. They could not have a victor who bowed to the All-Father.

So, Kaldur reasoned, why not risk life and limb for a statement? After all, that's all the Games were — a _statement._

Now, the only question was whether they could meet in the Games or if the tides of fate would pull them elsewhere. The gods could turn even the best of plans to nothing more than seafoam if they chose, after all. And he would not risk life and limb for such insubstantial pittance if their plans were reduced to such.

Kaldur almost laughed to himself as he pulled his thoughts back to the present and watched the girl on the stage suffer through Tivan's introduction, his wide-armed displays and his too-loud laughter. She spent little energy on addressing the crowd and instead simply tried to sit so that the electric blue dress didn't catch on anything, but it was a losing battle — one that clearly occupied more of her attention than the inane questions Tivan shot her way.

"And you have a brother, don't you?" Tivan prodded, and Kaldur felt a pang of sympathy as Harper's head came up. It was unlikely that she had been unprepared for the question — surely her mentor had done as Odin had and explained the possible questions Tivan would address — but her temporary battle with her dress had distracted her attention from the sharks in the water.

"Uh… yeah," she said belatedly before something like a laugh played with her voice. "He's a pain."

"I'm sure he's watching you now."

"And critiquing my posture," Harper grumbled, and she seemed genuinely surprised when the audience laughed. She glanced out at the assembled Capitolites, and Kaldur could see the cogs turn just behind her eyes before she leaned back into her chair, arms crossed.

Kaldur could hear her stylist's whispered invectives even from where he was sitting.

Truth be told, Tivan got very little after that from her interview. There was one shining moment when she bit out a scathing response to his question about her training — "Like anyone here is any _good_ for helping me get through this stupid thing." — but it wasn't long before Tivan clearly tired of having to fight for even the smallest of answers, especially after Slade Wilson's similarly short responses, and presented her to the crowd rather than fight any longer.

Kaldur shot Harper a little smile upon her return, and she simply nodded his way as her district partner pushed his way to the stage with pretended swagger that would have fooled no one, especially given the way he kept himself angled against the lights, the cameras, the hide his scars.

The boy was two-faced in so many ways, and he was fooling no one but the dithering masses.

Although Harvey was turned so as to hide the worst of his visage from view, it was not hidden from Tivan, and Kaldur could see in the man's expression that he was not pleased to be so close to the disfigured boy from Two. Likely Tivan subscribed to the notion that beauty was of utmost importance in determining how much attention was owed a person, and it was clear in the set of his body language that the white-haired man had made his decision about Harvey already.

Still, there was a show, a display, necessary for the Capitol audience, and Tivan's smile was all teeth and flash as he welcomed Harvey to the stage.

For his part, Harvey was parading just as much of an empty charade as Tivan was — his good side facing the audience and a smile that Kaldur knew was a lie. He had seen the calculating menace, the lust, the tendency to fall to the worst of man's proclivities, even in that first night on the roof. No polite smile and eager handshake would be able to scrub from Kaldur's mind the ugliness that existed below his skin. Had Harvey been whole, he still would have been scarred.

The interview started off with Harvey almost jocular, the very picture of what a Career interview should be. Kaldur could see Harvey's mentor, Tony Masters, further off to the side with a look of intensity on his face that the other mentors had not yet matched, nodding approvingly to a few of Harvey's answers about the basics, such as the names of a few friends back home.

"Now, I'm sure you get this question a lot," Tivan said in a tone that would have been gentle to less sensitive ears, "but what happened to give you your… distinctive scars?"

As Kaldur watched, Harvey hesitated over his answer, and Kaldur spotted just the flash of something silver that the boy was fiddling with in his lap. Harvey kept glancing down, and Kaldur could see a different kind of flash, this one of anger, in his mentor's expression because of the long, awkward pause.

"It was an accident," Harvey said at last. "There was an explosion."

Tivan's expression of sympathy fooled absolutely no one. "I'm truly sorry to hear it. To have an accident like that… _and_ to lose your mother when you're still so young..."

"No, you're not," Harvey said after a moment's fiddling with whatever was in his lap, and Kaldur could swear that Masters was a step away from crossing to the stage himself — the man was far more entertaining to watch than anything happening onstage. And then Harvey lifted his gaze, and Kaldur recognized that same savage grin that he had seen before in meeting with the Careers — the hungry, desperate light.

"You see, Tanaleer," Harvey said in a voice that was so different from the one he had been using before that several of the other tributes were sitting up a little straighter, taking closer notice, "you don't want a flighty little bird of a victor. You want someone who understands _pain_."

There was a deadly kind of silence after Harvey's comments before the boy seemed to blink, take a breath, and said, "I can survive anything you throw at me."

Kaldur glanced around at the other tributes, more interested in their reactions than in the dithering that Tivan was doing in an attempt to get better control of the interview after he had clearly been thrown by Harvey's sudden change in character. A few of the non-Career tributes were shifting in sudden discomfort, though it seemed like Jack was _pleased_ with how his little packmate was performing.

That is, until Harley muttered loud enough for the rest of the tributes to hear, "Gee, someone's noggin's cracked _wide_ open, ain't it, Mistah J?"

Kaldur hid his smile and looked toward Diana instead, who was watching the way Jack glowered at his district partner with her lips pressed into the thinnest line Kaldur had ever seen. She caught him glancing her way, pressed her lips even tighter, and let out a hum of displeasure before the silence once more permeated the space between them.

He sighed, a slight break to the oppressive sound of the space between the two chairs for the Four tributes, and turned his attention back to the interview as it came to a close rather than dwell too long on the lingering hurt that clung to both of them.

Tivan seemed only too ready to get Harvey off of his stage, and Kaldur felt almost sorry for the girl from Three as she skirted around Harvey on her way up for the next interview, clearly avoiding the mentally unbalanced young man. Harvey himself was almost wincing Masters' way — at least he realized that he had strayed from his mentor's instructions, then. He was insane, but not a simpleton.

 _Dangerous_ , was the word in Kaldur's mind.

 _Powerful_ was the second, though he looked more toward the sharp smile of Jack Hamill clapping a hand on his ally's back when he thought it.

Caitlin, the girl from Three, looked incredibly nervous as she sat down across from Tivan, one hand covering the other in a tight grip, as if she was holding on for her very life. Tivan seemed to notice that as well, and his smile turned oily as he offered his hand to Caitlin for her to shake as he introduced himself and welcomed her to the stage.

"It's a delight to have you here, Ms. Snow," Tivan said, holding her hand for far longer than Kaldur thought was necessary. The interviewer laughed as his gaze raked over the clearly uncomfortable girl. "I see your stylist is playing with your name. A Snow in snow-white!"

Caitlin finally extricated her hand from Tivan's grasp and put it back down over her other hand. "Yes, I guess it's a play on words," she said.

Tivan's smile just widened. "It's a brilliant choice. A _memorable_ one," he said. "But — and I hope you'll forgive me here — I couldn't help but notice your beautiful accessory. The red truly adds a punch of color."

Caitlin looked uncomfortable, and Kaldur saw her tighten her hands together. He could _feel_ Diana gripping her seat next to him in barely restrained anger and wondered briefly if his district partner knew what was coming as the blonde on the stage caved under the knowing gaze of Tanaleer Tivan and slowly moved her hands so that the cameras could see the brilliant red ring she was wearing.

Tivan leaned forward hungrily, and Diana leaned forward in anger.

"Now, my dear," Tivan said, and Kaldur saw the way Caitlin drew back at the tone he was using. "That doesn't look like a stylist's choice. Am I to take it that this is your token?"

"Yes," Caitlin said shortly, drawing back further still.

"And who," Tivan asked, pausing for dramatic effect, " _gave_ it to you?"

It was clear that Caitlin wasn't comfortable with the question, and she looked around the stage as if the audience or the cameras would give her reprieve. Kaldur could see Caitlin's district partner with a perfectly open expression, watching the entire interview on the edge of his seat and barely breathing, and he recalled vaguely hearing — somewhere — that the two were friends before they were even drawn for the Games.

"A friend," Caitlin said at last, and Tivan leaned nearly out of his chair eagerly, his smile in her space and his hands reaching out as if he wanted to take Caitlin's again..

"Now, now, Ms. Snow. We're all friends here," he said, gesturing to encompass the gathered audience with one arm thrown out. "You must be more than just 'friends' to have such an exquisite ring."

Caitlin shifted.

"Come now, what's his name?" Tivan pressed eagerly.

Caitlin shook her head, looking even more uncomfortable than before. "Can't we talk about something else?" she finally asked, and Tivan, disappointed, leaned back in his chair — though he did, at least, move on.

"I've seen less bloodlust in the eyes of sharks," Kaldur muttered, and he didn't realize he'd said it aloud until Diana let out a little sound of agreement that surprised him into looking her way.

She met his gaze for a moment before she simply shrugged. "Even a fool can see evil when it is on display," she told him, and he almost laughed that those were the first words she had said to him in some time.

Diana smirked, and the silence between them rang with something more akin to familiarity for the remainder of Caitlin's interview, though Kaldur noted with interest the way Diana concerned herself with Caitlin's welfare, reaching over to give the girl's shoulder a squeeze over the empty seat that Cisco Ramon had vacated when he stood for his turn.

Kaldur watched the silent understanding, the support that passed between the two young women even as Tivan introduced the boy from Three to the stage. _Hippolyta's daughters know how to do one thing well, and that is support each other,_ he recalled Queen Mera telling him once — a lesson in unity, in trust.

He disagreed vehemently with his district partner. She was too caught up in her pettiness to understand the war they were facing, and she was headstrong, demanding respect and subservience that she had not yet earned. But he could stand with her in things like this, in defiance of the Capitol's cruelties, the way he stood with her in leaving the Career pack.

She was not _always_ wrong, after all. Even he could admit that.

Kaldur finally turned his attention from his district partner and back to the interviews as Tivan asked of Three's boy the same question he felt compelled to ask everyone in the Quarter Quell: "What do you think inspired your victors to choose you?"

It was a question that, surely, every child there knew he or she would have to answer sooner or later, so Kaldur was surprised to see that the nearly benign question was the first to elicit a response that looked like anger on a boy who seemed so earnestly kind that it took Kaldur aback.

It was only a fleeting expression, though, and then the boy stuttered out a response, "Oh — I guess — it's probably because I'm top of my class."

Tivan smiled the kindly sort of smile that Kaldur had seen on the faces of stylists and trainers when they thought that the children they had already marked for death could not see them. "So you think you have an edge with your education?"

"I… guess, yeah," Cisco replied haltingly. "Yeah, that's it."

"And what is it that you can do, exactly?" Tivan asked bluntly. There was no need to tiptoe around someone he so clearly thought was an easy mark and early death.

Cisco looked up and met the shark's eyes. "Well, I'm pretty good with engineering." He paused and allowed a slow smile to spread over his face. "Actually, I'm more than pretty good. I'm the best at it at school."

Tivan's interests were clearly piqued at that. "So — another Tony Stark, perhaps? Do you think you could last as long as your predecessor?"

"Maybe," Cisco said, looking far braver than he had any right to be.

As Tivan questioned the young man on his engineering credentials — the details of which, admittedly, were far over Kaldur's head and slipped through his mind like sand through his fingers — Kaldur glanced once more to Diana, who would be next after Cisco. He could tell that she was already squaring her shoulders, prepared for verbal combat. Even she knew that the interview was a battle to be won, and the closer Cisco's interview drew to the end, the more imperious her gaze grew, until he could see Hippolyta, not Diana.

When the applause rang out and Tivan presented Cisco to the crowd, Kaldur felt he could not hold his tongue, and as Diana stood, he reached out. He didn't touch her, but the motion stopped her.

"The sharks are no match for a sharp spear and a good aim," he told her, and she raised a single eyebrow at the Atlantean phrase before she turned on her heel to face Tivan herself. He wondered briefly if he should have bothered. She was no Atlantean, and she was no friend to him. She had made that entirely clear.

 _Queen Mera would hang me by my toes from the nearest palm tree if I was not at least cordial,_ the answer rang in his head, and he nodded to himself.

When Tivan presented Diana to the crowd, her head was high, her chin up, and Kaldur had to admire the way she took the adulation as if it was only her due. Hippolyta had trained her daughter well, if nothing else, and she was the very picture of a matriarch as she sat down across from the colorfully-dressed interviewer, showing her disdain not through her words but in the way that she seated herself.

"First a Queen and now a Prince," Tivan chuckled, getting a few little laughs out of the audience. "We really are surrounded by royalty this year."

If Tivan had expected Diana to say something about Thea — and surely, that was where he was leading — he was disappointed as Diana simply inclined her head his way and smirked. "Yes, you certainly are."

Tivan seemed to lean in a little more, hold himself up a little taller as he switched from the easy engagement that the Threes had been to this new quarry. _Hunting_ , Kaldur thought as he saw the movement — he had seen it often enough.

"Now, Miss Prince, you come from a district of warriors," Tivan said with a knowing smile. "Do you think that will give you the edge you need to win, especially in a year where the rules are so different from previous years in choosing tributes?"

Diana raised an eyebrow, and her entire expression conveyed just how ridiculous she thought the question was. "I need no _edge_ ," she said, sounding perfectly insulted.

Tivan laughed delightedly at her reaction, clapping his hands together as his white smile reflected somehow as black as the eyes of a feeding shark. "Oh, I certainly hope not," Tivan said, still perfectly happy. "It's been some time since we've had a female victor. Since Bobbi Morse a few years ago, actually."

"Not too long ago," Diana corrected him, frowning at his words. "It's no rare thing for women to be warriors."

"Of course not," Tivan said consolingly before he added, "but it is rare for them to be victors."

Diana's eyes flashed. "It's a shame," she said, her words as measured as her smile, "that your worldview is so limited only by the results of the Games and not the feats. I've found it's not always the winners that are champions, that hold their honor, that deserve praise."

"We'll have to disagree there, then," Tivan said with pure amusement in his tone. "The whole point of the Games is to win, my dear."

She studied him through narrowed eyes, her head tipped to the side. "I simply take issue with the idea that only the strong and brutal are worth mentioning."

"Oh, of course," Tivan said, nodding along to words he did not mean at all.

"My mother—"

"Hippolyta, right?" Tivan broke in with such a predatory smile that Kaldur found himself leaning forward nearly out of his seat — and he wasn't the only one. Just two seats over, the boy from Five had suddenly taken notice, and Kaldur would have met his gaze in solidarity if he were not so focused on the shark in the interviewer's chair in front of his district partner.

Fool she might have been, but he did not want her eaten alive.

Diana regarded Tivan carefully. "Yes," she said.

"It's so lovely to meet one of Hippolyta's own," Tivan said with a false smile. "Especially after meeting two of Odin's sons." He leaned forward. "Tell me, how are the fish in Four these days?"

Kaldur felt his jaw clench in time with Diana's. No one outside of children of Four could know what the treacherous leech spoke of, but Kaldur could remember the stormclouds of war, the desperate disagreements and fighting that had only cemented the hatred between the great families of Four the year the fish were scarce from their shores. Each family had called it a curse of their appointed gods, but as to how to address it… there had been disagreement. Loud, explosive disagreement.

Hippolyta had lost that day — lost face, lost power.

Kaldur glared at the stage, the anger crackling below his skin like electricity as he listened to Diana blurt her defense of her mother. Tivan had no right to speak of things he had no hand in, but there he was, undermining the Prince family for the whole country to see.

 _These Games are about power,_ Odin had told him, and he could see it in every tiny aspect, now that he knew to look for it.

Kaldur wasn't surprised to see that, by the time the interview was over, Diana had regained her imperious, regal poise, but as she left the stage, the best description that Kaldur could think of for her exit was a storm, her eyes blazing as she passed him with a hissed out, "Watch yourself," his way that was almost encouragement.

He nodded to her and then stepped out into the stage, blinded temporarily by the lights, deafened by the noise of the crowd. It was deliberately disorienting, but Kaldur remembered Odin's whispered instructions and did not raise his hands to shield against the light — or to acknowledge the crowd in any way.

When he had adjusted to the overly bright and colorful settings, Kaldur made his way to where Tivan was waiting for him, an eel hidden in his cave. His smile was too wide, but up close, Kaldur saw that Tivan was in no way trying to hide his disgust for the diver in front of him.

 _And why would he? I am among the lowest of Atlanteans, and I pledge my loyalty to my district over the Capitol. A wayward serf stepping out of his confines — I am what he despises._

"Welcome to the Capitol, Kaldur," Tivan said once the crowd had quieted, not bothering with anything like a title, not even "mister." There was no proffered handshake, either, and Kaldur sat with his back straight and his gaze aflame.

"It's not welcome that you wish to give me," Kaldur replied evenly.

Tivan's eyes tightened around the edges, and Kaldur almost smirked. The man was constrained by the rules of the game — the show he was supposed to put on — but Kaldur had no such limitations. "Straight to the point, aren't you?" Tivan asked with gleaming eyes. "It sounds like you can't wait to get out there and into the arena."

"I'm sure it sounds that way to you," Kaldur said. "Though the only thing I am looking forward to is a relief from the sea snakes with impotent venom and no bite." He made sure to meet Tivan's gaze as he said it, and he took satisfaction in the way Tivan's hands clenched.

"I understand you're a diver," Tivan's mouth said while his gaze looked to the clock above one of the cameras. Kaldur wondered if he was calculating how quickly he could move on from this interview.

"Yes," Kaldur said, allowing himself an actual smile.

"Won't you tell our viewers about that? I'm sure the ocean is lovely to someone who spends so much time there."

Kaldur smirked at the path of the interview. _The path of least resistance, of least substance._ No doubt Tivan hoped he would rise to it, speak of the ocean, and for a moment, Kaldur was tempted. He loved the sea more than he loved most things... but he had never been one to take the easiest coves, the safest paths.

"We call it Atlantis," he said, and he could see the immediate regret in Tivan's eyes. "The underwater kingdom — its glory untouched by these gilded halls, ruled by _my_ king, Arth—"

"That's a beautiful fantasy," Tivan interrupted. "I've heard the people in Four talk about their legends." He plowed forward to try to keep Kaldur from saying anything further. "But tell me, why do you think you, a diver and not a warrior, were chosen for these Games?"

It was the same question so many others had answered. From Thea's "because I can win" to Diana's "I'm sure Odin knows his reasons" and everything in between, Kaldur could taste their answers on his own lips like sea salt as he turned purposefully away from Tivan to find Odin in the crowd of victors seated offstage watching the proceedings.

Even at just his motion, Kaldur could see Tivan signal to someone in the prep crew, likely to end matters if he tried such a gesture as a bow, so he spoke his mind quickly. "It is because I understand power, and I understand who _deserves_ it."

"Well, thank you for your insights," Tivan said, already standing with a flash in his tone and his gaze. "Kaldur Ahm, ladies and gentleman," he said with one arm outstretched in what would have been a sweeping gesture if he hadn't 'accidentally' caught the corner of Kaldur's shoulder to all but push him toward the exit.

 _Frail is the kingdom that fears words,_ Kaldur thought with a smirk as he clasped a closed fist to his chest in the direction of the cameras — a final salute to his king and queen in Four, though he was certain they would never see it, as the Capitol would likely edit it out. _Ah well._

He could hear the prep assistants hissing at him for messing up the schedule as they hustled Five's girl forward, but Kaldur ignored them as he sat down beside Diana and gave her a little nod. He had no illusions that anything he said would reach the districts, but he would have been a fool not to speak his mind when he was a dead man either way.

Diana didn't look his way, her focus on the tribute from Five as she made her way to the stage, but she did speak to him, softly, below the sound of the crowd. "You are a foolish man, Kaldur."

 _A fool to refuse to play jester for these infantile sadists?_ Kaldur drew himself up, nearly ready to hiss out exactly what he thought of her assessment — but her next words stopped him: "You spoke well."

In an instant, the angry words that he would have given her deflated, and he almost smiled as he nodded her way. Perhaps … _perhaps_ Diana was not so blind as she had been before. The days in the Capitol, in the very den of the lions, might just have changed her. Or perhaps she had never been blind and was simply too proud to admit to what she saw. Either way, Kaldur was relieved to hear it. She was Four; he didn't want her to go into the Games not knowing the truth of them.

As the roar of the crowd rose up in his ears while Kara was introduced, Kaldur leaned back, his eyes closed. Tomorrow, he would go into the arena. He'd done all he could. All that was left for him now was to meet his death. He had no illusions about it — but he didn't fret and wonder how it would find him, either.

 _No use worrying about the tides. You will only cause yourself distress, and the tides will go on unbothered without you,_ Queen Mera used to tell him, and he smiled at the memory.

He leaned his head back, eyes still closed, and let the loss settle over his shoulders. He missed Atlantis desperately, his queen especially. At the least, he would soon see his Tula again, but it was small comfort when he ached for a breath of sea air or the feeling of sand in his fingers.

He let out all his breath in a long sigh as the cheering died down and the interviews continued for Five's girl. _The tide does not wait for your grief,_ he thought with a wry smile as he sat up once more to watch the rest of Tivan's games unfold. _You can mourn Atlantis when you are finished._


	38. Chapter 37: It's All A Joke In The End

**(A/N): Hello and welcome back to our Friday update! This time around, we're bringing back the Joker and the talented abrokencastiel.**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed the last chapter. We love hearing from you all!**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Seven - It's All a Joke in the End**

 **Interviews for Districts Five Through Eight**

 **Jack Hamill of District Eight**

 **Written by abrokencastiel**

* * *

 _"I think a lot of psychopaths are just geniuses who drove so fast that they lost control." -Criss Jami, Kilosophy_

* * *

The prattle from the stage droned on, with Jack paying attention intermittently. There had been a few interesting developments, such as Slade mentioning Thea's brother, and Harvey had done a remarkable job, but overall, it was all the same. Tribute went up, the idiot on stage asked a few questions, the crowd reacted appropriately, then the teenager would be hustled off. The whole interaction took less than five minutes.

 _I'm surprised the Capitol morons can keep their attention focused on one thing for that long. They always need something shiny and new to look at._ Jack's emerald eyes drifted to his Harley, dripping in sparkling gold from head to toe. Her hair was done up in soft curls that bunched at her shoulder, perfectly parted to keep her blue- and red-dyed tips separate. Her sparkling dress sported a plunging neckline and hugged her curves in all the right places.

"Like what ya see, Mistah J?" She batted her eyelashes seductively when she noticed his appraising look. "Honey made me look real nice, didn't she?"

The pale tribute gave a tight smile. "It certainly is going to get you lots of attention."

"That's the plan," she giggled. "Is it working, Dickie?" She turned to the Seven boy, clad in a deep blue tux with electric blue accents, and he pulled his attention back from staring behind him at the redhead from Twelve.

"I'd say ravishing," Dick whispered back with a teasing grin.

The girl fluffed her colorful curls "That's the least ya can say."

The Joker's white-gloved hands clenched despite the smile on his face. This constant, albeit harmless flirting of Harley's was wearing on his last nerves. Something had changed since they left the district. She'd been perfectly happy doing whatever he said back then. _Then she started talking to the dynamic duo._ His gaze turned to the adopted siblings sitting on the other side of Harley, and his teeth gritted. What he really wanted to do was punch the bird-brain in his smug face. In fact, the whole row was full of people Jack wanted to have a secluded moment with.

The Joker patted Harley on the knee and breathed through his nose while he tried to keep his annoyance under control. He focused on the stage and the interview that was beginning with the girl from Five. Her halter top dress was cut short in the front and extended to the floor in the back, flowing behind her as she walked up to Tivan. The color transitioned from a deep blue to a fiery red at her knees, matching the colors her district partner wore.

"Kara Danvers, what a pleasure it is to meet you," Tivan gushed as the girl settled across from him, obviously hoping for a better-behaved sheep than the fishboy from Four.

The blonde gave him a winning smile. "I'm just as excited to meet you. All of you." She turned and gestured to the audience, who cheered.

Tivan chuckled and waited for the crowd to settle a bit before continuing. "Now, Miss Danvers, there is one question that everyone is asking. What is your relation to Carol Danvers? You can't tell me the names are just a coincidence."

Kara clasped her hands in her lap and took on a sad smile. "Carol became my cousin after I was adopted by the Danvers."

"I see." The concerned face Tivan pulled played the moment perfectly. "And were you two close? Perhaps you two trained together?" he enticed.

An appropriate giggle preceded Kara's diplomatic answer. "You know we aren't allowed to train for the Games before we get here, but she did show me a few moves," she stage whispered.

"Don't worry, I won't tell a soul," the man whispered back just as loudly, earning a chuckle from the crowd.

Jack rolled his eyes and tugged at the velvet sleeve of his purple tuxedo jacket. _Boring. Just another girl playing it up for the crowd._

"It's my understanding you have another cousin who actually followed you here, and we are going to be talking to him next. I can't imagine it's easy for you to have the possibility of facing him in the arena. You seem to share quite a few things in common. You're both orphans, you both scored nines on your assessment, not to mention you share identical tokens. I imagine you must be close."

Now, this question, Joker was interested in. He'd sensed the animosity between the District Five tributes through their looks and avoidance of each other. Knowing the reason behind it could prove useful.

"Oh, yes." Kara's fingers ran over the S pendant hanging around her neck. "We do."

"You do what?" Tivan latched onto the slight hesitation in Kara's voice like an attack dog.

"Share the same token."

"But not a mutual closeness," the showman stated, a snarky smile spreading across his face that Jack could appreciate.

"I, well, not exactly. We didn't really ever talk before coming here." The girl was stumbling. Jack smirked. _Amateur._

"Why ever not? Surely you could find solace in each other after the unfortunate demise of both of your parents." The shocked face barely covered for the borderline mocking tone.

"Well, our parents weren't really friends—"

"Ah, a family feud that has passed generations." Tivan turned to the audience, who gave a quiet murmur.

"No, that's not it exactly." She was desperately trying to take the reins back, but Tivan was driving now.

Jack glanced over to her dark-haired district partner, who was watching the interview intently over steepled fingers.

"I guess her and Big Blue really don't have anything goin' on between 'em." Harley leaned forward and stage whispered to Clark across the other tributes. "Hey! Muscle boy! This all true? You guys real mortal enemies or somethin'?"

"Quiet!" a Sentinel hissed.

Harley stuck her tongue out at him. "You gonna try an' make me before I go out there, tough guy? You betta bring a friend if that's the plan. You're gonna need 'em," she shot back before turning back to the boy. The other tributes in the row were looking his way as well; even the stoic bird-boy from Six inclined his head to see Clark's response. There was no answer. The teen simply kept his blue eyes on Kara and Tivan. "I think he's a little slow," Harley whispered, earning a chuckle from Jack.

Back on the stage, Tivan was still digging at Kara. "I can't imagine the emotions you must be feeling." He spanned the gap between them to grasp one of her hands. "Having to decide whether to trust someone you've been told to hate or honor your parents' memory. Truly a story that we will be anxiously waiting to see play out. Won't we?" The audience loudly demonstrated their enthusiasm until Tivan waved them to silence. "But that's enough of that. We'll have questions for your cousin when he comes up. For now, I want to briefly touch on the superb score you received. A nine is no small feat."

The change in topic seemed to calm Kara down a bit, and she gave him a small smile. "I simply did my very best."

"Well, your very best is better than many," Tivan chuckled. "I was certainly impressed. You surpassed the scores of Steve and Carol from last year to match that of Elektra, who made it quite far. That alone certainly earns you the nickname Supergirl."

Kara laughed lightly. "I plan to prove it even more once I'm in the arena."

"Of course you will. I'm sure you will not disappoint us." Tivan stood and assisted Kara to her feet as well. "Kara Danvers, everyone!"

The crowd applauded the girl off stage. She passed Clark as he moved to take her place, their eyes meeting a moment as her smile faltered. He briefly placed a hand on her shoulder before he strode onto the stage with a golden-boy smile.

Harley gave him a standing ovation and a wolf whistle before Jack pulled her back into her seat, covering the abrupt motion by leaning toward her ear with a whispered comment. "Careful, Harl. You don't want to bolster his confidence too much. Who knows what that small brain of his would do? The poor boy might start believing he's immune to bullets and knives."

Harley snorted and playfully pushed him away, turning her attention back to the interview. Jack kept an arm draped over her shoulder. Superbrat was keeping a much cooler head compared to his cousin. He gracefully answered questions as he tried to undo a bit of the damage Kara's interview had caused. No doubt, he was a king in these games.

* * *

 _The late hour was Jack's favorite time. It was when the world was quiet that he did his best planning. He relished the silence seated alone in the sitting room of their floor. His hands deftly shuffled his dingy stack of cards over and over. Everything was coming up Joker. He was head of his own pack, and his plans were going smoothly, more or less. The few things that were causing issue, such as Harley's annoying flirting, could be sorted out easily either before the arena or as the Games began. After a few moments' contemplation, he leaned over the coffee table and, with a satisfying flick, laid out the first card._

 _The queen of hearts. Obviously Kory Anders. She knew how to use her beauty to her advantage, but she wasn't the strongest woman. That honor rested on Diana Prince, the queen of spades. Whatever training she'd had in Four had set her up well for the Games._

 _The next card was the king of spades. Clark Kent. Seemingly invincible. Naturally good at everything. But there was a weakness. There was always a weakness, and Jack would find it._

 _The rest of the deck was laid out. The kings at the top. Dick and Jason, the bird brains, were thorns in his side. If not removed promptly, they could cause issues. Slade rounded out the line-up simply due to the pruning he received in One. The queens were joined by Helena and Kara. The jacks, the most useful sidekicks, with Harvey, Angela, Jonathan, and Cisco. Underneath, a few pointless number cards that didn't matter. They would be lucky to survive the bloodbath. To the side, he lined up the aces: Jade, Pamela, Jervis, and Harper. Those were the ones that could be top of the deck, but could also turn out to be incredible disappointments. Finally, Jack placed the two jokers at the top. Wildcards. The ones that no one could predict._

* * *

A loud whistle from his district partner jerked Jack out of his reverie. On the stage, Clark was shaking the hand of Tivan and giving a final wave to the crowd.

"What a hunk," Harley giggled. "He makes you look downright scrawny."

Red lips twitched into a smirk. "It's not the size that matters, but how you handle yourself."

"Well, sure, that's what they say, but ya gotta admit, size sure does make the whole thing more enjoyable. Ain't that right, Dick?" Harley winked flirtatiously, making the boy blush, though he maintained a smirk.

Helena gave an unladylike snort and covered her mouth with her hand to keep her laughter muffled. Then she leaned closer to her brother and whispered something in his ear that multiplied his smirk into a choked laugh. Jack gritted his teeth through his forced grin.

A cheer from the audience drew Jack's attention back to the stage before he could do anything rash. There, the pale girl from Six was dancing around Tivan's questions.

"Angela," Tivan said with a smile. "It's my understanding you recently had a birthday. Sixteen! Quite a milestone in a young girl's life."

The girl shrugged. "For other girls, maybe."

"Not for you?" The man put a hand to his face in contemplation.

She leaned forward. "I'm not most girls."

"But surely there's something you want for your birthday. If you tell, maybe someone watching will get it for you." He winked at the crowd, earning an excited mumble.

"What I want isn't something that can just be given to me." She shook her head. "I'm going to earn it. I'm going to win."

"Of course," Tivan agreed with a smirk. "Tell me, my dear Angela, what is your strategy? You earned a respectable six for a score, but it's hardly anything compared to the high scores of the others this year."

The dark-haired girl shifted slightly. "I know things about every one of these tributes that they don't even know about themselves." She leaned forward and smiled sweetly. "Tell me, what is it you fear most when you lie alone at night? Surrounded by all the bits and pieces of the dead on your walls? What are you trying to ward off? Could it be your own mortality?"

 _I'm beginning to really like this girl_ , Jack grinned to himself.

"I'm simply a purveyor of antiques, my dear," Tivan chuckled, but he couldn't hide the sweat beading his forehead from Jack's keen eyes.

"My mistake." Her confident smile didn't match her words. "I must have misread you."

"Well, we all make mistakes." The man suddenly seemed in a hurry to get the girl of the stage as he stood quickly to his feet. "Angela Hawkins the Third, everyone!"

The girl stood, her short green dress making her legs look even longer. She leaned to Tivan and whispered something that no one could hear, but it made Tivan's smile fall apart completely for an instant. With a final wave and smile at the audience, Angela left the stage, passing her district partner as he took her place.

"I don't know, Puddin'. Ya sure ya wanna mess around with her? She kinda gives me the heebie jeebies after that." Harley pursed her lips and considered the girl.

"No worries, my dear." Jack's green eyes met Angela's as she sat backstage, and he graced her with a wide grin. _Yes_ , he thought. _She will definitely be useful._ He chuckled to himself and patted Harley's knee. "I have everything under control."

She raised an eyebrow but said nothing more about it. Instead, she turned to the television screen. "Hey, lookie there, Mistah J. It's yer friend!" she giggled to herself.

The more stoic bird-brain sat across from Tivan silently, not returning the man's smile.

"Jason Todd, what a pleasure it is to make your acquaintance."

"It certainly is," Jason responded, a slight smirk crossing his features. The crowd chuckled in response.

Tivan chuckled as well, though not as amiably. "In most cases, people would respond with 'it's nice to meet you as well.'"

"I would say that, but I've been trying to work on being honest." There was a low 'ooo' from the crowd.

Harley laughed gleefully and clapped her hands. "Looks like he don't just hate you, Mistah J. He has it out for that creepo, too."

The receiver of the insult didn't seem to appreciate it as much as Harley. "That sort of attitude won't earn you many friends," he chuckled darkly.

Jason shrugged and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "My attitude just means that I'll stick with people I trust, not leeches who will use me and then throw me away." He sighed and rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. "Listen, can we just get this over with?"

The Capitolite pursed his lips and nodded. "Of course. Let's get down to business. Chatter is superfluous anyway, isn't it?"

The dark-haired boy gave Tivan a withering look that even made Jack give him a tight smirk of approval.

Tivan cleared his throat and leaned forward to match Jason's pose. "How about we talk about your score? A respectable six for District Six." He chuckled at his own joke.

"Now that was just lazy," Jack sighed. "I didn't think he could make me dislike him anymore, and then he does that."

"A right crime on comedy," Harley agreed with a sad shake of her head.

Jason responded cryptically, saying, "I got what I wanted."

"That's wonderful, but could you perhaps give us more insight?"

The tribute simply raised his eyebrows in answer.

"Say no more! You obviously don't want to give away those secret plans of yours. How about your friends back in Six? Is there anything you would like to say to them? Give them a little hello while you're on television?"

"I already told you," Jason said, his volume rising slightly in annoyance. "I don't want to have any pointless chitchat. Do that with someone else."

Tivan tried a few more times to get an actual conversation out of the teen, but every question was met with a short answer that often ended with an insult to the interviewer. Finally, Tivan surrendered.

"It was great talking to you, Jason." He held up his hands and smiled. "Don't worry about responding! I know you probably don't feel the same." The audience laughed lightly.

"You would be right." Jason stood as the audience laughed a little bit louder and began to applaud. He turned to leave with a wink and a smirk at the crowd before Tivan was even standing.

Helena was already waiting in the wings and smoothly walked onstage as Tivan announced her, the purple gossamer of her gown floating with each stride.

"So, Dickie, how do you think the girlie is going to do?" Jack leaned forward and looked past Harley to the dark-haired boy. "Will she survive? Keep a cool head? I'm personally hoping for some waterworks."

"You'll be waiting a while," Dick shot back. "I haven't seen her cry in _years_."

Jack frowned thoughtfully. "Hmm, maybe it was you I heard boo-hooing below my room last night." He sat back in his seat and turned his attention to the stage with a smug grin.

Helena was already partway through answering a question. "...not that I expect much to change at this point."

"Of course not. What about having the newest victor coaching you?" Tivan paused for the cheer that erupted from the audience. "How has his mentoring been? It's no doubt that he has the most recent experience, but experience does not always equate to teaching ability."

"Logan has done a wonderful job. I've learned a lot about what to expect and how to deal with any sort of issue that may arise." Helena glanced offstage with a smile meant for the young victor.

"He certainly does have experience with taking on problems bigger than himself," Tivan chuckled.

Helena did not return the smile. Instead, her expression changed to one of chilled, barely polite disdain.

The man cleared his throat. "Helena, it is no secret that the Waynes are one of the most prominent and influential families of District Seven. No doubt you will be getting help from your father, Bruce Wayne."

"I'm sure he will do everything he can to support us." Her voice had turned a bit hard.

 _Possible daddy issues?_ Jack mused.

"Us? Of course! Your brother was also reaped. How silly of me to forget. No doubt you two will be teaming up."

"If it seems in our best interest," she answered evenly, returning to her normal tone with the topic change. "And telling all Marvel what our plans are probably isn't." She turned a royal grin toward the audience, all the more welcome for its rarity.

"Very good. Now, I must ask." Here Tivan looked troubled. "Do you think that Bruce will split his sponsorship evenly between the two of you, or do you expect him to pick a favorite? Having two children as tributes in the Games is quite the conundrum when trying to decide who to support."

"What a very odd question," Helena said, the edge to her voice returning. "How could a person possibly choose between their children? He has always treated us equally."

The man's eyebrows raised. "In that case, do you think you'll be in need of extra sponsors with your father willing to give all he can to support you both? Certainly, the good people willing to donate to tributes might find more thanks when giving to someone less fortunate."

The young woman paused, obviously getting herself under control before she answered the claim. When she finally spoke, it was with a comfortable charm, born of many a society event.

"Oh, Taneleer," she said, using the familiar form with impunity. "I'm afraid you're mistaken on several of your assumptions. While I can attest to the fact that we are one of the better off families in Seven, our wealth certainly cannot compare to the affluence of the Capitol." She took a moment to look back at the audience, who seemed to be hanging on her words. "My brother and I would be honored by any contribution to our survival in the Games. We aren't deluding ourselves, assuming that we can do it alone, and equally — we do not expect our father to give up everything he has worked for." She gave the audience a thoughtful nod. "I assure you. Just because we come from relative wealth does not mean that we are going to be any better off than any of the tributes here today." Helena gave them one last smile before turning back to Tivan.

"I see." Tivan nodded with a smile. "Well, you've certainly swung me. Thank you for your time, Helena."

Dick stood before the Sentinels even gave him his cue, rushing past them to give his sister's hand a quick squeeze and whisper quietly. "Nice going, Hel. Logan's gonna be impressed you made it through that without punching the guy."

She rolled her eyes and whispered back. "Did I sell it?"

"Sure did." Helena tapped his hand and gave him a wink before he turned toward the stage and straightened his dark blue suit.

"Hey, bird-brain, do a flip when ya get out there, 'kay?" Harley ordered with a wink. "I'll be watchin'."

"Honestly, I'm afraid I'd rip my pants if I even tried." He stretched minutely to show how fitted his outfit truly was, flashed a cheeky grin at Harley, and then shot a more substantial smile toward Kory Anders. When the girl from Twelve returned the smile, he added, "But I might figure something out," before he strutted onto the stage.

"I do love to watch him go," Harley sighed, her eyes trained on the tribute's backside.

"On that we can agree," Jack said, staring daggers at the perfectly coiffed hair.

Helena didn't sit until her brother passed through the curtain, and Harley clapped along with the Capitol as Dick took the stage. He seemed to love the attention of the crowds, throwing his arms out wide for a showman's bow just before he vaulted backwards from a standing position into the seat to land with his hands behind his head and a crooked grin on that only got wider the louder the crowd roared for him.

"Welcome, Richard Wayne." Tivan smiled and joined him seated on the stage.

"Grayson. Dick Grayson," he responded as he unbuttoned his jacket to sit more comfortably.

"That's right." Tivan's eyes widened in mock shock. "I completely forgot that you were taken in by the Waynes. You just fit in so well. It's almost like Bruce picked you out of a catalogue." The audience gave a murmuring chuckle.

Dick smiled right back, not letting the sting under his skin. "I owe the Waynes more than I can ever say. They took me in and gave me a family."

The sentiment earned an "aww" from the audience. It made Jack want to gag.

Tivan nodded his understanding. "It is wonderful to see that you and Helena have such a wonderful relationship. It's almost like you're real siblings."

A frown overtook Dick's face. "We are siblings."

"Well," Tivan chuckled. "Not really. Not by blood at lea-"

"What does blood have to do with anything?" Dick broke in before Tivan could even finish.

"It seems our little Dickie is getting all hot and bothered." Jack smirked.

Tivan was obviously happy the boy had taken the bait and continued to dig. "Perhaps you have a point, but answer me this." He leaned forward and took on a serious expression. "If it comes down to it, who do you want to win? You or Helena?"

"Helena," he answered without hesitation.

Backstage, an audible groan escaped from his sister. "Idiot," she murmured.

"What's so bad about that? He wants ya ta make it, don' he? Ain't that a good thing?" Harley asked.

The older girl's blue-eyed gaze went to Jack before resting on Harley. "It's difficult to hear someone you love more than anything say that they would rather die so you could live."

 _It's a weakness_ , Jack smiled to himself.

Back on stage, Dick had recovered his composure and was telling a story about some silly thing he'd done involving a tree and someone named Alfred. The story seemed to entertain the audience, who laughed heartily at its conclusion.

"It certainly sounds like you have good friends back in Seven. Tell me, do you have any such friends here?" Tivan smiled like he knew more than he was letting on.

"Sure," Dick said smoothly. "Half the kids, and even half the adults, I've met are pretty great."

"That's wonderful. We always hope that you young folk feel at home here in the Capitol. Is there anyone in particular that you'd like to talk about, perhaps?" The interviewer raised his white eyebrows expectantly.

Dick paused. "Well, if you're looking for someone fun, there's Gar. You haven't interviewed him yet. You'll know him when you see him." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "He's green."

"Yes, yes." Tivan nodded quickly. "Anyone else?"

"Lots of people, but I don't want to waste the Capitol's time going into all of that. I'm a people person; we'd be here all day." Dick smiled innocently.

Tivan appeared a bit crestfallen as he continued. "I suppose we will just have to be surprised with who you team up with, yes?"

"Looks like it." Dick's innocent look turned more playful as he took his cue to jump to his feet with a flourish and bow and waved to the crowd. "I'll see you guys on TV."

As the crowd began to applaud, Harley pulled her tube of lipstick out from wherever she had stashed it in her slinky dress and stood with a lengthy stretch of her arms. "Guess it's my turn."

"Show 'em how it's done, Pumpkin." Jack grinned up at her.

"I wasn't gonna do nothin' less." She winked and tossed her hair as she turned to the stage, batting away the Sentinel that attempted to assist her.

Jack watched proudly as his Harley glided onto the stage, striking a pose and blowing a few kisses to her adoring audience. The stage lights flashed off her golden dress with every move she made. Tivan finally got the crowd under control as she perched on the edge of her seat.

"My, my, Miss Harleen Quinzel. You certainly changed your look from what we saw during the parade."

She giggled and reached out to brush a hand along the man's knee. "Mistah Tivan, I ain't just some one-dimensional girl. I got layers! I like sparkly dresses just as much as spandex."

Tivan chuckled. "So I see, Harleen."

"Harley. All my friends call me Harley."

"Am I your friend, then?" The man smiled in a way that Jack didn't like.

"I guess that depends, Mistah Tivan. Are you?" She leaned forward and cocked her head so her curls slid to one side of her neck.

"I'm certainly not as close of a friend as your district partner." Tivan dramatically waved to the screen behind them, where the footage of Jack kissing Harley at the Reaping played. The audience oohed appropriately. "It seems you two have a history."

"Duh." Harley rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair. "What was your first clue?"

The audience giggled, while Tivan shifted uncomfortably. "Let me rephrase. Would you mind telling us what your relationship is with him?"

Jack bristled in his seat. _Of course he's trying to get to me through her. Trying to find dirt before he calls me up so he can slaughter me._

Harley frowned at Tivan. "That's all anyone ever wants to talk about. Everyone's always askin' 'bout him. 'What's Mr. J doin'?' 'What's Mr. J thinkin'?' Even when they're talkin' 'bout me, it turns into talkin' 'bout _us_. 'What are you two plannin'?' 'Why're you hangin' with him?' Well, you know what? I'm tired of it. I wanna talk about me!"

Jack was positively giddy. He laughed to himself until a Sentinel told him to be quiet, then laughed some more. That was his Harley, not taking anything from anybody. "That man had no idea what he signed up for when Harley walked on that stage" he told Dick, briefly putting aside the contempt he felt for him.

Harley was still running her mouth off at Tivan, who was struggling to get a word in edgewise. Her arms moved animatedly as she talked, seeming to propel her forward. "And ya know what else? I'm awful tired of all us girls gettin' overlooked like we ain't got nothin' to offer but bein' pretty."

At some point, she had seamlessly slipped from her seat and into Tivan's lap. The man seemed at a loss for what to do despite the smile on his face. Harley wrapped her arms around his neck and let her legs dangle over the armrest. "Somethin' else has been buggin' me too, you know?" She tipped her head to the side, her open expression a bit wide-eyed as she got him off his guard. From the wings, Jack began to grin with anticipation. "You mind if I call ya 'Double T', Mistah Tivan, 'cuz I'm gonna do it anyhow, you're _way too formal_ the way you talk ta these kids."

"I suppose if you want to call me 'Double T,' I won't say no." Tivan looked perplexed as he tried to figure out where Harley was going.

"What's a fella like you doin' hangin' around all these teenagers, huh? What's the big idea? I mean …" She let out a little giggle and smiled wider. "It's not like you got any kinda clue what these kids are thinkin'. And ya sure ain't doin' anything to give most of 'em a fair shake — unless you want up their skirt, right?"

Tivan took the opportunity of Harley taking a breath to interject. "Excuse me, Harley, but I think you're misunderstanding me." He smiled. "I'm not trying to do anything but give the good people of Marvel a chance to get to know you."

"I don't think so," she said, her gaze focused on some point far past his shoulder as she shook her head, twirling a curl between her fingers. "At least … from where I'm sittin', I think it's safe to say I know what I'm talkin' about, Double T."

"Harley, please." Tivan let out a nervous laugh and tried to nonchalantly remove Harley from his lap. "Your jokes are perhaps going a bit too far."

"What makes ya think I'm jokin'?" she asked, back to the doe-eyed, innocent expression before she very primly got to her feet and looked over her shoulder at him. "You're still lookin', Double T."

"What a riot, isn't she folks? Beautiful and hilarious." The man tried to get the crowd on his side.

The audience cheered raucously, and Harley beamed. "Aw, shucks, you Capitol types are somethin' else. Yer gonna make me blush." She shifted gears quickly and reached out a hand to shake his, clamping down on him with a grip beyond what he was expecting. "Thanks for makin' me feel so welcome. I hardly remembered for a second there how much of a predatory grade 'A' creeper you are. Flash and glitter aside an' all that, don't think that me or anyone else missed you takin' a peek, Double T."

Tivan again laughed nervously and stood to join her. He placed his other hand on her upper forearm and smiled. "Please, call me Taneleer. We're friends, aren't we?" He was desperate at this point to get as much of a positive spin on things as he could.

Backstage, Jack frowned, and his green eyes stayed glued to the man on stage. Tivan was presenting Harley to the crowd, his hand placed on her bare back.

"You're up." A Sentinel nudged Jack to his feet.

The tall tribute stood and cracked his neck. "Showtime," he grinned as he buttoned his velvet tuxedo jacket and perfectly positioned the green flower in his breast pocket. The audience was still applauding Harley centerstage, but that didn't stop Jack from striding out.

"Wait here for my cue before — Hey! Kid, stop!" The Sentinel reached out a hand to pull Jack back, but the young man slipped from his grasp. The audience noticed his arrival, and he dramatically held a finger to his lips while he snuck up to Harley. He grabbed her around the waist and spun her to his other side, putting himself between her and the Capitol Creep.

"Did ya miss me, sweetheart?" He dipped her in a long kiss that had the crowd roaring. Jack pulled her back upright and hugged her to his side. "Helloooo, Marvel!" he cried, his free hand sweeping through the air. "What do you think of my girl? She's somethin', ain't she?"

The crowd cheered, earning another wave from Harley.

Jack turned to Tivan. "I don't think I've been properly introduced to you yet, though it appears you've gotten to know my Harley quite well." His smile flashed, and he stuck out a white-gloved hand.

"Not officially." When their palms touched, the green flower in Jack's breast pocket shot a spray of water that made Tivan jerk back in surprise.

"Sorry, sorry, I couldn't help myself," Jack laughed.

Harley laughed along with him, her heels putting her at the perfect height to comfortably lean on his shoulder.

Tivan brushed the water droplets off his jacket as best he could. "Yes, well, if you don't mind, Miss Quinzel, it's Jack's turn for an interview."

"Aw, we back to last names now? Guess ya ain't thinkin' of us as friends no more, Double T?" Harley pouted.

"Don't worry yourself about him, dear. He seems to be having a rough day." Jack smirked and leaned in to stage whisper to her. "And I plan to make it worse!"

"You better." Harley laughed as she danced off the stage.

Jack turned abruptly to find Tivan intently watching Harley's retreating form. "Careful, Taneleer, you don't want to get drool on that flashy suit of yours." He fell back into the large chair and crossed his long legs.

"You two really are peas in a pod. Quite the couple, aren't they?" he asked the audience, who applauded again. Tivan adjusted himself in his seat, visibly trying to pull himself back together for the interview. "So, Jack Hamill, I have quite a few questions for you."

"Do you?" Jack raised an arching green eyebrow.

"Indeed. Ever since your appearance, there has been a fashion trend sweeping through the Capitol. I believe they are calling it clown chic. I simply have to ask: what inspired your look?" Tivan waved a hand in a circle around his own face.

"My look? I don't know what you mean. I find my appearance incredibly normal." Jack's ruby lips parted in a wide grin. "Especially in comparison to your, shall we say, _striking_ image."

"I see your point." Tivan smiled, obviously wondering how a question about looks ended with a jab. "In that case, why don't you tell us a little about yourself? Harleen didn't divulge anything about your home district."

Jack's nostrils flared, and his grin grew to almost gruesome proportions. "You really like my Harley, don't you? Can't go three minutes without mentioning her. Would you like me to call her back out? I bet she'd have more to say about you."

"No," Tivan said too quickly. "There's no need for that. This is your time to let Marvel get to know _you_."

Jack sighed and rolled his eyes. "Why in the world does that matter? This is all a joke anyway. The lights, cameras, fancy outfits, it's all just giving the predators a chance to learn a bit about their food before they kill it. So primitive." The uncomfortable silence from the audience and Tivan made Jack bark a harsh laugh. "So serious all of the sudden! Loosen up a little!"

A smattering of laughter rose from the audience and the man on stage. "Well, it certainly seems like you have a stance you've taken, Jack."

"Please, call me Joker," he grinned.

"Joker, yes, well, just one more question, then I'll let you go."

Jack stuck out his lower lip in a comic pout. "Only one more? But it sounded like you were just itching to ask all sorts of things. I really feel like we were just beginning to get to know each other, Taneleer."

"I just wanted to bring up your score. Pardon me for saying it, but I can't remember the last time we had a tribute receive a one. Can you perhaps tell us how you're feeling about that?"

"I'm feeling just spiffy! Why do you ask?"

Tivan chuckled lightly. "Surely you know that the scores are a way to determine how prepared a tribute is for the Games. The lower the score, the less likely they are to survive."

Jack's expression became one of outright shock. "And here I was thinking that I got first place! Oh, how embarrassing." He put a hand to his cheek and looked out at the crowd. "I feel downright sheepish!"

Again, Jack's reaction seemed to have thrown Tivan off his game. The man seemed a bit at a loss for words, and Jack happily jumped back in.

"You have to admit, my dear Taneleer, that it's intriguing not to know what to expect. I'm sure the good people of the Capitol are interested. Besides, aren't you wondering how it was possible for me to get that score? What kind of fool did I make of myself? It almost sounds like all I did was slip on a banana peel!" The audience laughed along with his cackle.

As they quieted, Jack's smile shifted into something not quite right, and his voice progressively lowered a full octave. "Perhaps the real reason I received a one is because I did something worse than any of the Gamemakers have ever seen. Maybe I went too far, and they hope that if they single me out as easy prey, the rest of the tributes will take me out before the real Games even start. I doubt they want a repeat of last Games, with that classless cannibal." The smile grew impossibly wide, stretching the scar tissue on his lips and cheeks. "Or maybe I made myself look weak on purpose to lull the others into a false sense of security just so I can easily take them out." Tivan began to say something but was cut off quickly by Jack, who had reverted to a peppier, almost laughing voice. "Or I'm really just that bad and totally deserve that low of a rating. Who really knows?" Jack chuckled. "Well, I suppose I do!" He laughed harder, slapping his knee as he rocked backward and forward.

"We can't wait to see what you have in store." Tivan raised his voice to try and talk over the non-stop laughing. He stood and motioned for Jack to stand with him.

"I can't wait to see either," the tall tribute barely managed to say before launching into another laughing fit. Jack's laughter began to make some members of the audience laugh as well. Soon, the majority of the crowd was giggling with him. "Laughter really is contagious, isn't it?" Jack looked to Tivan, who seemed legitimately at a loss.

"It was very nice talking to you, Joker." Tivan continued to hint that Jack should take his leave with slight gestures.

The lanky teen rolled his eyes and finally relented, slowly rising to his feet. "Oh, lighten up, Taneleer." He reached over and straightened the man's tie. "It's not like you'll have to deal with all of us again. Next time, it'll just be me and you for a nice, long exit interview." The almost cringing smile incited another spurt of laughter as the Joker took his leave, the sound trailing after him and hanging in the air even after he'd disappeared from the stage.


	39. Chapter 38: The Fall of an Icon

**(A/N): Hello and welcome back to our Tuesday update! We're rounding out the interviews here with a little something different. One of our writers became overwhelmed with Real Life responsibilities, and we were amazed by how the group as a whole came together to pull together this chapter. As you can see, it was a highly collaborative effort, and we're thrilled with everyone who was able to pitch in. Thanks, guys!**

 **And again, thanks as always to all of the writers who reviewed this chapter and previous ones. Those reviews and that support means a lot!**

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 **Chapter Thirty-Eight - The Fall of an Icon**

 **The Interviews for Districts Nine through Twelve**

 **Charles Xavier of District Ten & Erik Lensherr of District Nine**

 **Written by Canucklehead Cowgirl, robbiepoo2341, BstnStrng13, Unlucky Alis, InDeepDarkWood, Silmarilz1701, abrokencastiel, tvfan69, NicKenny, and Abby Well**

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" _You are free to choose but you are not free from the consequence of your choice."_ — _A Universal Paradox_

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The crowd was still laughing as Jack Hamill made his way off stage, though _no one_ in the group of victors was laughing. All of them could see that the young man was a complete lunatic, though Charles Xavier would be lying if he'd said he wouldn't love to get a chance to see what it was that made the madman tick. It was such a departure from the previous year, which saw such a warm soul in Peter Parker from that district.

There were, of course, always a few children every year who were unhinged by the Games themselves, and invariably, one or two who arrived that way. But to see it on display like this — not _quite_ in the same way that Wade Wilson had done the year previous, but in something more akin to malice… Charles couldn't help but wonder and spin his own conjectures. Time would tell how the boy's obvious insanity would manifest itself further. And it was sure to do so.

The lights on stage shifted again, and the crowd rose to its feet to welcome the mysterious young woman from Nine as she smoothly glided out onto the stage. She was in a short black affair that caught the wind of the artificial breeze as she walked, though she kept her chin up as she made her pass by the victors.

For a moment, Charles was struck by the girl's expression — outwardly calm, but there was a definite rage dancing in her eyes, particularly when she met and held Erik's gaze for a long moment, only to turn toward Tivan, finally revealing the black feathered straps on the dress that looked like raven's wings.

Tivan welcomed her with a falsely bright smile that even had Charles working hard not to show his distaste. "Welcome, welcome, Miss Roth," Tivan beamed, presenting her to the crowd still. "Such a mysterious young woman." He paused and made a show of looking outright confused as he read the card. "I could have sworn that 'Raven' was not the name you were reaped with, yet that is what is on the card now ... " He grinned toothily toward the crowd as if he'd uncovered some major mystery. "What a terribly interesting change."

Raven didn't even bat an eye. "I am surprised Tivan; you aren't familiar with ravens? They're clever birds." Suddenly, she sat back. "But I won't bore you; ask Gar if you want more information later."

"You know, he's right, that is _quite_ interesting, Erik," Charles said low. "I take it that this one wasn't chosen simply for her connections back in Nine."

To his shock, Erik smirked and nodded his head gently. "She's _fiendishly_ clever, that girl. Unlimited potential just from her anger alone. I have faith that she'll do well if she can keep her temper under control, and turn it to her advantage."

Charles considered his old friend for a long moment as the interview continued. "So you chose the one that was most like you."

Erik simply inclined his head slightly before turning his attention back to the stage — giving nothing away — and Charles did the same, intrigued by Erik's choice.

It was entertaining, in a very cerebral way, to watch Tivan try to get answers he could twist out of the young woman. Here sat one of Marvel's most vicious figures — known well for his ability to cut to the bone of even the most stoic tributes … yet he was getting nowhere with young Raven Roth.

"The stonewalling is lovely this year," Charles said airily as Erik's smirk stretched into a smile.

"Indeed."

"Tell me, _Raven_ ," Tivan said, leaning toward the girl on the stage with a malicious glint in his eyes. "I read that you, too, are another tribute that came from sorrowful beginnings. Why don't you tell us what that young girl was like before she was chosen to represent District Nine by the _great_ Erik Lensherr?" There was no immediate response from the girl, and for a long moment, she simply held his gaze. The fire flashing behind her eyes was substantial — even from where Charles and Erik were seated.

"You'd have to ask him," Raven replied in a cool and even tone. "I feel the same."

"She won't break for his ridiculous posturing," Erik said in a low tone to Charles, the pride evident in his voice, and his expression was simply more and more smug as Tivan continued to try and fail to shake the girl before he finally gave up and presented her to the crowd. The almost-wings seemed to add to the feeling as she all but glided away from him, her head high.

From where the two older victors were seated, a glint of light reflecting off of glass caught both of their attention, and for just an instant, Charles watched as young Jervis Tetch seemed to check his pocketwatch before making it disappear neatly into his velvet coat. He seemed to make his bowtie more crooked for a moment, clearly muttering to himself, even turning his head toward a spot on his shoulder, emphatically saying … something ... before again, he checked his watch that seemed to appear from nowhere.

Jervis had missed his cue. The prep assistants were in a frenzy, and Charles watched with a note of deep interest as the crowd's fervor was momentarily lost and the Sentinels pushed him toward the stage.

"Break a leg!" Erik heard Jack Hamill call after him, and his mocking laughter followed Jervis as he made his way down toward the stage

The crowd was clapping politely as the young man from Nine stepped into the bright lights, one hand on his top hat, seemingly fascinated by the bright colors and curious people in the audience. When the stage lights hit him, the velvet coat that Charles had thought was black showed itself to be of such a deep green that it simply wasn't discernable as such until the overly bright lights lit it up. It took the young man quite a while to get up to where the interviews were being held, but when he did, his bright-eyed wonder seemed to be exactly what Tivan was hoping to find.

Tivan extended his hand, and the young man stared at it for just a moment, then latched on with both of his hands — shaking vigorously and grinning broadly. For a long moment, Tivan went along with it, but eventually, the novelty of it faded, and the interviewer looked very uncomfortable.

When he released Tivan, just as the powdered-haired Capitolite was trying to pry him off, the young man was still grinning — his gaze darting all around the theatre — though now at least he was within range for the microphones to pick up what he was saying. "My, my … _fascinating._ Simply _fascinating._ "

"Now then, Mr Tetch. Where on earth am I to begin?" Tivan said with an easy smile, and Jervis smiled back.

"I find it usually helps to begin at the beginning," he offered, and Tivan threw his head back in laughter, as did the crowd. Jervis' smile grew wilder.

"Well then, I take it you're a fan of the Capitol's luxuries," Tivan said, sounding pleased to finally get to show off.

Jervis spun around to face Tivan again, that same sort of manic grin on his face before he plopped himself into his seat. "It's all very… _curious_ ," he said with a small frown. "I wouldn't say luxurious."

"You certainly have big shoes to fill, following on from last year's Nightcrawler," Tivan continued, no doubt dismayed by his dismissal of luxury.

Jervis looked down at his shoes thoughtfully. "And here I am, with such little feet," he replied, with a small, self-conscious smile. "I'm not here to fill anyone's shoes, Mr Tivan."

"Please, call me Taneleer," the host gushed, and Jervis nodded back to him.

"Well, shoes have never held much interest for me — nasty, downtrodden things. No, my heart lies with my head, and that which covers it. While I may only have little feet, no one else will fill this hat of mine, Mr Taneleer."

"I see," Tivan said, frowning slightly when that was the only response he could get. "And anything that you feel will help you win the Games?"

"Why yes, of course."

Tivan waited, but when Jervis kept smiling almost sedately at him, he had to prompt him. "Well, I think we'd all be interested to hear about your strategy. After all, you only scored a four from the Gamemakers."

Jervis laughed almost lazily. "Oh, I'm sure. But you see, Caterpillar, 'If everybody minded their own business, the world would go around a great deal faster than it does.' So please, underestimate me. I am small, and frailer than many of others."

"Caterpillar… I'm afraid I've never heard that before," Tivan said with a false tone of amusement in his voice.

"You are trying to understand madness with logic. This is not unlike searching for darkness with a torch," Jervis replied in that same almost sing-song tone. "I've decided that I like it here, and you should never judge a book by its cover."

As the awkward dance continued between Tanaleer Tivan and the incredibly curious Mad Hatter, as Tivan was now referring to him, to Jervis' obvious delight, Charles turned his head slightly toward his old friend. "I have to admit, Erik, I'm curious as to how you and Arthur came to choose these two young people. I can see their minds are … unique, but …"

Erik raised an eyebrow and turned to look at Charles openly. "I could ask you the same of your choices, _old friend._ "

"We each picked one, Henry and I," Charles replied. He smiled in a sad, rueful manner. "Though I don't believe any of us wanted to choose anyone at all."

"No," Erik agreed with a glare toward one of the Nova Corps members that were assigned to stand guard at the victor's box. "No, I don't believe anyone wanted _this_."

Charles followed his old friend's gaze and very nearly let out a sigh. This was not the time for an outburst of anger, though he couldn't help that it was simmering in his own thoughts as well. He knew that Henry was already concerned for the young man in his care, and watching some of the younger victors agonize over their choices was simply not good for any of them.

Young Peter Quill, for instance, was clearly torn over his choices, though he'd done the best he could, and had made an earnest effort to choose fairly. Sam Wilson, however, seemed to be almost at a loss, and Reed Richards, for the first time since Charles had met him, was _desperate_ , trying to make up for choosing the young Thea.

Charles turned his attention back to Erik, whose gaze was on the stage as Jervis gushed to Tivan about his dreams of being a Capitol stylist, "- And the hat, _look_ at my hat. Have you ever _seen_ such a hat. A wondrous hat for a Wonderland".

"You never did answer my question, Erik. You chose a kindred spirit in Raven, but that is clearly not the case here."

"I wonder sometimes, old friend," he replied with a little smirk. "What it is you think we used as criteria to be eligible for the slaughter."

Charles raised an eyebrow his way without turning. "'We'," he said. "Yes, I'm sure Arthur would have chosen two scrawny young tributes left to his own devices. There is none of your handiwork at all in play here."

"I have my reasons, as I'm sure you have yours." Eric looked overly smug for a moment. "Though the glory of the Capitol most _certainly_ was not at the forefront of my mind when we considered those available." He let out a little scoff under his breath, further illustrating the insanity of the entire situation.

Charles couldn't help but let out a breath of a laugh as the audience fluctuated again — the tone and volume of them rising once more in the transition.

Charles watched, paying little attention to Erik's obvious raised eyebrow his way when the lovely young Jade stepped into the light. She was in a short dress, not too unlike Raven's in length, just brushing above her knees. The cut at the neckline was modest enough to be approved for television, emerald green with touches of gold echoed here and there to accentuate her slight figure, though the light tiger-like stripes on her face and the deep, almost black lipstick gave her a most feline appearance as she stalked over to where Tivan was laying in wait.

"My dearest members of the audience, once _again_ I find myself at a loss," Tivan said with a toothy grin. "I don't believe we've ever had quite so many tributes that were unsteady on something as simple as their own names." He turned toward the young woman, who looked almost afraid of what was going to come out of his mouth next. "I can at least call you Jade and get that far correctly, can't I, young lady?"

She nodded, almost belatedly, "Mmm, yes. And it's Nguyen." She raised her chin higher, accentuating her long, glossy, black hair.

But it only got Tivan more focused on the name. "And … where did _that_ name come from, Jade? A prominent figure back home? It's unusual for a young woman to change her name unless there are promises made."

She looked taken aback for just a moment. "No, you've got it entirely wrong. It's my mother's name."

Charles' gaze hardened as Tivan's grin lit up further. This simply would not do. He had seen Tivan through countless interviews, enough to know when the man was onto something he thought could unsettle, unseat even the most intimidating tribute. He took pleasure in it, and Charles hated to think he could do it to Jade when the young woman had so much the advantage in all times ... but these, apparently. Public speaking seemed to be a weakness with her; she preferred silence.

"What in the world could cause you to do something so drastic, though?" Tivan smiled maliciously, and Charles was sure he had his theories already. "Surely your father must have some opinion on such a choice, mmm?"

But if Tivan had been hoping for shock or weakness, even a denial, he was sorely disappointed. "I'm honoring her name. She's severely ill," Jade said sharply. "But thanks for your _concern_."

"Oh, Charles," Erik said with a crooked, growing smile. "I _like_ this one. Such promise."

Charles couldn't help but smirk a bit, especially since Erik's reaction was not entirely unexpected. "She continually surprises me."

"Likely why you chose her," Erik said, watching as Tivan tried to regain control of the interview by asking about Jade's mother, but it was clear to see he had lost the upper hand. The audience was firmly on Jade's side from one simple, destructive comment.

Charles rested his chin on his clasped hands. "I wouldn't have chosen her if I thought she had no chance to survive," he said simply.

"No," Erik agreed softly. "That doesn't sound at all like the great Charles Xavier and his _dream_." His gaze drifted to Jessica Drew for only a moment before returning to the stage. The roar of the crowd marked the transition from one tribute to the next and momentarily drowned out their conversation, but when they dimmed ahead of Garfield Logan's appearance, Erik said, his gaze on the smallest and youngest tribute in this year's Games, " _You_ would never choose chaffe in the wind."

Charles frowned at the statement as he watched Henry's choice, the now green-skinned boy from the pastures, all but bounding out onto the stage barefoot, both arms outstretched and a broad grin on his face as he waved with both hands, blinking hard against the bright lights as he tried unsuccessfully to take the whole audience in before he quite had the time to properly see them.

"It's criminal to choose this one, Charles," Erik said, shaking his head slowly. "The boy is just that in mind and stature."

"That was my choice, I'm afraid," Hank McCoy said from the other side of Charles. "And as you stated earlier this evening, you know not what drove my decision."

"Hmm." Erik didn't respond more than to turn his gaze back to the boy on the stage, who was still trying to see everything at once.

"Such unbridled enthusiasm!" Tivan looked very nearly sincere as he welcomed Garfield to the interview mark. "I take it you think you'll do well, then?"

The young man in the white suit and red shirt grinned back at him with an unsinkable enthusiasm, even if Tivan was oh, so clearly trying to put doubt in his mind already.

"Perhaps you can tell us if you've made any powerful friends in your time here," Tivan offered. "Of course, time is shorter and shorter… I would hope you've got someone to keep you safe."

The boy screwed up his face, as if in deep consideration. "Well, I do have a few friends. And they're pretty darn cool. Like, you should have seen them in training! Dick can do all sorts of things! Kory is super cool, too. And Raven, well..." His grin became a bit more shy. "Well, she's just amazing." He looked offstage as if he could see her through the darkness.

"That speaks quite highly to your friends at least," Tivan said, his grin looking more predatory by the second. "But this is your time to try to shine, Garfield. What should our viewers know about you?"

"First thing, call me Gar. I only get called Garfield that when I'm in trouble."

"And you don't think you're in trouble now?" Tivan asked.

"I, uh." For the first time, the boy's smile faltered. "Um, I don't..." His response died away with a lost look.

"Preposterous," Hank said in almost a growl, already defensive of his tribute. "Why they let this pompous windbag waste precious oxygen is beyond my understanding."

Charles couldn't help but smirk at Hank's knee-jerk response, though if he was being honest, he had no idea why Hank had chosen the boy, and Hank hadn't exactly been forthcoming about it either. He had only mentioned that he had hopes for something better for the boy, and even that was only a passing comment to Garfield himself. It wasn't quite an explanation as much as it had been a reassurance.

Charles couldn't help his curiosity as he watched the clearly off-balance child on the stage. What did Henry see in him to choose this boy?

It wasn't long into Tivan's roast of Garfield before it was plainly apparent that not only was the young man off course and becoming quieter and quieter but that Hank McCoy was nearly to a boiling point for the treatment the young man was receiving. But to everyone's surprise, at the last moment — before the interview ended, when Tivan took a shot at how sad it was that the young man had never had anyone in his life to look out for him, or to even care — Gar turned it entirely around to end on a high note.

"I'm not alone. I've got Jill, she's a cow, and Steve and Rita. Not to mention Hank, Charles, Jade, and all the friends I've made here." Gar tucked his bare feet up on the chair and sat cross-legged, instantly looking more comfortable as he talked about his pseudo-family. "They aren't exactly like the family everyone else probably has, but they're the best." He turned to the camera with an easy smile. "So you're definitely wrong about me being alone."

"You chose someone for the _hope_ that they embody," Erik said, looking almost thunderstruck as he turned toward Hank.

"They wanted the best from our district," Hank defended gently. "And hope is the best thing we can offer."

The three victors sat in silence as Tivan finally presented Garfield for the audience to wish well — and that was when Erik let out an impressed sort of sound. His voice was thick as he spoke. "You have a devoted and apt pupil, Charles."

Charles smiled sedately and grasped Hank's arm in solidarity, clearly proud of his friend in that moment. But it wasn't a moment that was destined to last as the crowd, less enthusiastic than even two tributes before, began to swell once more to welcome the final stretch of tribute interviews.

The girl that followed Garfield was his opposite in every way but the color scheme. Garfield had positively bounded onto the stage, wide-eyed and innocent; Pamela seemed to approach each step with tentative care and purpose, regarding the artificial lights with a frown at the corners of her mouth.

Of course, Tivan's gaze was on none of these things but on Pamela's outfit, which was certainly revealing and once more seemed to be woven out of nature itself. But that wasn't what he led with, even if his eyes gave away his next purpose.

"It's a relief to see you make it to the stage in one piece, my dear," Tivan said with a pointed smile. The footage of the Reaping in Eleven, with Pamela falling on the stage, played behind him, and the audience didn't bother to hide their laughter at her expense.

For a moment, it looked as though the young woman was going to crumble in the face of the public ridicule. Her lips were slightly parted, and her shoulders slumped, but she didn't drop Tivan's gaze in the least, barely blinking, keeping her cool as best she could.

"I hope you don't mind my asking," Tivan pressed on, his eyes glittering at her obvious discomfort, "but we're all wondering: Why did Sam Wilson choose you, out of everyone in your district?"

Charles glanced toward Sam, whose mouth was pressed into a thin line as he kept his gaze on the stage so he could force himself to meet Pamela's. Charles _had_ asked him, but Sam had been almost evasive, saying only that it "wasn't my choice."

Even if that was the case, it was obvious that the young victor was agonizing over the decision, though Charles hoped for his sake that the spark of defiance Pamela had already shown meeting Tivan head-on would only grow as the Games progressed. Like Jade, it was clear to see the young woman had potential.

Pamela looked out at the crowd and met Sam's gaze, and there was that same spark as before as she gave her simple answer: "I don't know."

"I suppose we'll find out together then, won't we?" Tivan said with a falsely encouraging smile. "I'm sure he must have seen some potential. Have you found anything you like in training? Perhaps you've made some friends here?"

Pamela tipped her head to the side as she frowned, her gaze piercing Tivan's false smile in an instant. He seemed hard-pressed to hold it when she was so quiet and lingered for so long over her answers before, finally, she shook her head. "There isn't much that's natural here," she said. "It's too cold."

"Yes, I'm sure coming from the humid—"

"That's not what I meant," Pamela said, interrupting Tivan, and seemed to surprise herself with it.

Tivan frowned at her for possibly a second too long before he recovered and instead turned to something that he clearly cared about far more than her training. "Yes, well, it's clear to see that your _passion_ for nature was reflected by your stylists," he said, looking up and down the length of her dress, his gaze following the path his hand made as he gestured to her.

"Yes, the Birds of Prey have certainly taken a shining to this impressionable young woman," Erik muttered. "Taking their duties a bit more seriously than usual with this one."

Charles shook his head slightly, though he was watching the way Pamela frowned under Tivan's gaze. "Everyone has their favorites. Even the stylists," he said absently. He was far more concerned with the tightness around Pamela's eyes and the clear discomfort — though it wasn't obvious if this young woman would fall to the 'fight' or 'flight' side if Tivan pressed further.

"Yes, well, my concern isn't about who the stylists are favoring, but who is pushing for this young woman to be so showcased." He gave Charles a raised eyebrow look. "It's not terribly subtle."

"Is it ever?" Charles replied, matching the expression on Erik's face for a moment.

On the stage, Pamela was being presented to the crowd with Tivan's usual flourish, though when Tivan's outstretched arm was behind Pamela's shoulder, the watching victors noted the way she angled herself away from him, and for a moment, a cold expression passed over her face. It didn't look like she was quite aware of it, and it lasted for only a moment before she simply and neatly sidestepped Tivan's shadow to head backstage, but it was there all the same.

Charles couldn't help but think that there was something to be said for the victors' choices — they were nothing like what the Capitol itself would choose, but there were so many cases of hidden power and lurking potential that it wasn't possible to call it a coincidence. It was, of course, a choice born out of desperation for most of them, but it was still interesting to see just what those that had been through the Games truly valued, and refreshing to see real strength prized over brute force.

The enthusiasm from the crowd was starting to wane now — it always did at this point in the interviews, after over twenty tributes had already been discussed and made to perform — as Jonathan Crane strode out onto the stage, once more with the yellow tint to his eyes from false contacts and wearing a straw hat that his stylist had clearly designed his suit to fit.

The hat partially obscured the boy's expression as he tipped his head to the side, one hand on the brim of his hat, fingers curled loosely, and clasped Tivan's hand tightly in the other, similar to what Jervis had done, though with far less enthusiasm. This was much more of an empty gesture. The tribute gave what seemed to be a cough, and Charles could only imagine the spittle on Tivan's face. The thought gave him just a tiny hint of satisfaction.

Tivan finally extricated his hand from the boy's grip, though Jonathan was wearing a smile now, seeming to study the man in front of him. It was hard to quite follow the boy's gaze because of the contacts, but from the way he was facing, it was obvious Tivan had his full attention. Not Tivan's words — those seemed to sail over Jonathan's head without any real response — but the man himself.

"So, Jonathan," Tivan said, though it was obvious he was unaccustomed to being the one under scrutiny. "Why don't you tell us how it was that you caught the attention of your district's sole victor?"

Jonathan's lips twitched as he finally seemed to consider that worthy of a response — everything before that was merely introductory ramblings. "I'm sure he knows," Jonathan replied, though his entire focus was still on the man in front of him with uncanny precision.

Charles had seen that same look on Henry McCoy's face in the middle of an experiment.

"Of course," Tivan said, though his fingers were starting to twitch, and he seemed to have far too much excess energy as he drummed them against the side of his thigh. "But then, this isn't the first time you've done something like this, is it?"

Jonathan's lips pulled back into an even wider smile. "That depends entirely on what 'this' is," he said, watching Tivan's fingers as their drumming increased and Tivan wiped his forehead with his other hand. Charles heard Sam Wilson let out a not-so-silent groan at his tribute's words.

Charles leaned forward, a frown evident on his own face, and glanced to Hank, who had moved forward almost in tandem. But it was Bobbi Morse who whispered a soft, "He's feeling it now," that confirmed Charles' suspicions.

Something was amiss with Tanaleer Tivan.

Charles frowned as he considered the scene on the stage. Tivan sweating more profusely with every passing second, and Jonathan was acting as though nothing was wrong at all. It would have been impossible for the young man to smuggle a poison to the stage. The Sentinels checked each tribute carefully, they were watched every moment, and the stylists themselves made a clean sweep of the tributes before the show began.

And yet it was exceedingly clear that Jonathan, somehow, had done precisely that.

Charles glanced to his old friend and was a bit taken off-guard to see that Erik seemed to be unsurprised — amused, certainly, and wearing a malicious smile, but not surprised. And then Charles remembered the overly enthusiastic handshake from both Jervis and Jonathan, and his eyebrows went up high on his forehead.

"And now we see why you chose the way you did," Charles said under his breath.

Erik's smile twisted again, and he turned to face Charles, momentarily abandoning Jonathan Crane's spectacle as he tapped the straw with a, "Come now, Tanaleer, don't you think my hat becomes me?" to give his old friend his full attention. "Sometimes, my old friend, all they need is a little push, and they find their way to vengeance on their own."

Charles let out a hum, not necessarily of displeasure but of distrust in the situation. The more scientifically-minded victors were all catching on fast to what was happening on the stage as Jonathan once more enthusiastically shook Tivan's hand, his smile somehow restrained and triumphant at the same time as Tivan seemed a bit lost as to what was going on when the lights dimmed and the crowd's noise shifted. It wasn't _entirely_ obvious to those that weren't paying attention, but one look at Ophelia Sarkissian's _thrilled_ expression told even those victors with no training in medicine that this was surely some kind of drug or poison.

When Kory Anders stepped out into the light, most of the men in the audience — and a few women — almost unconsciously leaned forward. While some of the dresses had been revealing — Pamela Isley's, for instance — Kory's was as provocative as could possibly be allowed. The dress dipped into a deep v-shape, and the skirt was as short as possible, though her boots came up to her thighs, and she had long purple gloves.

If there had been any question as to whether Tivan was entirely himself, that was no longer the case when Tivan introduced the gorgeous young woman to the crowd. He hardly had his gaze on her at all, instead swallowing almost convulsively, forgetting to guide her to her seat in an outfit that would normally have had him salivating to put his hands on her for such 'guidance.'

Not that Kory needed the help to draw attention to her appearance. It was obvious the young woman knew exactly where to draw the audience's gazes, flaunting her hips and her gait and draping herself neatly in the chair so that the most tantalizing aspects of her outfit were visible — without showing anything too clearly.

Finally, Tivan's gaze drifted to the young woman sitting in front of him, and he seemed to notice her for the first time. "Doesn't she look lovely, Marvel?" Tivan asked, his grin just a little off-kilter as Kory smiled demurely at the cheering crowd. "The orange tint is an interesting choice…"

Kory's smile faltered the slightest bit, and the members of the audience who weren't still trying to see if they could see past the shadows and hints of her outfit were murmuring a bit. She wasn't wearing anything orange except for her necklace.

"Not quite what I would go for, clashes with the red hair, especially around your forehead," Tivan almost mumbled — something he never did when he was performing. "But I do like the green glow around the eyes."

Kory frowned at him, at last losing her smile as her eyes narrowed a bit. "Perhaps it would be better if you asked me your questions," she prompted him, turning to the crowd with a sparkling smile that seemed to return to her effortlessly, in almost an instant. "I'm sure everyone here has questions."

"Yes, of course, of course," Tivan said, wiping his forehead once more, swallowing convulsively, his fingers again drumming against his thighs. When he tipped his head to the side, it was obvious he was listening to someone speaking in his ear, and the murmuring of the audience increased as Kory looked completely unamused.

Charles really couldn't help but feel for the young woman. Of all the tributes in this year's crop, it was clear that Kory Anders had long ago learned how to get and keep attention, and under normal circumstances, this would have been where she shined the brightest. He was sure she had prepared beautiful answers and flirtatious winks for the crowd, the likes of which had been seen during the parade — but Tivan was hardly fit to speak, let alone engage in any of the usual games.

"Tell me, Kory," Tivan said, at least attempting to get a hold of himself, which only meant he was leaning forward with a sneer that was all too familiar. "Everyone here was chosen by their victors. What…" He seemed to notice her outfit for the first time as a feverish sort of smile broke out over his face. "What do you think caught the famous Black Bolt's attention?"

Kory lifted her chin slightly, almost regal in appearance. "I come from a good family… well. Good parents, I should say."

Tivan paused again, though even to the rest of the audience, the opening was unmistakeable, the trace of anger in speaking about her family obvious. The fact that Tivan wasn't immediately latching onto it was an even better indicator of his health than the fact that his breathing hitched a few times as he quite obviously listened to someone in his ear.

"Trainwreck's fun to watch," came Creed's rumbling voice from nearby, obviously entertained. "For once."

All of the victors seemed to be of the same mindset, honestly enjoying the crumbling interviewer in front of them. They'd all been subjected to his inanity over the years, and to most of them, it was clear this was just his comeuppance. Though Blackagar seemed to be frustrated on his tribute's behalf, especially since there was still one more interview for Twelve.

After all, as satisfying as it was to watch Tivan fall, there should have been no reason for him to take any tributes with him.

Tivan seemed to recover a bit as he turned Kory's way. "Your family… you have an older sister as well as two lovely parents. Won't you tell us about them?"

The young woman's eyes flashed. "I did just that, did I not?" she said, her voice suddenly hard before she seemed to remember herself and took a deep breath. "My parents are merchants," she said, sliding seamlessly into speaking about where she'd grown up and leading the interview herself, since Tivan was incapable of actually asking any questions.

"She knows what she's doing, this one," Bobbi said, the approval easy to hear in her tone. "She's not giving him anything too personal — and giving herself all the softball answers."

"I doubt he'd be able to take anything she'd give him," Otto pointed out, leaning back on his chair.

"Probably lucky too, considering Tivan probably had _romance_ questions about what kind of _mentoring_ this one's been doing," Peter Quill muttered with a troublemaking smirk Logan's way.

"Stuff it, Quill," Logan grumbled, re-crossing his arms and pointedly trying to ignore him. "Not my fault you need more help than a love-struck teenager."

The victors were all whispering to each other a lot more openly now, since that was the case throughout the audience. Tivan had lost his grip on the interviews. They were spiralling. And he barely had the wherewithal to present Kory by name, though he didn't stand as instead she swept off herself, barely keeping the look of distaste in check.

The interviews were falling completely apart by the time the tall, dashing young man from Twelve stepped out in front of the crowd. It was clear by now to even the dullest-witted in the audience that something was desperately wrong with the man running the show — and in a manner that was far and away different than what was normally wrong with him.

Tivan was doing his level best to mop the sweat from his brow, and regain his composure, but from where Erik sat in the victor's box, it was clear that the symptoms were worsening, particularly when he took into account the fact that the man was nearly hyperventilating. "Finally a bit of entertainment," Erik said low as John Constantine took Tivan's offered hand.

"John Constantine!" Tivan said, almost breathlessly as he pulled at his collar. It had been years since he'd shown this much energy for a Twelve interview, and it was that much more entertaining when Tivan carefully inspected his hand at the end of the greeting, as if he expected some major change there.

For a moment, Tivan's hand shook, then he clenched it into a fist and put it down at his side. "Everyone so enjoyed your display of magic at your assessment. Please, tell us how you managed to master sleight of hand. I'm hoping it's not some dark tale of pickpocketing and petty thievery at home in District Twelve."

Erik and Charles shared a glance with incredibly serious expressions mirrored on their faces. Of all the things that Tivan could have said, that certainly was not something that they'd expected, especially considering that whatever happened in the assessments was _supposed_ to be secret. Off to one side, over Erik's head, Charles could see Blackagar gesticulating toward the presenter; in another situation, the actions might have been comical, but Tanaleer's words no doubt had other tributes painting a target on Constantine, and Blackagar was incensed about it.

"Oh, this is simply _divine,_ " Viper purred loud enough for all of the victors to have heard her as she positively _giggled_ with glee. "I believe this may be the highlight of the year."

"Nothing good can come of _this_ ," Erik said as he watched Viper enjoying herself more than they'd seen from her since her own Games.

On the stage, Constantine peered curiously at Tivan. It was as evident to the tribute from Twelve as it was to Erik that something was very wrong with the host. Constantine shook his head. "I would never steal from the people in District Twelve," he said calmly. "Anyone else, though, is fair game." He held up a hand and then grinned as he displayed Tivan's wallet to the audience. Tivan stared at it in audience laughed, and Erik laughed along with them. Tivan truly had lost his grip on everything.

"But I'm glad you liked the sleight of hand," Constantine continued, "because I wasn't sure it would be good enough. I can't think of anyone who is better at deception and misdirection than the Capitol. I mean, isn't that what these Games are all about?"

It was the kind of statement that would normally have Tivan shutting down an interview with a tribute immediately. But the host just stared blankly at Constantine, his jaw dropping as his eyes moved from Constantine's face to the wallet still in his hand. Erik even thought he could see a few drops of drool on Tivan's chin.

"He is handling this rather well, wouldn't you say?" Charles said with a nod towards Twelve's tribute.

"What choice has he?" Erik replied. "He's getting the easiest interview of the night — while Tivan is losing all credibility on live television."

Tivan leaned closer to Constantine. "How did you make the butterflies appear?" he whispered.

A small furrow appeared on Constantine's brow. "Butterflies?"

Tivan nodded. "Coming out of my wallet." He pointed at Constantine's hand. There were no butterflies. "It's a very pretty illusion," he continued. "Much nicer than frogs."

"It's finally happened," Erik said quietly to Charles, not bothering in the least to keep the pleasure out of his tone. "Tanaleer Tivan will no longer be employed as the Royals' instrument of torture."

Tivan continued to stare at Constantine's hand, mesmerized by whatever he was seeing. Constantine watched him for a moment, then glanced briefly offstage as if looking for help. When no one appeared, he slowly rose from his chair. "I'm guessing you don't have any more questions for me," he said to Tivan, who was clearly working hard to focus on anything at all. "Here's your wallet. Enjoy the… butterflies." He half-handed, half-tossed the wallet to Tivan, then turned and walked off stage.

"So much for the terrible Tivan," Erik said, still overly amused with the man's flaming fall from his usual viciousness, as a member of the Nova Corp walked on stage to escort the man off — away from the prying eyes of the Capitol.

As Tivan was being led out, Patsy Walker came onto the stage with wide eyes, quickly wrapping up the evening — and leading the confused audience in a final cheer for the tributes. It was certainly the most interesting end to the interviews that anyone could remember — and clearly an indication of the chaos the tributes were able to cause when working in tandem.

In short, it was a visible demonstration to the Capitol of what happened when the districts were united.

The Games had truly already begun — and they hadn't even hit the arena yet.


	40. Chapter 39: Love is Brave

**(A/N): And we're back with our Friday update! We're careening toward the Games, which will begin very soon here, but we still have a few more chapters before then. This one features the ever-amazing Aliit Vodenson with her brilliant take on Clark Kent. :)**

 **Thanks as always to all of our writers who reviewed, especially all those that were involved in the massive collaborative chapter. We're so glad that everyone loved it and that even the writers involved got to still be surprised!**

 **Thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for your reviews ("creepy mc creeper" is the BEST description of Tivan ever) and to Geeky Comic Guy for your review of the most recent chapter. We're glad to see that you're enjoying the story, and I think you'll find that as we move though the Games and toward revolution, there will be more chapters with the background viewpoints as the background becomes foreground... though of course, since our writers are writing tributes both current and previous, that's where the focus is ;)**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Nine - Love is Brave**

 **Last Night In The Capitol**

 **Clark Kent of District Five**

 **Written by Aliit Vodenson**

* * *

" _Tell her about it. Tell her everything you feel. Give her every reason to accept that you're for real. Tell her about it. Tell her all your crazy dreams. Let her know you need her; let her know how much she means." -Billy Joel "Tell Her About It"_

* * *

Clark couldn't sleep.

First it was the room — too cold for the season, too cold for how late it was in the year, and there were all those fans working hard to keep them as cold as the winters were back home in the height of summer. Something about how the Capitol citizens liked the unnatural temperatures, and expected the tributes to feel grateful that they'd been plucked out of their own natural rhythm of things. He found the controls for the room, fiddled with them until it was as hot as it was supposed to be for this weather, and it left him sweaty, miserable, and feeling _right_.

But still, he tossed and turned, and though he closed his eyes, there was still no sleep to chase away the thoughts of the day.

The bed was too soft. His pillow too hard. The noise of the elevator passing by the floor was too loud, even though it should have barely registered in his mind. He was missing the sounds of home too — Ma's gentle snoring barely muffled by the wooden wall between them, the occasional howl from some creature outside his window, the shutters creaking as the wind buffeted them. The noises here were too mechanical, too regular.

Nothing felt right.

It hadn't been right since he got there — sleep had never come easy in this strange room, not like it had been back home. He's slept in the left bedroom for as long as he possible remember, even though he knew at one point he slept in the bassinet in the large bedroom with Ma and Pa (and before that, in whatever home the El's had, although that lacked even the shifty gray that his recollections of early days with the Kents had). But the left bedroom, with the triple windows and the door that opened right onto the stairs, so much that he had to take a slight leap down, was his in all of its rights.

He'd never once had trouble sleeping there, not even when the summer heat made all his limbs stick to the bed and Pa took to sleeping in the root cellar for some measure of comfort.

Here... In the Capitol...

He gave up on sleeping.

Clark grabbed a sweater, so much softer than anything from home, though not nearly as warm as what Ma made with her two sharp needles, and pulled it on as he headed out.

The common space was empty — Kara had long ago gone to bed — and Clark paced around the couches for a while before giving in to the reality that this wasn't going to help him at all. He sighed, wishing for a cup of Ma's hot coco, but he doubted the Inhumans could bring him the right combination of pots and milk for that. Besides, it twisted his insides to think about waking them up at this hour.

The elevator ride down was smooth and quiet, much quieter now that he was inside it than how it compared to the noises it made when he was trying to sleep, and Clark looked out through the glass to the lower floors, lit up by soft yellow light coming through the giant windows. Someone else was awake then, since everything else in the building seemed to be dark. Maybe they'd be up for the company (he shoved aside the small hope that it would be Diana).

As soon as the doors open, he heard the voices.

The conversation was definitely meant to be private, and Clark blushed to hear it. It reminded him of the first intimate moments with Lois, when they had decided they would be something but still hadn't figured out what that something would be. Dancing around each other, saying so much and yet doing nothing at all, longing bleeding through each word but neither of them wanting to be the one who made the first move. A relationship that had been built out of the stolen moments and quiet conversations — just like what he'd stumbled upon here.

He moved to take a step back, to give them the privacy they deserved. They only had a little while before the Games; who knows how many more of these stolen moments they'd get? It was the right thing to do, he could just silently step back onto the elevator like he'd come in, they'd never know he was even he-

 _SCREEEEEEECH SMASH BOOM CLUNK!_

Clark's foot connected with the leg of a metal chair. He lost his balance, struggled to stay upright, and his foot pushed the chair into the glass table it was associated with. Unable to control the strength of the crash, focused as he was on staying upright, Clark could only watch as the glass table teetered and then fell. It shattered as it hit the ground, spraying outward and sending shards of glass everywhere. The metal chair then spun the other way, given strength by its cold feet on the shiny floor, and collided into its pair.

The whole string of events happened in less than two seconds. Clark would have had to have been some kind of superman to stop it.

The voices cut off.

Clark could feel just how much the blush had taken over his face as first Dick and then — ah, fudge sticks, he couldn't remember her name from the interviews, the girl from District Twelve — came out from around the corner. Dick's clothes were just ever so slightly disheveled.

"Sorry, I, uh, sorry, I'll just—"

The chair slipped out from his fingers as he tried to pick it up, maybe because he was trying to stretch over the field of broken glass and get hold of something that was well beyond his reach, and Clark got to watch as it crashed back to the floor, one of its spindly legs now bent in the wrong direction. And then he stepped forward, trying to get that last bit of room before the obvious glass shards that might enable him to retrieve the chair, and his foot connected with one of the less obvious pieces of sharp glass.

"GAH! Fuc- Fudge Nuggets! Chocolate Brownies!"

He could swear he heard the girl giggling as he hopped around, holding onto his wounded foot.

"Here." Dick helped him over to the wall, and Clark slid down to the floor, leaning back, after checking that he was clear of the glass over there. He yanked off his sock and bent his knee around to get a look at the offending foot.

Dick and the girl — _Sugar snaps_ , why couldn't he remember her name? Something similar to Kara, he had that much. Sarah? No, that wasn't right either — had their faces all twisted up in worry.

"It's fine," he told the other two, pinching his thumb over the cut. "Really. It's small, feet bleed easily. And I heal fast too; you don't have to worry about me."

"You sure, man?"

"Yeah. Gotten way worse helping out with the farming equipment; you wouldn't believe how sharp that stuff can be. Always back at work the next morning, barely feeling the pain. Ma says I must have some time of superpower."

The girl gave him the reaction he'd been looking for, a light laugh, even if Dick continued to look at him like he was torn between calling for someone and going for the first aid kit himself. Clark just gave him the same smile he'd given a million times to Lois' dad — the smile that meant he was being completely honest and hadn't hidden a single thing. It would never have worked on Ma or Jimmy, but for someone who didn't know him very well, like Dick, it did the job just fine.

"I swear," just to break off the last of the tension, make sure they'd gotten the message, "I'm fine. Sorry for barging in on you like that."

"It's alright," she says, her smile aimed at Dick, all that gentle expression pointed right at him, and Clark caught just a hint of why Dick was already so far gone on her. Dick had hearts in his eyes, and Clark felt like he was intruding all over again just for seeing the look and how they were passing emotions between them. "I should be getting to bed anyways."

They looked like they're about to kiss, and Clark figured that the only thing holding their faces apart was his continued presence at their feet. He gave a little cough, just enough that they noticed him again, and then very deliberately closed his eyes and looked away.

* * *

 _Her lips taste vaguely like peaches._

 _Clark had his hand around Lois' waist, her hands draped over his shoulders. She had to rise slightly onto her tiptoes, and he had to bend down to reach, but they'd managed to get their mouths together at just the right angle for it to count as a deliberate kiss, not some random bumping of lips._

 _It was the first time for both of them. It was far from perfect, and it was not what either of them thought a kiss could be. It left their lips covered in drool, and both of them laughing, and when they pulled away after just a couple of seconds, electricity seemed to run down Clark's spine. His hand tingled with it, the soft feeling similar to the feeling he got when one of his limbs fell asleep_ — _though by no means as cold or unwanted. This was... Warm. Pleasant. He wanted to chase the feeling and keep it locked up inside his bones forever._

 _Lois smiled up at him, and he felt like his cheeks were going to burst from smiling so hard at her. He dared to be bold enough to reach out with his finger and wipe the bit of spit that was dripping off of her lip._

 _Lois didn't pull away, and he counted that as a success then._

" _That was..."_

" _Yeah, it was." Lois said softly, as if it meant anything at all. Clark supposed it must, since they'd both said it now._

* * *

Clark waited until he heard the sound of two people breaking up, a set of footsteps walking away, the slide of the elevator doors on their metal rails, before he opened up his eyes. She was gone, the numbers displayed above the nearest elevator rising steadily, while Dick was moving to sit next to him. Clark was a little surprised at that, figured if they were going to go, they'd both go, but maybe they'd got something about not coming back at the same time.

He didn't know the rules about being with other tributes. Maybe they weren't supposed to be getting this close to one another, at least not before the cameras were all pointed at them in arena and the Capitol could have its proper love story. No one told him. Maybe Dick knew, since he and... Kory! That was her name.

"Sorry," he said again, realizing he had been sitting there with Dick too long without saying anything, and that he probably ought to say it again. He ruined their potential last night together, just because he wasn't watching where he was going and got a little too clumsy. How many times had Ma warned him about his own strength? Told him again and again that he had to be mindful of his surroundings and what he was doing to them? He was supposed to have gotten past the tripping over his own damn feet when he finished puberty. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's alright. Not like everyone doesn't already know." Dick was quick to cut him off, waving a hand that stalled any other words that Clark might have said about how he hadn't known, and that meant that not everyone knew, and maybe it was a good thing that Dick was shutting him up. Clark knew he had a tendency to spew words whenever he got embarrassed and awkward. "I guess no one can keep anything secret around here."

"If it makes you feel any better, where I'm from, no one can keep those kinds of things secret." He gave Dick a little shrug, ready and willing to share about his home. "Word travels fast. Ma says the whole district is one big gossip line. Everyone knows what's going on with everyone else. The one time Lois got caught sneaking home after we were making time, Ma knew before I even got home."

Dick gave him a confused sort of head tilt, and Clark took it as a prompt to keep explaining the story. It was what he'd missed in the interviews, that no one had wanted to hear about the good side of home, just about if he missed Lois, what he was going to do when he won and got back to her, what he thought about Kara and the El family feud.

He wished he could have talked more about this, about the funny stories, and Dick was giving him that opening.

"Me and Lois, we'd been friends for years. But we'd just started, you know, being a thing. Only time we really had together was after school and work was all done for the day, and we could sit out behind the school and talk."

He smiled fondly at the memories.

"One thing led to another, and soon enough, we're kissing. And we keep on kissing, and the next thing I know, it's dark out. And we both got to sneak home before the Sentinels catch us."

The confusion cleared off Dick's face; he knew where this was going now, clearly. Clark kept talking, lost in the remembrance of it. "Lois lives right near the mayor's house; she can never really get home without someone catching her. And gossip being what it was, by the time I managed to get home, Ma was standing on the front porch, tapping her foot. Knew all about how Officer Greely caught Lois sneaking over the fence."

He shook his head. "I was grounded for a month after that."

Dick had this kind of look on his face, and when he asked Clark, "was it worth it," he knew that the question wasn't really about kissing Lois. And Clark barely knew him, didn't know what else he was missing about his home, and what family he might have left behind.

Clark smiled all the same, and patted his shoulder.

"Yeah, it was worth it."

Dick's gaze went up, to the elevator, to where Kory had left.

Clark smiled again, and sighed.

It wasn't like last year had been the first year there had been a romance in the Games. Seemed like there was a couple every year, some pair fated to meet once they left their home district, meet someone new, and fall head over heels for them. That was how it looked on the cameras, of course. It wasn't as if many of them lived long enough to come back and talk about it, talk about how it was to find someone they would kill for in the Games, and then lose them. But some of them had to be real, had to be personal connections that happened, because even if people knew they might die, they didn't stop loving each other.

* * *

 _Ma was baking apple pie. It was too early in the season for apples, Pa always told her that, and then she'd make apple pie anyway. Green apples, the ones that fell from the tree when he climbed it, or that dropped down with little worm holes in their sides. Ma gathered them all up and made pie that was sour and hard and tasted even better than what she would make with the red apples when the trees lost all of the apples._

 _She baked when she was angry. Clark was only six, but he knew this. Knew that when Ma got angry, she'd bake up something in the kitchen_ — _and no matter what Pa would say about it being the wrong time for whatever it is that she was making, she'd make it anyway (it was always good, all of Ma's cooking was good, Clark didn't think that Ma could make a bad pie if she was trying to)._

 _He just didn't know what she was angry about this time._

 _Pa was sitting in his armchair, and Clark curled up on the rug beside it, playing with his trains and trying to look like he was not listening. He knew that Ma didn't like it if he listened when she was angry. Maybe if he stayed very quiet, and on the other side of Pa's armchair from the kitchen door, she'd let him stay inside and find out why she was angry. Clark didn't like it when Ma was angry, and if he knew why she was like this, then he could go and make sure it never happened again._

 _Making Ma angry was a bad thing, and a good boy like Ma told him he was needed to make sure that bad things didn't happen._

" _It's wrong, that's what it is. Wrong, Jonathan, dead wrong."_

" _Now Martha_ —"

" _Don't you 'now Martha' me. If you think I won't speak my own mind inside my own home, you got another thing coming for you." Ma's voice was sharp and mean, just like the knife she was using to cut up the apples, but Pa didn't flinch. If anything, he sighed, and leaned back more into his chair. "You know I'm right, and you know you'll come around too. Ain't right to let a boy who just got married go off to the Games. It's a damn fool thing that's happened."_

" _And what_ —" _Clark thought Pa was just as angry as Ma was, because when Pa got angry, he started talking real slow. He told Clark that you shouldn't speak too much when you get angry, 'cause you'll say something you wish you hadn't._ Always take two breaths before you say one word, _Pa said. He was talking slow and breathing a lot now. "_ — _do you think we can do about it? He's already been chosen; his name was pulled. Train leaves tonight. Reckon they're saying goodbye to him right now."_

 _They were talking about the Avenger Games, Clark realized. The tributes had been chosen today, and a lot of his classmates would be down at the train station to watch the train leave for the Capitol. Ma and Pa both said he wasn't allowed to go, just the same as they'd said last year. Even Jimmy was going, and Jimmy was supposed to be watching his siblings! It wasn't fair, Clark thought, as he made his two trains crash into each other. One of them was painted to look like the Capitol train that came every year for the Games._

" _It ain't right," Ma said again. "Should be a rule, that if you got a girl pregnant you can't get dragged off to the Capitol before he's even had a chance to get that girl settled."_

" _And what about kids not getting girls pregnant before they're aged out?" Pa's voice was all calm and steady, the opposite of Ma's, but his hands were fisted on the leather sides of the armchair. Just as angry as Ma, then. "Don't you think they ought to have a rule about that?"_

 _Ma sighed. "I don't like it, Jonathan. I don't like that she'll be all alone, having her heart broken and no one to help her care for the babe."_

" _Maybe she won't be. Maybe he'll come back."_

" _Ah, Jon, I didn't marry a fool. He won't. He's a fool, and in love, and he won't come back to her. Fools don't win."_

 _Pa got up and went into the kitchen. Clark snuck out from behind the armchair and tried to get closer to the kitchen. Ma was leaning down on the counter, her hands covered in flour, the pies in front of her. Pa had his arms wrapped around her, his head resting on her shoulder, hugging her, and Ma looked like she was about to cry. Clark must have made some kind of noise, because they both turned and looked down at him._

" _Oh, Clark? Did you hear all that?" Clark nodded, and Ma came and picked him up in her arms. "I'm sorry, son."_

 _Clark wrapped his little arms around her and smiled. "It's okay, Ma. I won't tell anyone."_

 _It was the first time that Clark knew that the Games made his parents angry, that going off to the Games wasn't good like the teacher at school said, that he should feel sad for the kids who took the train. The first time he learned that the Games tore people who love each other apart._

 _It wouldn't be the last time he learned that lesson._

* * *

Dick stood, and after a moment, Clark did the same. He still had to stand gingerly because of his wounded foot, but he matched Dick in walking over to the elevator. "Look man," Dick said, at the same time that Clark started, "you know—"

They looked at each other, and both let out a light chuckle.

Clark was the one to start again. "You know, I bet that girl of yours means an awful lot, for you to be looking at her like that. If you haven't said anything, you better say it. Never know when you'll get another chance."

Dick looked down at his feet and then away. "Yeah... Thanks for the advice. If we meet in the arena tomorrow..." His voice trailed off, and Clark knew they were both thinking the same thing. How it was all well and good to sit here falling in love and trading stories from back home, but that all too soon they were going to be trying to kill each other.

The elevator doors stopped and opened up onto the floor. Dick gave Clark one last look, his expression sad.

Clark nodded at him. "You too, man. You too." And they didn't have to say anything more than that.

When Clark got back to his room, he didn't even bother taking off the sweater, or grabbing a bandaid for his foot. He just fell onto his bed, closed his eyes, and tried once more to sleep. He could almost pretend that he didn't have to chase the thought of Dick and Kory trying to kill each other out of his head.

Sleep didn't come easy, but it did finally come.


	41. Chapter 40: Does Everyone Come Back?

**(A/N): Hello, and happy Week Before the Games! We're steadily speeding toward the Games, but before we do, we wanted to take another peek behind the scenes at what last year's resurrected tributes have been getting up to. So, we're thrilled to bring back the lovely InDeepDarkWood with a chapter featuring Ororo Munroe!**

 **Thanks as always to all of the writers who reviewed the most recent chapter as well as previous ones. You literally always make us smile when we see the support and the love, so please keep doing what you're doing!**

* * *

 **Chapter Forty - Does Everyone Come Back?**

 **Underground Tahiti Compound**

 **Ororo Munroe, formerly of District Eleven**

 **Written by InDeepDarkWood**

* * *

" _Do not stand at my grave and weep,_

 _I am not there, I do not sleep."_

 _\- Mary Elizabeth Frye_

* * *

 **Eleven months ago...ish**

* * *

She never thought she'd miss a person or two sleeping next to her. The idea of finally, _finally_ having her own room — and, better yet, her own _bed_ — was so incredible, and she had thought, when she first arrived, that she would sprawl across the bed, like the starfish thing from the sea, basking under fluorescent lights and blissfully _alone_ , without Misty, or Monica, or anyone else interrupting her sleep with _stupid_ questions and _stupid_ yelling. She would be able to claim all the blankets for her own if she wanted. She would be able to count knots of wood on the ceiling out loud if she wanted.

The ceiling wasn't made of wood, though, so counting knots was quickly discarded.

And on her first night after she had left the underground-underground section — Tahiti was under _ground_ , but not under- _under_ ground — she had been left staring at the completely flush and perfectly bare ceiling for hours and hours and hours, and she had been _alone,_ and she realised that being alone was not all that it was advertised. It wasn't just that she was the only person in the room; it was the thought that her family knew she was _dead_ , so they were _never_ going to look for her to relieve her loneliness. It was _that_ thought that made her eyes all hot and bothered and soaked her pillow and made her face go all red.

When she got up the next morning, her eyes were all scratchy and sore, and she thought they might fall out of her head if she shook it around too much. She didn't feel any better for her troubles, which was not the way crying was supposed to work; it was supposed to help. _Maybe I didn't do it right_ , she thought, climbing out of her bed and scrubbing her face at the sink with cold water.

It was slightly unnerving being able to spot the towel out of the corner of her eye and pick it up without having to turn her whole head around. She had been much longer in the under-underground part, because she had need a bit more fixing up.

She stared at the mirror as she dried her face, watching as both of her pupils followed in the same direction as she moved her gaze around it. It didn't work as well as it was supposed to, but her eye was _clear_ , and it had been returned to her, so she didn't want to complain to the intimidating old woman that had been in her room when she had woken up first. Ororo reached up and poked her eye with a finger.

"Oww," she grumbled, dropping her arm. "That was stupid, Ororo."

She lifted her arm back up after a moment, examining it carefully. In the back of her mind, a low laugh was building up, and with it, a sense of panic, but she squashed it down fiercely by concentrating on the lack of scars on her skin. She knew there should be some there. She knew _he_ had left some there; she had felt them being formed. She bent down to assess her legs; there was supposed to be a long mark on her shin, when Peter had brought her to the orchard to break nests and had thrown her too quickly, and she had sliced herself on the tree branch.

Her hand ran over the area beside her belly button, where she'd been damaged when her home had collapsed around her; it was smooth. This was a New _New_ Ororo, it seemed; she didn't like it. It was so far from Old Ororo, she didn't think Forge would — _Forge!_

She spun around the room, leaping for the bedside locker and pulling open the dresser drawers. Her heart sank; there was no sign of the vibranium bracelet he had given her. _Of course not, Ororo,_ she thought, feeling her face get hot again. "They had to give it back. Otherwise those crazy people in the district would think they were doing something with the tributes."

She laughed a little to herself, then froze as a knock tapped against her door.

"I… umm… just a… gimme a minute," she stuttered out, resuming a frenzied opening of dresser drawers until she found the clothes. As she pulled on the bottoms, hopping across the room on one foot, she couldn't help wondering if an Inhuman was allowed in the underground section. _They wouldn't be able to tell anyone what they saw down here…_ She broke off the thought, a little feeling telling her that if they _did_ tell someone, there would probably be someone down here to make sure they never told anyone again. _They might ask_ me, she thought. She had killed someone; why shouldn't she kill again? She shrugged on a top, while trying to shrug off her new skin and return to Old Ororo, and then opened the door for the knocker.

She froze at the door, her hand locked on the handle.

"Oh, God..." He had frozen too, and it felt like the two of them were in a time bubble, and everything had just stopped, and Ororo knew her eyes were wide as she took in everything from his combat boots to naturally perfect blonde hair, because his eyes were wide too, and his were all _watery,_ and she wasn't sure why hers weren't.

"I..." He trailed off again, his voice catching at the back of his throat, and Ororo wasn't sure how to make her mouth move to say that it was alright, to say that she was alright, to say hello, to say _anything_ , but she couldn't figure it out, so she just stood, staring up at him, watching him struggle with his words, and struggle with his actions.

"I'm so sorry," he managed to get out, and then he did the thing she _knew_ he was going to do, the hugging thing she had suspected he was guilty of since the first time she had spoken to him in the Capitol, but since she couldn't figure out how to speak and to say that it was okay and that he didn't need to do it, she became enveloped in a crushing hug of grief, that melted her out of her freeze, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and returned the hug with one of her own.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there," he whispered, and her chest tightened, wondering if he had seen her last screams; a wave of panic threatened to rise up in her, feeling the spider fingers stabbing into her calf again, so she clung to him until it spilled away.

"I'm sorry I ran away," she whispered back.

"We killed him," he growled out, for a moment confident and sure.

"I killed Thor," she confessed, and she felt his body sag in the hug.

"I killed Kate," he said, returning to a whisper.

"Is she...?" She felt his head shake against hers and hesitated. "T'Challa?" Another head shake. "Oh. I guess not everyone comes back."

"I guess not."

"But you're here, at least."

"Yeah," he said, still wrapping her in a hug. "I won't let you go it alone again, Ro."

"I missed you, Steve."

"You too."

* * *

 _Quiet as a mouse, fast as a cheater._ Ororo recited the words in her head as she crept along the side of the building, the light shoes she had silent against the ground. Different obstacles obscured her path; loose pebbles, an overturned cart, a rubbish bin flapping from an unknown source of wind. She edged past them all with a practiced ease that came from her years in Eleven, an ease that was being honed by her handlers so she was equipped for fieldwork. She knew the field, though, since she'd been here before.

She pivoted around an opening that she knew contained a barking dog, ready to alert the occupants of the house that someone was outside. And _there_! She pinned herself against the wall as a moped sped past. _Easy peasy, lemon squeezy,_ she thought smugly, skittering across the open road and around the corner, readying herself to leap over an uncovered manhole.

Practiced ease was all well and good, until a bo staff caught her square in the gut and sent her flying backwards, landing on the ground with a low wheeze. She hit it with a thud, staring up at the light and struggling to breathe, while the area in her vision darkened with a shadow.

" _Petit_ , I t'ought you good at dis sneakin' an' hidin'."

"Was… that… really… necessary?" she managed to gasp out, feeling as though her lungs were right up in her shoulders.

"When you bein' stupid? _Oui._ " She tried shooting him a frown, but it scrunched up into a grimace, and she grudgingly took his offered hand, clutching her stomach with the other as she stood.

"You're stupid," she grumbled very quietly, wary of the bo staff. "How come you get a stick and all I get is hiding?" she asked in a louder tone.

"Be _cause_ , _petit,_ out in de big ol' world, all you gon' get is hidin', and dem other ones? De ones you hidin' _from_? Dey got more'n staffs." Ororo released his hand and stomped away from him, glowering as the main lights in the large room switched on, destroying the simulation she had been undertaking, and highlighting the rest of the training room. She waved her arms in the air, instantly regretting it as her stomach voiced a complaint.

"Face it, Remy, it's like me being in the Games _all over again_!" she growled. "All I got told by Sam was to _hide_ , and all I got told from Steve was to _hide_ , and all I got told from T'Challa was — was — was—" She broke off, frustration mounting, and slammed her foot against the matting that had replaced the hard flooring of the replica township.

She stared at the ground at the approaching sound of Remy's footsteps, waiting for him to say something. He had only been assigned to her a couple of months ago, after his unfortunate slip up in Eight led him to the greener pastures of underground Tahiti. On the first day she'd met him, Ororo had asked why someone who'd been caught was going to train her. _So I c'n show you how t' not get caught_. That's what he'd said to her, quick as a flash. Since then, she'd gotten bruises to her body and bruises to her pride, but he'd taught her a few things. She liked Remy. She was kind of glad he had the anklet tracker, since it meant he was stuck with _her_ too.

"Well, Stormy, if you listen t'all dem people, maybe you wouldn't'a got hit wit' a stick today," Remy stated.

"I hate you."

"Dat de new way o' flirtin' 'round here?" He stepped away and neatly avoided an elbow aimed in his direction. "I t'ought ol' Remy told you t' cover dat light in your head?" Ororo's hand instantly went up to her hair, pulling down a stray strand in front of her eye. It had grown even longer since she'd started training with Remy and resembled a bush on her head more than anything else. _Nanny would be so disappointed,_ she thought, and then nearly choked on her words, because Nanny was already disappointed, because she was dead, just like Eric.

"I _tried_ , but the thing you gave me didn't fit," she mumbled, kicking at the mat.

"Dat's cuz your head too big. No problem fixin' dat, you just gotta make it smaller." Remy shrugged his shoulders, spinning the bo staff, and strapping it into the sheath that lay across his back neatly.

"How can I make it smaller?" she grumbled, shooting him another glare as he shrugged again and strode off without another word, exiting through the restricted area doors on the eastern wall. Ororo went the opposite direction, the door below the large 'W' swinging open without any help.

The labyrinth beneath the Capitol had many winding corridors, and many doors, and many signs that said ' **DO NOT ENTER** ' with visual warnings of what would happen if she _did_ enter.

* * *

 _Rolling her shoulders and trying not to wince, Ororo wandered back towards her room, her head down. She had seen Brunhilde walking through the north door, a girl she thought was called Karen at her side, and wondered where they were going._ Probably somewhere exciting, _she thought, trying not to be too bitter. Brunhilde had only been down a little longer than Ororo, but she was already doing more fieldwork than she could have hoped for. She tried telling trainers that she was ready, that she was in control, that she was getting good at fighting, even though they were only teaching her defensive maneuvers._

 _She had even told Yo-Yo that she would do a better job killing next time, but that hadn't gotten her anywhere._

 _It wasn't as though she_ wanted _to kill anyone. She just wanted to see the sunlight, and feel the wind on her face, and know what time of the day it was from_ real _sun and moon, not the fake lighting that Tahiti had in the fake windows all along her floors. Steve had already told her that they didn't kill people, and were more snatch-and-grab individuals, but Ororo thought Steve was a bit of a self-righteous idiot if he believed that._

 _She walked along the corridor, keeping her footsteps in time with the hiss of the vents above and the blinking of the cameras' red eyes._ I just need to _prove_ that I'm ready, _she thought, massaging her shoulder where Walter had slammed into her and made her hit the mat multiple times during the afternoon's training session._

 _While others had a single handler who might have been in charge of many Tahitians, Ororo had yet to find one, and so was bounced around like some little lost girl between trainers and handlers alike. Sometimes she liked the idea, because it meant she got to see people. She figured of all the newcomers underground, she knew the most. It made her feel important._ Sometimes. _Other times, she was just in the way._

 _She passed yet another locked door and paused just below the hissing vent._ Just need to prove myself, _she thought again, her eyes darting to the camera blinking away. It was pointed right at the door._

" _If I were a camera eye," she whispered aloud, figuring out the line of sight and stepping slightly to the left. "I wouldn't be able to see me any longer."_

 _She glanced up at the vent. "Prove myself." They wanted her to_ hide, _so she would. Bracing her legs in a bent position, she leaped from a standstill. She missed the grate twice, but the third jump hit its mark, and she watched, satisfied, as the grate swung down. Then it was just a matter of climbing trees, and Ororo was a dab hand at that. She hauled herself into the crawl space._

 _It was smaller than she expected, and the hiss of the vent and the scattered lighting made it seem even smaller. "Now," she said, "let them try and find me for a_ —"

 _She broke off her words, and clung to the metal sides, because there was something else above the hiss of the vents that she could hear. Something rolling along inside the little box that she had willingly climbed into and shut the door. She could feel her mouth run dry, and her tongue felt too large and too heavy inside, her throat constricting in on itself._

 _There was a slow, unending laugh trickling through the vents, and the hairs on Ororo's neck stood right up on end, her hands clammy and sliding against the metal._

 _She knew that voice._

" _Orrrrrrrrroroooooo..."_

 _Instinctively, she brought her hands over her ears, panic rising inside her like a tide._ No, no, no. " _They didn't bring him back, they didn't bring him back," she whispered._

" _Here, Rorooooo, here, girlie..."_

 _She tried to turn around to get back to the grate, but it was too small a space, and she was afraid she'd get stuck mid-turn, and she_ had _to get out. She reversed back along the space, the vent closing in on her with hisses and the low chuckle, and her fingers clung into the grate, poking out into safety, but the vent wouldn't move as she tugged at it, desperately trying to get out before_ he _got there._

" _Help," she managed to choke out, a flash of blood memory rising up. "Help! Help me!" The grate rattled, and she thought she saw Loki looking at her from the corner of her vision and walk away. "Loki, come back! LOKI!" Her heart thumped loudly, because it_ remembered _what happened next, and she saw stars in her eyes, and she couldn't breathe, and she vaguely thought she was going to die before he even reached her._

 _She nearly fell out of the vent as the grate was pulled open, and strong arms caught her and carried her out the rest of the way, holding her tightly as she hyperventilated._

" _He's – up – there – he's – go – ing – to – kill – me," she choked out._

" _He's not there." She recognized Steve's voice, and her heart rate slowed a little at the knowledge. "No one's going to kill you. It's just in your head, Ro. It's okay."_

" _It – too – small – tried to – prove I – do it."_

" _I know, Ro. I know."_

* * *

Ororo knew better now than to try and sneak past a door to see what lay behind it; she wasn't lying when she told Remy it was like the Games. The little red light on the camera in front of her blinked back at her as she stuck her tongue out; the only difference between then and now was that she could see where the cameras were, and tongue-sticking was too childish for a fourteen-year-old.

She headed down to the kitchen area, following a well-worn path that who knew how many other Tahitians walked. Automatic opening doors beckoned her not to stray from the trail, and she didn't try and convince them she wasn't going to do what she was told. This was her kitchen, but she didn't know how many other kitchens there were in the place. She didn't know how many rooms. She didn't even know how many people there were down underground.

It bothered her.

It was strange how quickly she had gotten used to how things worked underground, and how, even though they were — miles? Feet? A Forge length? — below the surface, some traits of the Capitol never failed to bleed through. There was no cooking to be done, or cleaning of plates; Ororo pressed a few buttons at one end of the kitchen and then slowly walked down to the other end, where the hatch opened, and a steaming plate of nshima and vegetables appeared. It took three and a half minutes for food to arrive; the girl had her body clock aligned to it and paced herself accordingly.

She was alone at the table when she pulled back the chair with a scrape and sat down. It wasn't always that way; some days, she met others like her, but it often felt like a dream encounter. She often only saw the same person once, or twice. Picking up the nshima with her fingers, she chewed the meal thoughtfully. She didn't understand _why_ they deliberately kept them apart, only occasionally allowing interactions at meals and training. _That's not true, Ororo, you know why._ Remy may have made fun of her today for her sneaking, but she knew she was a pretty good eavesdropper, all things considered, and she knew that some people talked a bit more than they should.

Talking might incite people with questionable loyalties to band together. Talking might create a leak. Talking _had_ created a leak, if the coded gossipers were to be trusted.

The only person she saw with any sort of regularity was Steve and — strangely — Brunhilde, and even when she spoke to them, they were hesitant on revealing too many details. "Including fieldwork _,"_ she grumbled to herself. She knew they were only trying to play down the fact that they were allowed outside and she wasn't, but it made her feel even lonelier down below. She didn't know why she was still in the simulation town, when she _knew_ she could do it out there, in the big bad world.

She had been part of such a large, ever-changing family for so long, she felt there was a hole somewhere in her body now that they were all gone. Steve, for all his smiles and conversations and shared experiences, was _like_ family, but it just wasn't quite the same. She let out a small sigh and then contemplated whether to do another childish thing that day.

"I wish I could see my family," she said in a very small voice, expecting the camera in the kitchen to start laughing at her.

"I heard there was some little kid talking to herself around the 'mansion', but I didn't think it was _true_."

Was Nanny right? Were there Gods hanging around in the sky, looking down and occasionally deciding that some wishes were actually worth their notice and time, instead of ignoring them in favor of smiting and lightning?

Ororo was frozen on the spot, one hand still coated in the doughy nshima.

"Huh. Maybe I figured it wrong, maybe no one was talkin'."

Maybe it wasn't Gods. Maybe it was just someone behind the camera taking pity on poor little no-longer-blind Ororo and answering a wish.

"Kid, are you just gonna sit there like some God-awful statue, or are you gonna turn around?"

Her whole body started to tremble as she slowly turned the whole chair around, the hideous scraping against the ground the only sound aside from shaky breathing. She tried to stop the trembling, because she was a strong and independent woman, and was better than that, but her body didn't listen, and she could feel tears starting to form, and she _hated_ it, because he'd think she was a weakling, just some little kid crying in the rain.

"Eh...Er...Eric?" A food-filled hand wiped itself across her eyes stubbornly.

"A real-life nightwalker, in the flesh." He didn't get to say anything else, because Ororo had launched herself across from the chair and into his arms, because he was _family,_ and family got hugged, especially when they had come back from the dead. She clung onto him for a long moment, and then pulled back, cupping his chin and moving his head from side to side.

"You've got wrinkles," she noted, pulling his head this way and that.

"Laughter lines, kid," Eric replied. Eric had been old when he'd been Reaped, but in the four years he'd been dead, he'd aged more than she suspected was normal, and she wondered what had caused it.

"Didn't they fix your eyes like mine?" she asked, reaching for his sunglasses and removing them to scrutinise his pale eyes. They were there alright, but different somehow. _Less weak_ , she thought with a nod. She didn't think they needed overt light protection. The sunglasses themselves were full of buttons and had a red tinge that she thought might glow inside if given the right darkness.

"Yeah, they did, but sunglasses are cool, agreed?" His eyebrow rose with the question, and she gave him a small smile and nodded. "Well, now onto the important stuff I missed while I was gone: was Jericho still doing his mirror thing? How's Andrew? Did Peter kill anyone else's parents?"

She took his hand as they walked away from the kitchen, the corridor filling with animated conversation. The low rumbling laughter that echoed in her mind as she passed under the vent was squashed away as they returned to her room and sat for hours playing catch-up; Eric was more open about his up-top experiences, and Ororo perked up at the mention of names she recognised he'd worked with, including Clint the Archer and Luke from Eleven. _No T'Challa though_.

"Yeah, I met a lot of the dead men," he continued, smiling as she giggled when he made an 'X' with his fingers. "I was in Eight a while ago with Mike picking up a certain silver-tongued thief." And then he told her all about the other districts he'd been to, all different from Eleven, until the warning red light flashed outside the corridor, and he sighed.

"Curfew's a pain in my ass," he said. "Grown adult with a bedtime; who'd've thought it?" He stood to go, and Ororo wrapped her arms around him again.

"Don't go," she said. "I might not see you ever again."

"Don't be saying things like that, Ro-ro," he replied, smiling easily. "I got pull with experience, and when you get out on fieldwork, they'll want that experience by your side. Not just your partners; although I'm sure you've already met some of the crew you might get paired with." She looked up at him, confused. "You think your pal Steve just _waltzed_ up to you like I did? Nah, kid, protocols, protocols."

He extracted himself from her arms. "But you'll be getting out soon, and I'll be there before you work with them — on your first mission at least. That's what big brothers are for, am I right?"

She nodded, and he ruffled her hair, like he used to, when they were both younger, and then left, and Ororo was alone again, back to thinking about Remy's words, and fieldwork. She touched her hair again, and glanced over at the mirror.

Setting a determined look on her face, she opened the drawer where the first aid box was and then got to work.

Arriving down to the training room the next day to meet Remy, it was not as empty as usual; an older Tahitian, Luke, was going fist-to-fist with a trainer she recognised from before she was dead. While she was staring at him, wondering how he kept such a big secret to himself, they stopped and stared at her.

"What… what the hell did you do to yourself?" Daniel Rand asked, his fists still up in a block position.

"Shut it, Danny; looks better than yours anyway," Luke scoffed.

"Says the bald guy," he muttered back while Luke continued with a, "But what were you thinking, Munroe?"

Ororo thrust her chin out and squared her jaw. "I wanted my balaclava to fit," she growled, stomping away from the pair of fighters that were more equal partners than mentor-mentee. Remy was waiting for her at the town simulation and threw his head back with laughter as she came into full view.

" _Petit_ , what you done dis time?"

"You _said_ make my head smaller!" she exclaimed, running her two hands up onto her head. The hair at the sides of her scalp was short and spiky, crudely cut close to the skin, while the hair in the middle continued to stick up from her head, albeit shorter than the day before.

"You tryin' to make skunk fashion'ble 'ere? I t'ought you hated dem Capit'lites style!" Remy clutched his bo staff for support as he laughed, and Ororo scrunched up her face, storming over to him and yanking the staff away before he had time to consider what had happened. Putting all her strength into the swing, she aimed straight for his gut and watched in a satisfied way as his own weapon was turned against him, and he staggered back.

"You are _going_ to get me passed for the field, Remy, and you are _going_ to teach me how to fight — _not just hide,_ " she hissed, standing over him, the close cut haircut sharpening her features and making her seem more intimidating than a fourteen-year-old. "And if you think you can make ridiculous jokes about my hair and _not_ have me say something about your idiotic headband, _you've got another thing coming_." She poked him with the staff for emphasis, then stepped back and planted the staff firmly on the ground, waiting for him to get up.

"A'right, Stormy," he said, holding up his hands in a peace gesture. "My headband _ain't_ stupid for startin' — but!" He held up a finger as she made a move towards him and laughed again, the sound a bit wheezy from the belt to the stomach. "I'm gonna admit t' you, _petit_ , dat you doin' a mighty fine job pullin' yo' skunk hair off."

"You… you think I pull it off?" she asked, and he reached for his staff, plucking it out of her grip and winking at her.

"Wit' style, _petit_ , wit' style."

* * *

Somehow, Remy had managed to convince the powers-that-be to create improvements on the simulation designed town, so it wasn't always the same pathway, and Ororo was able to focus more now that she was being challenged with new situations. It also helped that he had insisted — _most likely to some girl or swinging boy_ — she get a staff, so now as she snuck through the alleyways of the labyrinth within the labyrinth, Ororo had a weapon of her own. Of course, despite the growth spurt she had undergone, one of Remy's size was too large and cumbersome for stealth work.

Somewhere in Tahiti there was someone able to construct a centerpiece with a button to expand both sides to a reasonable length. Remy thought it was too modern to be a 'real bo.' Ororo thought it was still capable of dealing the same damage his could.

"You done good, Stormy," Remy called over, as Ororo waved from the top floor of one of the large buildings, flying the flag she had been sent to capture. He gestured for her to come down, and she gave a small, knowing smile, rolling the flag up and tucking it into her belt. She began to make her way out of the room, ignoring the stairway she had come up from, and heading straight for the far window, swinging her legs over the sill and peering down, assessing the situation. It took a few moments to plan the route, but when she began to move down, she was confident and sure, each foot and hand steady.

She hit the ground and bent low, moving in a wide arc back to where Remy had stood. Flipping the staff into its full length, she snapped it forward so it was pointing at his back.

"You made it, _petit_ ," he said approvingly. "You get stuck'n de net?"

"I went a different way," she responded as he turned around. "Lesson number one; always have a different exit route."

"You got it." Remy winked as he spoke. "When you owe a lotta money, dem boys know where y' come in. You always gotta know _your_ way out." She clicked the staff's button, and it slotted back into its smaller size. Putting it back in its holder, she handed him the flag and took off the balaclava, spiky hair visible once more.

"We playin' cards tonight, Stormy?" he asked, as they walked out of the town toward the rest of the training. Ororo shot him a look.

"We're allowed?" she asked.

"Well, I figure, since you done good and listened t' my words o' wisdom and got y'self the go-ahead to de big bad world, I gotta start teachin' you somet'in' else as a partner."

It took a moment for his words to sink in, but once they did, Ororo punched the air with a fist. Then she caught sight of Remy smiling and reached over to punch him.

"You already knew before today, didn't you?" He shrugged knowingly, and she punched him again. "Remy! How could you keep that from me? Eurgh!"

"I was ah ... waitin' for de opportoonity," he said with a flourish.

"Opportunity for what?" Her eyes narrowed, thought it wasn't entirely due to his infuriating ways; the training room was not empty, and voices were starting to become clearer.

"To say it while playin' it cool, o' course. So, cards, _petit_?" He didn't wait for her to respond. "See you later, kitchen side."

Ororo wasn't listening anymore, even to his footsteps as he walked away, the anklet clinking ever so slightly on his left leg, because she had heard an identifiable voice in the training area, and had stopped in her tracks, hidden in the shadows of the town, and the old feeling of dry mouth and a hammering heart began in her body. Not only did she recognize the voice, but she recognized the body it belonged to.

"Wooo-weee you shoulda _seen_ 'em, Monty," he cackled out to the other person, one she had never seen before. "DON'T KILL ME, YOU MONSTER!" He demonstrated the voices, keeping it high-pitched. The other boy started to laugh at the impersonation. "I HAVE A BABY...OOOOOOOOOHHHHHH."

"Are you sure she said it in _that_ tone?" the boy asked skeptically as he started to pant audibly.

"You think I'm _lying?_ " Ororo flinched at the venom in the tone, feeling like her legs were going to buckle.

"If you're going for theatrics, Cletus, please keep the hyperbole _realistic_." The boy gave a demonstration of what he believed had actually happened, complete with sound effects, and Cletus threw back his head to laugh, the sound hampered by something around his neck, but familiar enough that Ororo's hands reached up to her ears to block it.

"No, no, no," she whispered, as the pair made their way through the west door to the corridors.

"Who cares about realism?" Cletus asked, still laughing. "I get to tear people apart and SHIELD thinks it's _great!_ " His voice faded as they moved away, but the laughter lingered like a bad smell. To her immense surprise, Ororo hadn't lost her footing, and her breathing hadn't gone straight to hyperventilation. She still clutched the building with one hand, and her first thought was anger aimed at _Steve_ , because he had told her they hadn't brought Cletus back; he had assured her they hadn't brought him back.

As her heart rate returned to normal, she realized it wasn't Steve she was allowed to be angry at; it was SHIELD, because they had brought him back and let him out into the world. "No," she growled, stepping forward, her legs strong. " _No_." She headed toward the knife section, blocked off to allow private training, and went straight to the camera beside the stand, using the stand as a boost.

"This is _your_ fault, Nick," she hissed, pulling the balaclava over the camera and blocking its view.

She hopped off the stand quickly and ran an eye over the knives, selecting the slim. straight boning blade. Then she stomped through the door the pair had gone through, her jaw set, the tide of anger rising up in her like a sandstorm, moving swiftly down the regulated corridor, where the voices returned to earshot. " _No."_

Her movements got quieter and lighter, and she crept along the corridor as it twisted around past rooms. The sound of a door had her peeking around the corner, where she saw the two enter a bedroom. _At least he's not_ red _anymore,_ she thought. She'd know if he bled.

As she got to the door, it occurred to her that there were two of them and only one of her. She pushed the thought away, sticking the knife in her belt and pulling out the staff to its full length. The door was open, and she could hear their conversation, rather one-sided. She waited for the familiar tide of panic to wash over her, but it didn't. _Maybe Remy taught me a thing or two more than infiltration,_ she thought.

"So then they asked me not to kill anyone on the mission," Cletus cackled out. "Can you believe it, Monty? Can ya? Can ya?"

"A day not killing is a day done wrong," the other boy agreed, his voice rather absent-minded.

"Well, no sirrrrr-eeeee, I wasn't doing _that_ day wrong. I killed him and the ones we were catchin' for good measure." The laughter bubbled up again, and Ororo burst through the door.

She had the staff swinging before he'd even a chance to figure out what had happened, the bo staff slamming straight across his head and sending it cracking against the wall. She heard an audible crack a heartbeat later. If she'd done the same to Remy, he would have been seeing stars and out for the count. As it was, Cletus just shook his head and blinked. His jaw hung slightly gaping on one side, something tenting the skin out in an awful, awkward angle.

"Darkie? Is that you?" The words were slightly slurred, and Ororo had a moment of surprise that not only had she _hit_ him, but she had _damaged_ him.

With more confidence, Ororo hit him with the staff again, this time in the chest where he sat on the bed. There was another audible crack as the staff met rib, and the action sent him off balance, but he flipped back up almost immediately, into a standing position on his bed, clapping and wheezing. "Darkie, it _is_ you. HALLELUIAH, BABY, I GOT THE JACKPOT!" Cletus leaped off the bed to the ground with a predatory smile. "Will you taste just as good _this time around?"_

She nearly took a step back at the words, nearly became scared little Ororo that screamed in the vents, because Cletus was a monster who didn't look like he cared about broken jaws all that much.

"There's not going to _be_ a this time," she snarled, baring teeth, and swiped the staff low in a feint. When he reached to grab it, she flipped it up, and it hit the collar around his neck, twisting it.

"You trying to get me off my leash, Rooooroooo?" he asked, as she whacked his neck again. They both heard a crack as the collar weakened.

"So I can _put you down,_ you mongrel," she hissed, blanching a little as he reached up and pulled the collar. The reinforced staff had done more damage than it appeared, and the collar was ripped apart by the boy's hands.

"Don'tcha know, Darkie? This was keeping me in line," he said, a chuckle starting again as the collar landed on the ground. "NOW WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DOOOOO, MAHHHHVELLLLL? WHAT ARE YOU GONNA D—"

The word was cut off as Ororo snatched the knife from her belt, reached forward, and slashed across his neck, just like he had done to her.

"You are not going to do anything," she said quietly, as the blood spilled over his shirt and dripped onto the ground. "You are not coming back." He had fallen to his knees, and she knew the darkness was coming over him, just like it had with her, that he could still hear her, but it was very far away. She looked up at the camera in the room.

"You are not going to bring him back," she growled at the camera. "If you do, I will kill him again. And again _. And again_." She pushed him with her foot, and he collapsed on the ground. "He is to _stay dead_ , this time, like he was supposed to. Do you understand? Do you hear me? DO YOU HEAR ME?" The last words were bellowed out as Cletus' blood pooled around her feet.

Ororo watched incredulously as the camera slowly moved up and down.

"You see, now _that's_ realistic theatrics!"

Ororo jumped at the voice and glanced over across the room to the other bed, where the other boy was lounging, a book in one hand, a Twizzler sweet in the other.

"That was _great_. You were my favourite throughout; I was rooting for you, my dear," he continued, his eyes sparkling with delight. "A real masterpiece, using the knife," he added, and Ororo glanced down at the knife, coated in Cletus blood, her breathing hard as the grip on it tightened. "Such poetic justice."

"I… ummm… you're not… you didn't try to—"

"Stop you?" he cut in. "Why on earth would I do that? Cletus had the 'wow' factor, sure, but he lacked finesse, and he lacked style, even if the pointed teeth were an interesting look. Probably trying to be unique, like I was, back in my Games." He paused, waving the Twizzler. "Plus, he called me Monty all the time." He paused again. "He was a good killing partner, I suppose."

"That's not your—"

"Name? No, of course not. It's James, codename Trickster, but we're all friends here, so Trickster works for me. That new one is James, but Trickster is _mine_." Ororo stared at him. "Oh, I suppose thanks is in order, for clearing out the room for me. It's like an early Christmas present!"

"What's Christmas?" she asked, since that was the only thing she could really follow, so she clung onto that.

"It's when little boys and girls are very good, and get a bomb in their sock as a reward!" he replied. "I'll tell you all about it next time you come visit, and we can improve that killing technique of yours so it's less..." He glanced around the room. "Messy." Ororo blanched at the words and backed away a little.

"Oh, yeah… maybe… I have to go… play cards now."

"Oh yes," James said, waving her off. "Bring Twizzlers instead of blood next time, okay?"

Ororo left a dead Cletus and a reading Trickster in the room. No one tried to stop her as she wandered back towards the training room, blood dripping off the knife. She paused at the kitchen. Remy was leaning against the doorway.

"Stormy, I hear you puttin' de staff to use a'ready," he said. Slowly, he reached over and took the bloody knife off her. "News travels fast when you charge goes rogue, _petit_."

"Not rogue," she said, feeling light-headed.

"Sure, _petit._ Why don't we spin 'round in 'ere and get dem card playin' moves busted out. Next time, mebbe we tell ol' Remy when we plan to steal a knife and cut someone up."

"Am I in trouble?" she asked, and the older boy laughed, ruffling the spiky hair.

"Oh yeah, _petit_ , you in big trouble."


	42. Chapter 41: Destination: Unknown

**(A/N): Well, everyone. This is it. We're finally here. This chapter marks the launch of our tributes out of the Capitol into the arena. Which means next week we'll be starting the Games. AHHH!**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who have reviewed both the most recent chapter as well as other chapters. We really appreciate the continuing support and the community between our writers. Thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for your reviews. Hope you got your hot cocoa ;)**

* * *

 **Chapter 41 - Destination: Unknown**

 **Launch**

 **Rachel Roth of District Nine**

 **Written by - Silmarilz1701**

* * *

 _"You have been chosen, and you must therefore use such strength and heart and wits as you have." - J.R.R. Tolkien_

* * *

The sky danced with colors as the sun rose far in the distance. Even here, hundreds of miles from her home, the sun rose bright and early, a reliable and kind reminder that there were bigger things than the Capitol. Placing her small hand on the glass of the window before her, she looked at the world outside. The Capitol was so extreme, so busy all the time. The Capitol never rested.

Raven didn't like the Capitol, not compared to her home in Nine. She missed the golden fields of wheat, and her little apple stall. Her hand fell from the window slowly, leaving little fingerprints on the immaculately clean glass. She blinked for the first time in several minutes, letting herself leave behind the business of the city outside.

Her mind traveled to Azarath, the land of her dreams. She saw in her mind the rows of white columns, the little streams of bright blue water. She saw the perfectly-cut emerald grass, the pale stone walkways. She saw Azar.

Yet simultaneously, Raven was keenly aware of the area around her physical form. She felt the soft cotton of the rug, she smelled the coffee being brewed outside her door. Raven heard the honking of car horns and music that Drax liked to play. Her mouth tasted of iron from where she'd accidentally bit her tongue in panic from waking up this morning of the Games.

Raven whipped her head around when a knock sounded on her door. Brought back to the present, she wasn't surprised when Erik Lensherr appeared in her doorway. She glared with just her eyes, her mouth set in a thin line.

"Breakfast is ready," he told her. "Drax made pancakes."

"Great," she deadpanned. "Because that ended well last time."

Erik raised an eyebrow and opened the door further. She relented and walked from her suite out into the main room. She found Drax serving her district partner, Jervis. Raven sent him a simple nod.

She wasn't exactly sure what to make of Jervis. He didn't scare her, not like Jack or Harley, but he was off-putting; he was hard to read. Jervis put her on edge.

"Are you ready?" Jervis leaned across to grab a biscuit.

Raven lifted an eyebrow. "Is anyone?"

Jervis just flashed her a smile in response.

 _That's not unsettling at all,_ she thought.

Raven set to eating her pancakes, electing to try blueberry syrup today. Blueberries were rare back in Nine, as with most fruits and berries, so it was a welcome treat. The warm syrup spread over her mouth in a blanket of flavor.

"This is actually good," she murmured.

Drax nodded. "It makes a decent last meal."

Jervis and Raven both stopped chewing and stared at him. Erik Lensherr put his head in his hands. She nearly smiled as Drax kept eating like nothing had happened. Raven noticed Erik check the clock and saw his expression fall, an anger building in his facial features.

"It's time, isn't it?" She spoke quietly.

Erik nodded. "Time to go."

Drax and Erik led the two kids down to the elevator. They ended up boarding not long after, getting inside with Kory and John and their mentor, the group from Twelve. No one spoke, despite the fact that everyone but Jervis was on fine terms.

They reached the bottom of the building soon enough. Blackagar allowed for District Nine's group to leave first. As usual when being shown to other buildings, an entire escort of Sentinels surrounded them. Together, they walked across the compound to the hangar.

They were herded, eight tributes apiece, into the small cargo ships and locked in place. A Sentinel sat at each end of the cargo-hold-turned-personnel-transport, and the pilots were out of sight behind a big, gray, metal wall. Erik and Raven exchanged a look full of new understanding for one another. She felt remorse for the cruel words she had spoken the night before to her mentor, after meeting with Kory, Dick, Gar, and their mentors in a last-minute solidifying of their alliance. She had accused him of accepting Trigon's bribe and lost control of her vicious temper. They had smoothed things over later.

A Sentinel strapped her into her seat. She looked to her left to find Jervis, and to her right to find Jonathan Crane. These were threats to her. She had to remember that.

The worst part of the whole ordeal was the initial push. As Raven felt the aircraft lift off, her stomach lurched violently, both from fear of flying and fear of the impending Games. She missed the Capitol, for the first time ever. She could barely believe she had the thought. But this aircraft was not exactly comfortable.

Raven was pulled from her ruminations when she caught Gar staring at her. She flashed him a tiny smile, the only thing she could muster.

"This is crazy. I mean, really crazy, like we're all the way up in the air." Gar rambled on. "Can you believe that? We're basically birds. Big, metal, gray birds. But I mean, I suppose you're already a bird."

Raven lifted her eyebrow in question.

"You're a Raven," Gar explained. "I love that you have the name of a bird. Birds are really cool, like you."

Raven was caught slightly off-guard. "Thanks."

She felt a warm fuzzy feeling creeping up inside her. This was something she'd never quite felt before meeting Gar. As she made eye contact with Kory, the older girl gave her a smile. Raven could never be like Kory, able to play with boys.

She looked at Gar again. The boy had turned to his right and was trying to engage his district partner in conversation. Jade was her name. She hadn't spoken much to Raven in the Capitol. She wondered what Jade was like.

Raven finally turned to her right and looked at the boy named Jonathan. She knew her own district partner had struck up a good relationship with him, which meant she would steer clear of both in the Games as much as possible. If Jervis unsettled her, Jonathan worried her.

She closed her eyes, listening to Kory and Gar speaking now. She smiled inwardly at the motor-mouthed Gar. He was kind of… cute… with his green hair and big ears. And the way he talked about cows…

* * *

 _"I loved District Ten, I mean, as much as one can love living in a district," he told the two girls, Raven and Kory, and the older boy, Dick. "Me and the animals, we had fun together."_

 _"What's your favorite animal?" Kory asked him as she took a bite of popcorn._

 _Gar considered this. "Cows. Definitely cows. Jill's my favorite cow. I hope she's doing alright. I told her I'd be right back. Then I left."_

 _Raven shook her head. "Animals are smart. She'll be fine."_

 _"Yeah, they are. Especially cows." Gar nodded back at her, looking into her eyes._

 _Kory and Dick were busy hanging on each other, and Raven found herself fascinated by Garfield Logan. He was so genuinely nice; he sort of reminded her of Kitty back home. A happy, kind person._

* * *

Raven was starting to become very concerned for Gar and how he would survive the Games. He was such a good soul. He needed to survive. She wanted to help him. She wanted to just give him a hug and tell him how he would see Jill again, but she didn't know how. Not anymore.

She didn't want to think about that, not now. She already had enough to worry about. That Angela girl, the tribute from Six, had driven a small wedge between herself and the older members of their little group. Refusing to say anything at all about her past caused Kory at the very least to wonder why, to question her. The outburst last night had only fed fuel to the fire.

She'd had no intention of saying _anything_ to _anyone_. At least, she hadn't planned on it. But Gar had a way of upsetting her plans despite knowing Raven for only a few days.

* * *

 _Raven took the elevator up to her suite after returning from the interviews. She had planned on being the last tribute to the elevators so she could take it alone. Her interview had gone moderately okay. Taneleer Tivan, as usual, pressed much closer than she would've liked in bringing up the death of her mother. Fortunately, he'd said nothing about Trigon._

 _As she stepped into the elevator, a voice she recognized immediately sounded down the hall._

 _"Hold the door," he called, a pitter-pattering of feet sounding down the hallway. "Pretty please!"_

 _Raven found herself smiling internally. She held the elevator door open, and before long, the painted green Gar came barrelling into the elevator. He caught his breath as the doors closed._

 _"You're fast," Raven noted._

 _"Fast as a hare." He grinned and jumped in front of her as she went for the buttons. "Dick told me that there's a roof here we can visit. We should check it out."_

 _Raven sighed. "I don't_ — _"_

 _"Come on, Raven." Gar pleaded with her. "Aren't you the least bit curious?"_

 _"No." She shook her head. When she saw Gar's face, she sighed again. "Fine."_

 _Gar pressed the button for the top floor, roof access. The horrendous elevator music started, and Raven instantly regretted saying yes._

 _"This music is infuriating," she muttered, her eyes full of rage as they finally approached the top of the building._

 _Gar shrugged with a smile. "I don't know; it's kinda catchy."_

 _When the door slid open, Raven let Gar off first. Up a few stairs they went before coming to a door. Once they opened it, Gar gasped, and Raven found herself still. The sun was just setting as they climbed out onto the rooftop, casting rays of red and orange across the sky. Dark clouds reached out to smother the remaining light, but the light remained strong as long as it could. Raven walked over to the edge of the roof, facing west. She watched the sun._

 _Gar came up next to her. "Pretty cool, huh? Dick told me it'd be worth the time."_

 _Raven nodded but said nothing. She picked up a little stone and held it in her hand. It was a cute little stone._

 _"Raven, what did Angela mean?" Gar looked at her in concern. "And Tivan? He mentioned your mother's death."_

 _Raven froze and dropped the stone. Her eyes narrowed, and she felt her hands making fists. "Nothing."_

 _Gar shook his head. "We're probably going to be dead in a few days. You can tell me!"_

 _Raven fought back tears. She hadn't cried in years and had no interest in changing this. But for some reason, being so far from Azar and her home had made her feel for one of the first times since Trigon murdered her mother._

 _"My father is a demon. He used to beat us, night and day," she began quietly, her voice not looking for pity or support, more like a narrator on a documentary. "My mother had it worse. I did my best to treat her wounds, but I failed in the end. One day, her skull broke. Trigon killed her."_

* * *

She opened her eyes and looked across the aircraft to Gar. He met her eyes and sent her a smile. In that smile was all the comfort Raven needed to keep strong in this trial. Her anger would not control her. She wasn't going to let it. She would control her anger, and perhaps use it, as her mentor had suggested.

They touched down suddenly. No one had quite registered the descent. Raven saw Gar trembling slightly and looked over at Kory. The older girl met her eyes and followed her gaze to Gar. Kory got the message. Raven saw her whisper something to the animal lover.

The Sentinel at the front of the aircraft stood "You will now unbuckle."

All the tributes did as they were told. The ramp began to lower, and they stood from their places. Gar, Kory, and Raven left the craft together.

"Remember, don't panic," Kory told the two younger children as they walked into the large underground facility.

Raven nodded and found herself walking into Warren, called Angel, her stylist. He smiled at her, his huge white wings hiding most of the view. Gar smiled at him.

"I love how you two are both birds." He grinned widely. "It's so perfect."

Angel nodded with a small smile of his own. "Well, these two birds need to get ready. Go find your stylist, Mr. Logan. You two, Miss Anders."

Gar hesitated before grabbing Raven in a hug. It was quick, and she was stunned. But she did not resist, perhaps for the first time in years. When he pulled away from her, he spoke up. "Good luck, Raven."

The two split from Raven with anxious looks. But Raven now had a much more familiar feeling. She felt alone. She couldn't decide if this was a negative; it certainly hadn't been before meeting Gar, Kory, and Dick. But, well, now?

* * *

 _Raven sat down on the fourth evening inside the common area. She was one of the first and only people there, after only Clark, Thea, and Slade. She had found a magazine in her room detailing all the latest clothing lines from this year's stylists. She found Warren, nicknamed Angel, there with his new Phenomenal Feather line. His girlfriend, Alison Blaire, called Dazzler, was also inside. Her Glittering Goddess dress line was taking off as well._

 _"What are you up to tonight?" Kory asked Raven as she approached unheard._

 _Raven closed the magazine. "Found this. It's weird."_

 _Dick, standing next to Kory with her hand in his, gave the group a smile full of laughter as he took it from her and read the headlines. "Clothing lines?"_

 _"It's stupid," Raven said flatly._

 _Dick flipped to Dazzler's entry, and his eyes went wide. "I dunno. I think you could pull this one off better than the girl in here, Kory."_

 _"Of course you do." She winked._

 _Raven rolled her eyes. She had to admit, Dick was a pretty one. And maybe had they been closer in age, things would've been different, but she couldn't stand Kory's constant teasing nature. It occasionally became too much for her. But at least now they were together, and it wasn't all one-sided staring._

 _"No Gar?" Kory asked her after a moment of eying Dick up and down. "Where'd he run off to?"_

 _Raven shrugged. "I'm not his handler."_

 _Dick whispered something to Kory, and they both giggled. Raven grabbed her magazine back._

 _"Here's that stylist from Two, Pixie." Raven looked at it. "Her quote is 'Tidy.' Wonder what that means?"_

 _Dick pulled up a chair. "What's her clothing line called?"_

 _"Pixie Dust or Bust," Raven told him, still with a straight face._

 _Kory laughed. "These Capitolites aren't very creative."_

 _Raven blinked at her. "They're stylists. By definition, they are creative."_

* * *

"Come on," Warren told her. "Let's get you prepped."

Raven followed Angel through a hallway to where a black door was, with an elevator. There were no numbers, and a few other tributes came to follow her: Kara, Diana, and Slade among them. Raven stepped into the dark elevator alone with her stylist, and Warren used his badge to take it up to wherever she was going.

The room it opened to was gray except for two things. On the right of the entrance she came from were a black locker and a bench. On the bench sat boots made of brown material and a checklist on a metal clipboard. She could only guess what was in the locker.

To her left and in front was a large, circular tube. It was made of plexiglass, clear, without marks. She guessed this was what would take her to the arena; it was something the Games never showed on television.

"Get changed," Warren nodded, a serious expression on his face for the first time since she'd met him. "Shirt is in the locker. Let's see what we have to work with."

Raven opened the locker. Two clothing pieces hung there, and pants were on the ground. Raven remained silent as she took out the clothing, doing her best to remain calm and level-headed. Warren took the jacket from her.

"Waterproof." He felt it. "Light material. Greens and browns suggest some kind of forested area, perhaps?"

"Rainy," she muttered, slipping on her tee-shirt. The shirt itself was an uncomfortable material, sort of plastic-like, but it bent with movement.

"Probably," he agreed.

She pulled on her trousers, baggy but still form-fitting enough to not be unwieldy. It had many pockets, but they were empty. Slipping on her boots wasn't difficult either; they were the perfect size. Raven found the lack of Angel's banter disturbing.

* * *

 _"Watch what you're doing," Raven growled as Angel fitted her dress to her body._

 _It was the evening of interviews, and she was not exactly looking forward to them. Raven hated being treated like a doll, but she didn't mind Warren that much. He was a nice man, if a little… bird-brained._

 _"So, you like the straps?" He clapped his hand. "I had to honor your chosen name, after all."_

 _Raven looked behind her at the mirror. Her short, black dress was flowy, which she appreciated. A purple ribbon wrapped around her midsection, and a large bow was on her left side, which had her pin in the center. But the relatively simple dress had one stunning adjustment: the little black straps turned into feathery wings as they fell down her back. They didn't swing outward but gently draped down her back like folded wings._

 _"This is based on one of the simplest items in my 'Phenomenal Feathers' collection." He grinned widely, his wings shaking as he emphasised the word feathers._

 _"Nice," she deadpanned._

 _Warren laughed. "Bear with me, Raven. I have to make money somehow."_

 _"Oh please; you were already rich. Plus, the fame isn't bad?" She raised her eyebrows._

 _With a chuckle, he shook his head. "No, it isn't bad at all."_

* * *

She tried and tried to retreat into Azarath, but the place of meditation wouldn't come. She wanted Azar; she wanted her apple stall. She wanted Stefan and Amanda and Kitty.

"Here." Warren gave her a small smile as he slipped the jacket over her arms. "And this is yours, I believe."

She took the round purple and gold pin from her stylist and nodded. "Thank you."

A buzzer went off over their heads, and a red flashing alarm whirled around them, casting scarlet light in waves on the walls.

"One minute," he told her. "Best get in the tube."

Raven nodded and set her mouth in a line. Slowly, she pushed herself forward until she stepped into the tube. Before it closed, she looked back at Warren. He spoke up.

"Alison, Megan, and I will be watching the whole time, and I'll be rooting for you." Angel smiled. "From one bird to another."

As the door shut, Raven felt the tube begin to move upward. She looked out at Angel and felt a single tear on her cheek as he smiled sadly at her and waved goodbye. She quickly wiped the tear away. This was no time for emotions. She had already lost her cool last night, during the meeting with her alliance and their mentors. Fortunately, a talk on the way out with Erik had straightened her out.

* * *

 _Raven was still furious with Erik by the time he'd caught up with her. His little "Jervis is ready, are you?" comment trying to motivate her to get ready for the Games had royally pissed her off. She had almost punched him, in front of her three shocked allies, and now was slowly trying to regain her sanity._

 _"You need to bottle that anger, Raven," Erik told her as they walked to the elevator. "Contain it, but don't destroy it. You'll need it tomorrow."_

 _Raven glared at her mentor. "I will_ not _use it."_

 _Erik pushed the button at the elevator to call it. "You will use it, or you will die."_

 _"When I get angry, I can't control it," she admitted, her face practically screaming how upset she was. "As you saw back there. I lost it."_

 _"Then don't control it. Use your anger." Erik led them into the elevator. "Because others will. And if you want to save the ones you love, you'll need to unleash that power inside you."_

 _"You mean Trigon," she spat at him._

 _Erik sighed and pressed the button for their floor. "I chose you for a reason, Raven. And not because Trigon tried to bribe me. I chose you because you know how to fight." As she went to object, he held up his hand. "Maybe not physically, but emotionally. You might be the only one capable of coming though these Games mentally stable, because you've seen Hell, and come back from it."_

 _Raven looked at the older man long and hard. She supposed he was right, but she didn't like it. "If I give in to my anger, I will become like Trigon himself."_

 _Erik flashed her a small smile. "You say that, but I believe otherwise."_

* * *

He had believed otherwise. He had pushed her to realize how strong she could be if she fought. But she was still unsure.

As she tuned back into the present, her hands were on the glass, leaving fingerprints, fingerprints just like she'd left on her window in the Capitol suite.

Raven tried her best to look up into the arena above her, for she knew where this would take her: to her impending death. But instead of grass or sky or buildings, she saw only black. In fact, it reminded her of the black Jonathan Crane had worn.

Her pulse began to elevate as she was left in the darkness. She dared not step forward, for fear of the darkness or the bombs perhaps at her feet. She glanced from side to side, unable to locate anything or anyone.

"Gar?" she tried quietly. "Kory?"

No response came. She decided to try someone definitely close by, if anyone was. Her district partner _had_ to be here.

So louder, she spoke: "Jervis?!"

Nothing. Just blackness. She felt her pulse increase, her palms sweating. She rubbed them on her jacket. Why was there nothing? There had to be _something…_ unless this had all been some cruel joke.

Suddenly, she blinked back in surprise and momentary blindness as a bright, neon green question mark formed on the wall across from her. It teased her, taunting her fright.

She shielded her eyes against the green light as it grew more intense. All around her was silent until, suddenly, out of the black abyss to either side, a voice boomed.

" **This riddle is in rhyming form, the answer is as well**."

Raven shrank back against the glass tube and felt the terror rising inside her. She couldn't focus, couldn't think.

" **The double-sounded beast's ahead, the trouble soon to tell**."

She shook her head. She had to get control of herself. She had to. Her life depended on it.

" **The first is talent you have seen in last year's Wolverine**."

 _Wolverine_. She knew that word. That was Logan, but what was he good at besides training and killing?

" **It also is a circle, large, with runners fast and lean**."

Raven closed her eyes and lowered her hands. She needed to breathe, needed to focus. She could do this.

" **The second is a name you'd know, one of your very own**."

That was easier. Raven nodded to herself, eyes still closed. One of twenty four choices. She waited for the next direction, feeling slightly better.

" **A beanstalk was his temptation to run away from home**."

 _Jack._ She knew that story well. Azar had told it to her, and her mother Angela before her. Jack and the beanstalk, Jack Hamill. But what of the first word?

Suddenly, a countdown began.

" **60, 59, 58, 57..."**

" _Jack… Jack… Runners fast and lean?"_ She couldn't figure this out.

The countdown continued. The numbers, growing smaller and smaller, mocked her fear. She needed to get control. She need to focus. No anger, no fear, just calm.

"Azarath Metrion Zinthos." She began her mantra out loud. "Azarath Metrion Zinthos."

 _Jack… running in a circle… track…_

" **20, 19, 18…"**

"Tracker jacker!" Raven shouted in a rare moment of glee.

As soon as the words left her mouth, the tube began to move upward. She shut her mouth in fear. She opened her eyes to focus. Her doom approached.


	43. Chapter 42: Let the Games Begin

**(A/N): Welcome back to our Tuesday update! This time around, we're taking a peek behind the scenes as we introduce the arena as well as some of the problems facing our ex-tributes (and soon to be ex-tributes let's be real).**

 **Thanks as always to all our writers who reviewed not only the most recent chapter but all the ones leading up to it as well. We get a huge kick out of those marathon reviews, because every writer deserves to hear good things about their writing. Keep it up!**

* * *

 **Chapter Forty-Two - Let the Games Begin**

 **Written by Canucklehead Cowgirl and robbiepoo2341**

* * *

" _It's not so important who starts the game, but who finishes it." - John Wooden_

* * *

 **In the Capitol**

 **Ra's Al Ghul**

* * *

After spending so many days with this year's tributes as Jacques Duquesne, Ra's al Ghul was pleased with this year's crop.

There was a ruthlessness to many of them that had been sadly lacking in the previous year, the Ten lunatic notwithstanding, and even those who thought they walked the more "noble" paths were cunning in their own ways. Four's tributes, for example, had a fierce edge that could be beneficial to Hydra's plans. Eight's were weapons of mass destruction even before the Games could shape them to be something moreso. The Seven siblings had been trained — that would save time in the long run…

There were so many options to choose from.

And he had time, of course. The Games were only just beginning, and Pierce had said that Fury would not make his move against Thanos until after they were finished, after he had collected each precious tribute for his Tahiti project, after he had all his chess pieces in one place.

It was, after all, why Ra's had sanctioned the effort to kill the family members of tributes and victors. If these children were isolated, with no one else to turn to — they were far more easily swayed.

He was, admittedly, not paying much attention to Daniel Whitehall across from him as the man gave his report on his methods for ensuring that they could get the tributes under their control — and quickly. It was the same as ever, promises upon promises — but unlike with Alexander Pierce, Whitehall actually delivered on _his_ promises. In fact, Ra's had been quite pleased with how T'Challa had turned after his father's death.

"Waller has no idea how deep our claws are into her task force," Whitehall said, a sort of light just behind his eyes. "And she won't know until they turn on her."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Ra's said, frowning at Whitehall for just a moment. He had plans within plans, wheels within wheels, and he was wary, every time, of putting too much stock into only one plan, one path, one goal.

Whitehall straightened slightly under his gaze, but the light was there — it had been there ever since he had been given the green light to work on any tributes that came under his command once the war got underway. Now, with the revolution teetering on the verge of realization, with the promise of so, so many people that he could turn to his wicked devices, he was practically slavering.

"Of course," Whitehall said slowly, "there _is_ still the matter of the rest of the former tributes."

Ra's leaned back slightly as he shook his head. Whitehall was so transparent. Perhaps Ra's should have waited to tell him — and Nathaniel Essex — that they would be able to do with those tributes assigned to them what they liked. Both men were obsessive — a good trait to have when it was married to the right cause, but a devastating one when it became a distraction. "Pierce is supposed to be procuring their location," he said at last. "As well as the best way to ensnare them."

"You don't sound like you quite believe that," Whitehall said, a scientific observation and nothing more in his tone, though the statement still had Ra's glancing up at him to measure him up, to be sure that there was no accusation or challenge there.

"No," he said at last, very quietly, but with an air of finality.

"There are lower-level operatives," Whitehall said, leaning forward.

"I'm not interested in using your lap dogs for something this important," Ra's said with a look of deep disdain.

"Nor should you trust them," Whitehall said with a little sneer. "Even the most obedient need fine-tuning here and there. I simply meant that Hydra has more than merely the names at our meetings at our disposal."

Ra's waved a hand. "I don't care what _name_ is involved as long as the work gets _done_."

Whitehall nodded and then leaned back, his fingers tented together. "And when it's through?"

"You've already been promised a share of the young minds," Ra's said impatiently. "I won't reopen this discussion. You and Dr. Essex and your petty territorial spats have no place in this larger fight."

Whitehall glowered momentarily, but thankfully for Ra's' patience, he didn't reopen the long-running argument. Instead, he simply got to his feet and shot Ra's a pointed look. "None of our preparations will mean anything if we don't have subjects."

"And you will have plenty," Ra's said. "Keep your mind to your own work."

With that, Whitehall shook his head slightly, though he didn't voice any further little jabs and left Ra's in peace at last to return to his consideration of the matters at hand, specifically the tributes and victors alike that would be crucial not only to winning control of Marvel but to maintaining that control. He wasn't a fool; he knew that if Thanos was so easy to knock from his perch, then the throne would be a tenuous place to sit for anyone in their cabal without first shoring up the means to crush anyone else that would take it.

But he was no Thanos; he knew he did not have to crush _everyone_ in his path. There were some who could be persuaded — through Whitehall's means, yes, but through simple logic and conversation as well, those who were on the fence, whose loyalties could be won or bought without the risk of contaminating their minds.

He had convinced Fury to allow his daughters to be trainers in the Capitol this year, and they were certainly adept at collecting information for him beyond what he could do at the swords station alone — though admittedly, so many tributes believed that they could try their hands at swords to have a chance at survival that he met a great deal of them.

But it was more difficult to get closer to the victors themselves, and loathe as he was to admit it, that was the reason he had to lean on the likes of Lex Luthor and others, especially when Sarkissian and Schmidt were preoccupied during the Games — and tightly watched.

He knew _without_ relying on anyone that several of the most recent victors, the youngest and the ones still coming to terms with their place in the world since their Games, could be easily bent. Not all, but most of them — with a little twisting.

There were, of course, those that would need to be dealt with, who could not be moved. Richards seemed to be more infuriatingly stubborn than usual — and Merlyn had shown such promise in twisting his arm… Now, it seemed, he had gone the opposite way, determined to fight for Fury and make up for his "mistake" — as though he had ever made anything but mistakes in his estimation of people _until_ Merlyn spoke with him — and taken his little cronie in Ben Grimm with him. That was disappointing, but it was not a _full_ loss, not with the Sue and Johnny Storm so irate with him…

Of course, neither of the District Ten victors would budge from their support of Fury, nor would Boltagon, set in his ways as ever. They were high profile, some of the earlier victors, with long-established support. Too high-profile to be allowed to carry on. They would need to be dealt with before the great undertaking was entirely finished, he knew.

There was also the matter of Victor Creed, who stubbornly and _graphically_ made it clear that he would not be involved in their endeavors. And what's more, he was taking an active interest in the newest victor, trying to recruit him to be an insufferable pain.

But Ra's was sure that matter would resolve itself. Even Fury's pets could not stand the man.

Other victors… he had a surer grasp of. Obviously, Sarkissian and Schmidt, who sat at the meetings of the cabal when their schedules allowed, were as deeply involved as it was possible to be. And there were of course others, drawn by the prospect of personal advancement under the _winning_ side. And Viper had her little spy at her heels — an unhealthy obsession on Viper's part, perhaps, but Ra's was inclined to let her run her work, especially when it had yielded such excellent results to turn even Barbara Morse, who had once been high in Fury's favor, to their side, not to mention her current work with the Logan boy.

Ra's had his suspicions about the rest of them, sure that Fury was working just as determinedly as he was and knowing that while the numbers of those who had firmly chosen a side favored the cabal, the size of the more malleable pool of victors was greater by far than either of their little sides in the increasingly complex game of chess — and there was not much time to decide where the pieces would fall.

If need be, he would wipe the board clean, but it seemed like such a waste. The younger victors, still tender in their lives, could be influenced. Even Odin had lost some of his power — and some of his trust in Fury, surely, after losing three of his family members to the Games. And this latest trick of the Capitol's, forcing the victors to choose… well, it had certainly revealed interesting power dynamics — and had shown who could be bought, who could be dictated to.

He tapped his fingers against the table, irritated at the thought of all that still remained to be done. This year's new dynamics under the Quarter Quell, and the lasting damage from the previous Games, had opened up opportunities that it seemed he had so little time to seize.

"I hope you haven't been wasting away all alone for _too_ long," Selene Galleo drawled out as she strutted through the door. "I do have some traps to set, you know."

Ra's shook his head and gestured for her to sit by him, unsurprised when Lex Luthor was not far behind. "Not at all," he said. "I've had much to think about, so I would hardly call it 'wasting away'." He shook his head lightly. "But you aren't here to ask about my well-being. What can you tell me?"

"Who are you most concerned with?" Selene countered with a wicked sort of smile. "Some will be easier to sway than others … some have not yet learned how to play the game …"

Ra's shook his head at her. "And that has, as ever, not changed from year to year," he said. "I'm more interested in what _has_ changed. The split between the victors from One. The obvious dictation that Sam Wilson labored under in his district choices. Odin and Lensherr — they lost family last year. What has _changed_ , in your estimation?"

"Honestly, not as much as I'm sure you'd like," she replied. "The Ones are as you said — split, but not yet fractured enough to fall one way or the other."

"No matter how hard Victor tries," Luthor said with a little smirk.

"Yes, well, give him some time; he is making some headway with her," Selene replied. "She did agree to join him for dinner tonight."

"Von Doom's romantic entanglements hold very little interest to me," Ra's said. "It's a start, but remind him that he should be focused on the end game."

"Believe me, he is," she answered in a purr. "With most of these little victors, the key is making them think they're making the choice themselves."

"I've done a little digging into Eleven," Luthor put in. "And let me tell you — if the great Falcon can be pulled on strings that tenuous, he can be pulled by ours."

"He hasn't gone the way Richards has, then?" Ra's asked, interested. "Merlyn was able to pull One's great victor on puppet strings, but they've been cut just as quickly the moment he saw the little Queen girl in person. Are all your efforts with the victors so easily reversed?"

Selene turned her head Luthor's way, enjoying watching him try to weasel his way out of that one.

"It's only a _temporary_ setback," Luthor said slowly.

"So you have no new excuses _and_ no new news," Ra's said. He met Luthor's gaze for a moment before he turned back to Selene. "The victors remember those that they are indebted to. If this is the last Games, I want them to feel that debt. _Keenly_."

"Oh, absolutely," she replied, grinning wider.

He matched her smile for only a moment before he clasped both hands together. "Then it seems we have our work cut out for us. If you'll excuse me, I have an interview to attend — and you both have victors to ensnare."

* * *

 **Phil Coulson**

 **District Nine**

* * *

"I see you're volunteering your team to get the kids on the list," Maria Hill said, her face slightly distorted over the communications screen as Coulson and his team flew out toward District Nine. "People are going to start talking, Phil. What's with the sudden fatherly affection? Second life crisis?"

"No more sudden interest than you're taking with watching over the victors," Coulson replied.

Hill waved her hand. "I'm assigned to them. Part of being a Gamemaker," she said dismissively. "You — on the other hand — you think I don't know about that incident in the _lower_ labs? Doors don't usually open themselves to let unauthorized _teenagers_ out on nighttime strolls."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Coulson replied smoothly.

"And I'll bet you have no idea how our youngest operative found her way to killing the boy that Waller and Fury have been arguing over all year," Hill replied just as smoothly. "Or how she and some of the other 'kids' have just so _happened_ to keep meeting up with more people than they're authorized to see."

"Sounds like a dangerous place for her to be wandering around unsupervised."

Hill let out a laugh that was quiet enough the microphone on the other end barely picked it up. "I'm not criticizing you for it; I'm just pointing out a pattern — one I don't think you're aware of. And you should be."

"Funny. I thought the job was to try and save these kids," Coulson replied. "At least part of it."

"It is," Hill said. "But consider what we're about to do and _then_ tell me if it's smart to get attached."

He barely paused. "It is."

Hill frowned at him for a moment longer before she looked over her shoulder at something off-screen. "Just watch yourself," she told him before she ended her transmission, leaving Coulson shaking his head at the conversation — a familiar one, at this point, if he was honest.

The transport touched down in the district not long after the transmission ended, and Coulson looked to his team. "This should be a straightforward operation," he told them. "Erik Lensherr has family still in the district, and considering Old Man Howlett's recent death, we don't want to risk any other victors' families if we can help it." He paused as he looked over his team, and when there were, predictably, no questions to that straightforward mission, he added, "The only snare is that the two teenagers, Lorna and Pietro, didn't know who their father was until the victory tour, so we may have to do some explaining."

"So, we're family counselors now," Skye summed up, playing absently with the bracelet around her wrist.

"More or less," Coulson said with a smirk her way. "And since you are our best point of contact for cases like this, why don't you try your hand, Counselor?"

"Wait, _what_?" Skye asked, eyes wide. "You want _me_ to handle this thing? I'm a _hacker._ "

Coulson gestured with one hand as they deplaned. "I thought you wanted to help people," he said, his expression giving nothing away.

"Yes. I wanted to help people by being a _field agent_ , not …."

Coulson almost smirked. "Being a field agent means more than knowing which end of a gun goes 'bang'," he said, then glanced over at Ward. "You've been her SO for this long, and she doesn't know that yet?"

"How would I when all he wants to do is yell at me about how my form isn't perfect?" Skye interjected.

"She still drops the clip instead of turning off the safety," Ward defended. "And I don't exactly _do_ the touchy-feely missions anyhow. That's not what you hired me for."

Coulson did smirk this time. "Maybe I should send you on more," he said, then turned to lead the way down the streets at a brisk pace that didn't give the team time to ask if he was joking or not.

The house they were looking for was simple enough to find — but as it turned out, the residents were not. At least, not Pietro, who was clearly not home, even as his younger sister let the agents into their house.

"He's very busy," Lorna explained with her hands clasped in front of herself. "He has to work, you know, no matter what week it is."

"Oh, right, right," Skye said, trying to find her footing before she took a step closer and lowered her volume considerably. "So, he's not in trouble, and I could care less if he ever picks up another sickle or bushel or whatever it is that he does … really. But there's some _really bad dudes_ out that are trying to kill … um. Certain people. And ... " She glanced over her shoulder and straightened herself up with a smile. "We're here to help."

Lorna stared at Skye for a moment before she let out a little noise. "Oh, God, what did he do?"

"No, no, no," Skye said, both hands in front of her, fingers spread wide. "That's not it at all. Really. This has nothing to do with anything he may or may not have done. I swear. This is … well. It's complicated."

"Your brother isn't in trouble," Coulson said, finally stepping in to help. "Neither are you. But the two of you _have_ become targets since your family ties to the Games were revealed last year, I'm sorry to say."

"Why would we be targets?" Lorna asked, frowning as she shifted her focus from one face to the next. "We ... don't ... "

"You haven't done anything — either of you," Coulson repeated firmly.

"Then why would we be anyone's target?" she asked, looking defiant.

Coulson let out a breath and leveled with her. "Someone is targeting the family members of victors and tributes," he said. "And until we have this person in custody, we want to make sure you aren't hurt needlessly."

"Wait … so we're in danger? _Because of him?_ " Lorna asked, clearly horrified. "He doesn't even _know_ us."

"Be that as it may," Coulson said, and Skye was amazed at the perfectly calm tone he could somehow keep up. "Others have been killed for no reason other than their family ties. That's what we're trying to prevent here. Just a few days ago, the most recent victor, Logan, lost his grandfather." He took a step forward. "Please. I know it doesn't make sense, but some people don't need sense to justify killing. Let us keep you safe until we catch him."

"Why doesn't he just kill the victors?"

"I don't know what his plans are yet," Coulson admitted, "but you have to admit, the victors are higher-profile and harder to reach than you are." As he spoke, he gestured for her to follow him, waiting patiently for her to process what he had told her.

"Unless he's not looking at taking us out — but drawing _you_ out," she pointed out. "I play chess. I know how this works. Remove a few pawns to bait out a bishop or a knight. That much easier to topple the king."

Coulson stopped, and Skye's eyes widened as she looked between him and Lorna. But when Coulson saw the worried look on her face, he broke out of the moment of disquiet and turned back to Lorna. "Even if that is the plan, you and your brother are two pawns that do _not_ need to be removed if I can help it," he told her. "I'm not going to take that chance with innocent lives."

"Well, my brother isn't home," Lorna said.

"We'll find him," Coulson promised her. "In the meantime, if you would go with my team, I can promise you — this is only temporary."

She looked between them again and called out to her mother before stepping out of the door. "It doesn't really feel like this is optional," Lorna said, still eyeing them warily.

"Yeah, we have a real reputation for 'let us make you let us help you,'" Skye said brightly, then quickly added, "I promise it's not as bad as it sounds."

Lorna still looked like she didn't believe them, though she did follow Coulson and Skye as they moved to meet up with the rest of the team keeping watch nearby. Coulson was just moving to explain to May that they would need to split the team — she could take Lorna back to the transport while the team looked for her brother — when the rapport of a rifle broke the air, and he instinctively grabbed both Lorna and Skye to pull them down with him, covering Lorna himself, since she was the target — presumably.

But as he was trying to calm the girls down, Ward shouted, "Agent down!"

Coulson's head came up, the dread tightening his throat for a moment before it seized him fully when he saw that it was May who was down and bleeding. For just a second, the normally stoic agent panicked — but then he saw that May was conscious, pulling herself up using Ward as a lever after taking a hard fall from a shot to the shoulder. He breathed his relief into the commands he gave the girls on either side of him: "Go, _go_!"

They didn't need telling a third time as they rushed to get out of the line of fire, though Coulson heard two more shots and ducked instinctively. He glanced toward his team, but none of them had been hit this time.

He wasn't going to question the crack shot assassin suddenly coming up short twice as he pulled the girls faster until they reached the transport, where Fitz and Simmons were ushering them in — and Simmons was ready to assess May.

"I'm going back out," Ward said as he picked up a few spare magazines and slung a rifle over his shoulder. "We have to secure the crime scene, and maybe we can catch him before he disappears this time." He headed out, with Coulson not far behind, both of them with guns drawn as they approached where it had looked like the shooter had been staged.

As Ward turned the corner, he was knocked backward by a very angry curly-haired young woman as she cracked him in the mouth — and then immediately backtracked, both hands over her mouth and her shoulders shrugged up to her ears. "Oops! I was not assaulting a SHIELD officer! I was … going after the creep with the greasy hair!"

Ward rubbed his jaw with a glare, but before he could say anything, Coulson stepped in. "He's fine," he said, and Ward shot him a dirty look. "What do you mean you were going after a creep?"

"And just who do you think you are?" Ward added.

"I mean that this _jerk_ was shooting at me, so I was going to knock his block off," the woman said, with her hands on her hips. "And I don't think I should be saying my name, considering I nearly knocked your head off."

Coulson couldn't stop the smirk as he considered the girl, especially given their assassin's track record. There wasn't a mark on her. "What did this jerk look like?" he asked her.

"Head to toe black — except for his greasy hair and bad eyeliner," she said. "He had a metal arm, and he was _not_ expecting me."

Coulson's eyebrows shot up at that, and he gestured with one hand as he asked, "Do you mind if we ask you a few questions, Miss…?"

"Pryde," she said, finally letting out her breath. "Kitty Pryde."

"Agent Phil Coulson," he said with a warm smile. "And the guy with the bruised jaw and ego is Grant Ward."

"Sorry, mister," Kitty said, waving her fingers at him. "You should probably pay more attention going around corners." She looked at Coulson with one hand trying to hide her mouth from Ward. "Is he new or something?"

Coulson couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Oh yeah," he said, ignoring Ward's look of pure annoyance. "He's still learning."

"How'd you manage to get past the guy with the gun, anyway?" Ward asked, almost sullen as he seemed to be trying to decide who to direct his glare at.

"I attacked him," she replied easily. "Better than giving him a target, right?"

"He hasn't gotten that far in training," Coulson told her with a conspiratorial smile.

"Well… I haven't been trained, but I wasn't about to let him just shoot people," Kitty said.

"And being one of the people he was shooting at, I'm very grateful," Coulson told her. He gave her a warm smile before he turned slightly more serious. "Miss Pryde, the man you attacked today has been a thorn in SHIELD's side for a long time. Would you mind coming in with us? You're the first person to see him up close."

"Am I in trouble?" she asked with a wince.

"Not at all," he assured her quickly. "In fact, you stopped an attempted murder and could very well help us arrest the man responsible."

She glanced around as she thought about it. "I don't know … I have a lot of work to keep up on," she said, rubbing the back of her neck. "I help a friend of mine too …"

"I just want to see if I can get a sketch artist for a composite of our man," Coulson said. "You've seen more of him than any of our agents, Miss Pryde. I don't think you realize how lucky you are to have survived the experience, to be frank. And I'd like to be sure he doesn't come back to District Nine because of it."

Kitty blew out her breath and finally nodded. "Okay, if it's just a short term thing."

Coulson smiled encouragingly at her. "Believe me, Miss Pryde — we won't bother you for long."

* * *

 **Amanda Waller**

 **In the Capitol**

* * *

Amanda Waller watched very little of the lead-up to the Games if she could help it, but once the Games themselves began, she watched with more rapt attention than she cared to admit, keeping her eyes out for the best tributes that she could use for her task force — not necessarily the ones that Nick Fury would have chosen, but the ones that could get the job _done_. Or could be taught to do it, anyway.

Unfortunately, to catch the beginning of the Games, that meant she had to watch the lead-in as Fury introduced the audience to the arena and kicked everything off — all while the countdown clock played in the background to the _real_ main event.

"Ms Waller," her whiny assistant said as he poked his abnormally large head in the door. "We have a problem with Cletus Kasaday."

Waller let out a sigh as she turned toward Rick Flag, her eyes flashing with annoyance. "What's he done this time?"

"He died, ma'am," he replied. "The little girl from Eleven took him down, and the information we had — all of his resets were destroyed."

The annoyance turned quickly to anger as she got to her feet. "That — there's no way Ororo Munroe had the access to his backup information _as well_."

"No, ma'am," he agreed.

Waller narrowed her eyes and looked toward the screen, where Fury was trading light banter with Patricia Walker as a warm-up — since Tanaleer Tivan was, apparently, in the hospital. And since Waller knew from the mission schedule that his assistant director was similarly unavailable… she turned to Flag. "Get me Phil Coulson or Clay Quartermain. I don't care which. Either of them will know what happened."

Flag disappeared without another word, only to return some time later with Quartermain, who didn't look overly concerned with being called to Waller's office. "Something I can do for you?" he asked lightly.

"Either you have a leak or someone is willfully destroying tribute information," Waller told him sharply.

He nodded to himself. "I'll be sure to inform the director as such. Thank you for letting me know."

But Waller glared at him, on her feet with her hands on the table in front of her. "It was willful, targeted destruction of one of the operatives _my_ team has poured hundreds of man hours into controlling."

Again, Quartermain nodded, his hands clasped in front of himself. "That sounds like it's terribly frustrating."

Waller narrowed her eyes before she let out a huff and stood up straighter. "We don't have _time_ for this," she said. "We're on the cusp of revolution, and someone is playing the departments against each other. I want to know who authorized the scrub."

"As you said, ma'am, everyone is a little busy right now to be overly concerned with something that so clearly is in the past. I'd advise your department to keep their eyes forward for the time being, since our timeline is so short," Quartermain replied. "Now, I will bring this up to Director Fury, unless of course you can manage to get to him before I do. I'm sure he'll want to look into this discrepancy immediately."

Waller leaned over her desk, clearly furious. "If this was one of _his_ hand-picked favorites, you'd investigate it."

"If this was one of his hand-picked favorites, it likely wouldn't be your concern," he replied. "And as I said, I'm _sure_ it will be investigated."

"These are our operatives. _My_ operatives. If one of them is taken out of circulation, it affects my missions."

"If I were you, Miss Waller, I'd look to my own department before looking up the food chain."

"Is that a shot, Mr. Quartermain?"

He gave her a crooked half smirk. "I'm afraid not," he replied. "Unless you choose to take it that way." He extended both of his hands. "I can't control how everyone reacts, I'm happy to report. But you wouldn't be the first person to be looking to plug up leaks."

"I'm well-aware," Waller said with a glare, "seeing as it's _my_ team dealing with Agent Coulson's problem. Mopping up after you boys again."

He let out a breath and put his hands in his pockets. "If it's too much for you to handle, I'm sure it's not too late to be reassigned."

"I'm handling my own department _and_ your problems!" she said, her voice raised. "And I bring you here to tell you something that _should_ concern you and find I have to address it myself. As usual."

"With all due respect, I am here as a favor to you," Quartermain said. "I don't answer to this office, as you well know. That is, after all, why you requested myself or Coulson, yes? Because the Director and AD were occupied?"

"Tell the _director_ that the next time he goes around my back to get rid of my operatives because he disagrees with me, he can at least have the decency to face me afterward."

"Are there any _other_ notes you'd like me to pass on the way up?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Watch yourself, Quartermain," she said in a far more deadly tone than before. "This regime isn't going to last forever, and your position won't mean a thing when this is all said and done."

"Neither will anyone else's," he pointed out. "I'm looking forward to it."

"My point exactly." She finally leaned back and away from her desk. "Get out of my office."

"Nice to see that runs in the family," Quartermain said with a smirk as he turned on his heel and strode out, leaving Waller simply fuming as the final seconds of the countdown played behind her.

* * *

 **Nick Fury**

 **Stage Preparation Area**

* * *

This was Nick Fury's least favorite part of being the Head Gamemaker.

There were parts of the job that he would never enjoy, decisions that had to be made, and lives that hung in the balance — and all of that was _far_ more important than the theatrics that he had to go through at the beginning of every single Games as he introduced the arena and hyped up the spectacle.

 _At least this is the last year,_ he thought to himself as he ducked away from a stagehand who seemed to think that he needed even _more_ prep than what he had already received.

Patricia Walker was already on the stage — which was itself a wrench in the works. She'd had to step in for Tivan, who was not expected to make it through the night after whatever those kids had done to him. Not that Fury would miss him. Not that _anyone_ would miss him.

The screen behind her was lit up with the colors of Marvel, but soon, it would show what the kids were about to face. This year, things would be slightly different, beyond simply the identity of the interviewer. It was the Quarter Quell, and a few changes had been made. For example, as egotistical as Edward Nygma was, the man had a few good ideas, ones that Thanos himself seemed to approve of, and that alone made him useful. Thanos needed to be distracted, so that he didn't see the revolution coming until it was upon him.

But Fury would get to that when he did the interview. His Gamemakers' team already had everything queued up for the show; now all he had to do was sit through small talk with Patricia until the Games began — which, admittedly, was a far easier task with Patricia than Tivan.

On the stage, Patricia was almost effortlessly drumming up excitement, not in the manic, breathless way that Tivan would do it — instead, she would simply talk about what was coming with an easy smile until she finally announced the Head Gamemaker.

Taking his cue, Fury strode onto the stage as the approving roar of the crowd rose up to meet him. The lights were bright, and the audience was as loud as ever, but Fury, true to his reputation, did nothing more than raise a single hand in acknowledgement before he sat in the interviewee's chair, where two dozen kids had been only yesterday.

The audience finally settled as Patricia sat across from Fury, letting the applause come to its natural end as she smiled at him. Even given the circumstances that had led to her placement in that chair, she was handling the last-minute job with poise. "So… Here we are. The first ever Quarter Quell. You have to be excited."

"It's a milestone," Fury agreed with the slightest tip of his head.

Patricia was actually well-matched to Fury — with none of Tivan's showmanship but plenty of honest excitement and smiles. "It is," she agreed. "We all know that this year is different already, just based on the interesting choices the victors have made for the tributes this year."

Fury nodded slowly. "They're the only ones in existence that have the experience to draw on for this kind of choice."

"It certainly shows," she agreed. "But now that we've met them all, we're ready to see what they can do in the arena, which we're all about to see." The crowd roared its approval, already thrilled with the buildup. She waited for quiet again before she turned back to Fury. "So, what can you tell us, Director?"

Fury leaned back easily. "You're about to see for yourselves," he said, "but this year, we're throwing one last challenge at these tributes before the claxon rings."

There was a murmur throughout the crowd; this was unprecedented. They were so used to the Games starting right off with a bloodbath, and Fury could tell that a few people were disappointed, used to the bloodsport. But they hadn't seen what was coming yet.

"That is to say, one extra hurdle before the fight starts," he said with a forced smile in place. "Last year, our tributes were so altered by one particular type of mutt, we elected to be sure that a slightly revised version of an old favorite returns with a bang."

Another murmur rippled through the crowd — maybe a few of them were starting to follow the clues — as Patricia looked visibly surprised, which in and of itself was a nice change: an honest reaction rather than Tivan's overly dramatized version of events.

"That _is_ quite the change," she said. "Having mutts so early in the Games, before the bloodbath even begins."

"No one should die before the Games _start,"_ Fury said, as a means of his own clarification. "The tributes will get the opportunity for an early peek at their surroundings, based off of their own cunning and ability to think under pressure."

As Fury's prep team had queued up, the screen behind them flashed with the images of several tributes in the pitch-black room underneath the arena, green question marks glowing before them. Patricia looked surprised for a moment before she turned to Fury. "So, we're getting our early peek with them?"

"Exactly," Fury replied gesturing to the screens. "For the first time, you can see and hear exactly what they do moments before the launch."

Patricia — and the rest of the audience — turned toward the screen. Everyone there was murmuring softly; no one had ever shown what it really looked like for the tributes about to die. The Capitolites were thrilled.

"This is … definitely different than any other arena reveal," Patricia said at last, her eyebrows high.

"The arena will be clear soon enough," Fury said easily, putting the hungry Capitolites off a moment longer. "Momentarily, this year's tributes will be faced with a mental challenge. If they can solve it quickly, then you'll be treated to the first peek of the arena."

The audience fell into a sort of thrilled silence, all eyes on the screen as the cameras were sure to focus on the tributes that had solved it first — the recording slightly delayed from live for just that reason so that the Capitolites got every inch of the action they wanted. The tributes from Three, to no one's surprise, were some of the first to get it — and as they rose on their platforms, the cameras went with them to reveal the lush green of the arena ... as well as a sort of feedback, a noise low in the background that seemed to echo through the trees.

Patricia let out a low sort of hum of surprise as she and the audience took in the swamp the tributes found themselves in: the Spanish moss, the tall trees, the buzzing insects, the mud and water _everywhere_ …

"This area has long been hard to navigate and survive in, even with the best of supplies and preparation," Fury said. "The natural dangers alone that these tributes will face are nearly innumerable. Yes, we have the usual water and food issues that I'm sure will crop up, but this year, more so than others, the natural pitfalls of the arena itself should prove to be interesting. None of our tributes should have much of a leg up on the others. Those that know the forest will be in new territory with the water. Those that are in touch with the water will find that the water they thought they knew is entirely unforgiving. Snakes, insects, alligators, and much more await them once the claxon rings."

"A fight against each other _and_ nature itself," Patricia said, the understanding clear to see on her face. Unlike Tivan, she didn't go into theatrics, and instead, Fury almost smirked to himself as he could see her working it out for herself. "And I'm guessing from the buzzing we can hear now that the tributes won't have to wait long before they meet the answer to the riddle."

"We thought it was fitting, considering how last year's Games truly kicked into high gear," Fury answered, knowing that he had to give more specifics from his R&D department so there would be no confusion. "But these are not exactly the same creatures as in years past. This year, they have been genetically modified so they won't be fatal with a dozen stings, or even two dozen." He paused as the screens panned out, revealing the extent of the infestation. "Of course, they're a bit more aggressive than we're used to seeing, and the hallucinogenic properties are still the same."

Patricia nodded thoughtfully with a concentrated look on her face. "That is one way to kick things into high gear right from the start," she said. As a few more tributes started to rise up on their platforms, wide-eyed and taking in the arena, the countdown got a bit louder the closer it got to zero. "And you're anticipating that several of them may be stung before they even step off?" she asked with her eyes slightly narrowed.

"All of them," Fury replied. "Every last one of them."

Her eyebrows rose and her lips parted slightly as she took it all in. "Then this," she said, nearly whisper-quiet in person but still well-heard with the microphone picking up his every word, "will be … a Games to remember."


	44. Chapter 43: Little Lion Man

**(A/N): Hello, and welcome to our Friday update! THE GAMES ARE FINALLY HERE. This is our first chapter that takes place in the arena itself, and we're kicking things off with the ever-talented abrokencastiel and Garfield Logan.**

 **Thanks as always to all of our writers who have reviewed. We're all excited too! And thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for your review and for letting us know what you like. We always look forward to hearing feedback!**

* * *

 **Chapter Forty-Three - Little Lion Man**

 **Bloodbath**

 **Garfield Logan of District Ten**

 **Written by abrokencastiel**

* * *

" _Remember me and smile, for it's better to forget than to remember me and cry."_

— _Dr. Seuss_

* * *

The darkness was so quiet he could hear his breath echo off the walls around him. Gar stretched out a hand and felt the smooth sides of the cylinder. His heart was hurting. _Hammering_ , he mentally corrected. _Hammering so hard it feels like it's hurting._

The seconds stretched out, and the itching feeling that something was wrong made the hair on his neck stand up. Hank had said that he would be put into the arena quickly, that he would get a bit of time to orient himself before the countdown ended. _Don't move before the countdown is over,_ Hank's had warned him, firmly but kindly. _Or it will all be over before it starts._

Why wasn't he moving? Was his tube broken? What if everything was starting and he was missing it? What if Raven was alone?

He was about to call out when a bright green question mark flashed on, hanging in the air before him. Gar blinked and held up a hand to shield his eyes from the sudden light. A lilting voice abruptly spoke from just over his shoulder, making him jump and crouch down in anticipation of an attack.

" **This riddle is in rhyming form. Its answer is as well."**

"What?" Gar asked, his voice cracking.

The voice continued, unheeding. " **The double-sounded beast's ahead, the trouble soon to tell."**

"Oh, crap." His face fell as he tried to concentrate.

" **The first is talent you have seen in last year's Wolverine.  
It also is a circle, large, with runners fast and lean."**

Gar was at a loss, but desperately tried to remember all the words.

" **The second is a name you'd know, one of your very own  
A beanstalk was his temptation to run away from home."**

The voice died out and left Gar with his mouth agape. This was not something he signed up for. _What was the first bit? Running wolverines?_ He couldn't do this. The words were all mashed up already. He was going to let everyone down.

"No!" he said out loud, closing his eyes and grasping the bracelet on his wrist. "Breathe. Think. Slow down."

The last section of the riddle ran through his head. He remembered the beanstalk story. His mom had told it to him when he was younger. It was one of his favorites. There was a boy and his cow. The boy's name was — "Jack!" Gar practically yelled, instant relief flooding him. "Jack like Jack Hamill. One down."

The hint about running meant absolutely nothing to him. Instead, he tried to use the first part of the hint. He hadn't paid any attention to the last Games, but he did know Wolverine. Logan had talked to them the night before, when they worked out their alliance with Dick and Kory and Raven... What did he want them to focus on? Survival. Being careful. Finding shelter. Finding food.

"Hunting?" Gar asked aloud. "Hunting jacks? No, no it has to rhyme. Hunting jacking? Finding jacking?" The words flowed out of his mouth as soon as he thought them. "Scavenge jackenge? Hunter jacker? Finders jackers? Jackers!" Gar started banging on the sides of the tube. "Tracker jackers! The answer is tracker jacker!" Even as he was yelling the answer, his tube had begun to move.

Gar moved back into the center, balancing himself as the walls dropped past him and he emerged into the arena. His eyes adjusted to the shaded light quickly, and his heart did a somersault. It was green. So much green. He couldn't help the small smile and brief sigh that escaped him. Green was his home. If only the buzzing insects weren't there.

The boy held perfectly still and focused. The immediate concern was finding his friends and getting the lay of the land. Slowly, so as not to offend the tracker jackers, Gar moved his head just enough to look to either side of him. He breathed slowly through his nose. They were in the middle of a swamp. The glowing blue Tesseract was in the middle of the circle of tributes, blocking his view of the other side. All around were scattered weapons and supplies. Strategically placed among the goods were large clusters of tracker jacker nests. It would be almost suicide to go for anything near the center. The mentors were right — they needed to steer clear. The tributes' pedestals were surrounded by water. That was good. If it was deep enough, they could use the water to avoid most of the tracker jackers. The countdown was almost up. Thirty seconds.

"Haha!" A short laugh to Gar's left alerted him to Jack's presence. "Little late to the party. Have trouble wrapping your little brain around the clues?" the tall tribute called across the distance between them. He didn't seem perturbed by the buzzing insects, even dismissively waving a hand to smack one out of the sky.

A giggle from Gar's right was the girl from Six. _Angela_ , Gar remembered. She didn't look as at ease as Jack, but not exactly perturbed by her surroundings. His first goal would be to get far away from the pair. That and grab Raven.

 _Where is she?_ Gar quickly looked around the rest of the arena. A few more tributes were just appearing, a few seemed to have been out for a while, and some were still missing. He couldn't find Raven. _Maybe she's on the other side of the Tesseract. That'd be good. Far away from Jack._

Gar slowly lowered himself into a crouch on his pedestal, getting out of the major airways of the jackers. He kept searching for the other members of his team. The countdown reached fifteen seconds, and Raven finally appeared from the tube on the other side of Angela.

"Raven!" Gar called out before he could think better of it. Her blue eyes met his across the distance, and he naturally gave her a relieved smile. Jade emerged next to Raven a couple seconds later. That was good. Jade wasn't on Jack's team and would be getting out of dodge. Everything was going to be okay. He could deal with nature and stick close to Raven once they escaped. As long as they could get away from the other tributes, he could keep her safe until they joined up with Dick and Kory. _Does she know how to deal with the bugs?_ He frowned, suddenly worried.

"Raven?" The almost laughing question came from Jack, the tone of which made Gar's stomach drop.

The countdown ended. The cannon fired. The Games had begun.

Gar tore from his pedestal, jumping as far as he could to clear as much water as possible. _Jack's going for Raven,_ was the only thought in his head as he abandoned all pretenses of avoiding tracker jacker stings. All that mattered was getting to her before the maniac did.

"Run, Ray!" He could only hope she heard him over the sudden rush of noise from the tributes and buzzing jackers that had been disturbed by the loud cannon. The mud and ankle-deep water sucked at his feet as his shorter, dyed-green legs pumped. He made it to Angela's base and sped past. She hadn't gone far, apparently trying to gauge what Jack was going to do before she made her move. As Gar had feared, she was going for Raven, too.

Gar pushed himself even harder, reaching out and pulling Angela back by the arm. The movement knocked her off-balance in the water, and she fell. Gar tried to run past her, but she shot out an arm that tripped him to the ground. He twisted in the water and kicked out with his free leg, breaking her hold on him. A burning on the back of his neck marked a tracker jacker sting. He slapped the insect away and immediately pulled out the stinger, hoping the venom would wait at least a little longer before taking effect.

"Gar!" Raven called out to him as she hesitated just outside the ring of pedestals. She was waiting for him, but he wished she wasn't. She hadn't gone nearly far enough to be safe from the maniacs. Precious seconds were lost as he scrambled back to his feet. He could practically feel Jack's breath on his neck, though he wasn't sure if he was imagining it or not.

"Go! I'll catch up!" he urged breathlessly. The water and mud pulled at his boots, slowing his sprint. Raven looked between him and the safety of the trees. She finally bit her lip and turned to run.

Movement to his left caught his attention. Without looking, he knew it was Jack. He wanted to not look, knew that looking would waste time, but he couldn't help himself. Jack's path was going to converge with his. The tall tribute must have made a dash toward the outer rim of supplies and circled back. The long legs gave him a stride that put Gar's little legs to shame. The clown's red lips were pulled back into a wide grin. His bright green eyes were trained on Raven with a look of crazed hunger. Gar had seen the same look in a rabid dog. There had only been one way to stop the sick animal back then. He didn't know if he could do the same now, but he was desperate enough to try.

Raven glanced back, her eyes widening when she saw the Joker coming up fast. Panic made her careless, and she slipped, falling to her hands and knees in the shallow water. For a brief moment, Gar had hoped that he would actually beat his opponent to his friend, but each stride of Jack's was two of Gar's. Jack pulled ahead as the distance closed and reached the struggling girl first.

"Why don't you let me help you up?" he asked smoothly, not appearing out of breath in the least. He reached down and jerked Raven up roughly by her hair. "What? No 'thank you'? No smile for my assistance? Well, that's just no good. That's just bad manners! I think I need to fix that." A pocket knife flipped open in his hand.

Gar didn't think about what would happen before lowering his head and charging like a bull. He didn't care. All that mattered was getting that glinting knife away from Raven. His head collided with Jack's gut before the older teen could react. The impact knocked Jack to the side, breaking his hold on Raven, but not on the knife.

"Well, aren't you the little spitfire?" Jack sneered.

Gar stared him down, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. "I never did like bullies."

A flash of movement caught Gar's eye, and he yelled at Raven to watch out a fraction of a second too late. Angela, covered in mud and dripping water, grabbed Raven from behind, twisting the girl's right arm up between her shoulder blades. Gar had thought he'd lost the Six girl after their brief tussle, but it appeared Angela had simply chosen to go at a quieter pace than the flat-out run of the boys.

Gar moved toward the girls but was stopped by Jack stepping between them. In the background, Gar could hear the screams and yells of other tributes as they fought off each other and the tracker jackers. They were too far away and too distracted to pay any attention to the stand-off taking place just outside the ring of pedestals.

"What's the matter, Jack? Can't stand a fair fight, so you have to bring a knife?" Gar's hands clenched into fists to keep from shaking.

The Joker tipped his head to one side, an uncomfortably wide smile plastered to his greasepainted face. "I know you two, don't I? Two of Dickie's little Titans." He chuckled, twirling the knife in one hand. "Of course, I would have preferred your leader, but I think Angela and I can make do."

Angela smiled as well and put more pressure on Raven until she let out a small cry.

"Stop!" Gar begged, despite knowing it would do no good. Jack's grin seemed to be stretching to impossible proportions on his face. A small part of Gar's brain knew it had to be the venom taking hold, but it couldn't convince the rest of his brain that what he was seeing was false. "Let her go. You can do whatever you want to me, just please let Raven go."

"No!" Raven shook her head, trying to escape from Angela's grasp. "Don't you dare touch him! Get out of here, Gar."

"Calm yourself, my dear; I'll get to you soon enough," Jack tutted. Gar could see multiple spots where jackers had stung him, but Jack didn't appear fazed in the least by the venom. "Angela, keep our friend under control, will you?"

"Of course." Angela knocked Raven to her knees.

The green teenager glanced past Jack to the other tributes, trying to find his friends. He couldn't see Jade from his point of view without turning away from Jack. He hoped she had gotten far enough to be safe. He still couldn't see Dick or Kory. They had to be be on the other side, maybe even long gone if they sprinted in the other direction. He didn't get any more time to search before Jack swiftly stepped forward and swung a long arm at him. Gar barely avoided the first few swipes. He blinked, and suddenly there were three Jokers slashing from different directions. His normally quick reflexes were slowed in the swampy environment, and he faltered. The disorientation from the venom didn't help.

"Garfield!" Raven screamed as the knife sliced across his torso, leaving a line of blood.

Gar gasped in surprise and pressed a hand to the wound. It didn't hurt. At least, not yet. The warm liquid stuck awkwardly between his waterproof shirt and skin. It looked too bright to be real on his hand. Jack didn't pause in his attack, but at least the hallucination of multiple attackers had faded back into one. The next swipe caused Gar to fall backward in an attempt to avoid it. A quick glance past Jack revealed Dick sprinting toward the group from a lifetime away. He must have heard Raven.

"Whoops. That was quite the tumble." The Joker cackled as he advanced again. Gar gritted his teeth and kicked out at Jack's legs. His attacker expertly caught Gar's left ankle in a tight grip. "That wasn't nice at all. We can't have you doing that again."

In one quick motion, Jack slammed his foot down on Gar's kneecap while still holding Gar's foot in the air. White-hot pain exploded from the point of impact, and Gar screamed, arching and twisting in the swamp water in a pointless attempt to alleviate the pain. Over his cries, he could hear the manic laughter.

"Looks like that got their attention," Jack snickered. "Both bird-brains are headed this way now. You had better hope they learn to fly." He reached down and grabbed Gar by the back of his shirt and dragged him closer to where Raven and Angela were waiting.

Gar could barely see anything through the tears that clouded his vision. He wanted to fight back against Jack's hold, but every movement sent another wave of pain through his leg. A gasp escaped him as Jack dropped him to the ground.

Jack almost danced to the front of Gar, smoothing his hair back. "Make sure she has a good view, Angela. I'd hate for anyone to miss the show." He spread his arms and bowed to an invisible audience.

"We definitely wouldn't want that." Angela twisted Raven's head in Gar's direction. She whispered something into Raven's ear that had Raven trying to fight against the hold again.

Gar pushed himself up on his elbows in determination. Water and mud caked his torso and burned in his cut. He glanced down and almost cried out when shimmering leeches appeared to be attached to his torso. He frantically tried to brush them off, but his hands couldn't seem to grab the creatures.

"No, no. Don't get up." Jack kicked Gar's injured leg, sending another spasm of agony through his body. "We still have some time to spend together before the little birds get here. Plenty of time to have some fun." The teen grabbed Gar's right arm and, with practiced grace, snapped his forearm.

Another scream tore through Gar's throat, ending in a whimper. Jack continued twisting his arm back and forth as the green tribute writhed on the ground, frantically trying to pry off the strong hands with his still-functional arm. He couldn't tell if the crying he could hear was his own or Raven's.

"Ha haha ah!" Jack's manic laughter filled his ears. "You look just like a little fish flopping around." The long-legged tribute squatted down and dragged the pocketknife along Gar's cheek. "I don't think you see the irony as well as I do."

Gar pulled away, barely getting more than a few inches before Jack stopped him. The older teen continued to laugh as he knelt with one knee on Gar's chest, pressing him into the mud below the water. Above Jack's head, Gar was sure the sky was turning red.

"I really would love to play around a bit more, green bean, but I _do_ have a schedule to keep. These Games can't win themselves now, can they? So we are going to have to move on. Besides, the music is reaching the climax. You can hear it, can't you? No? No matter. I still have to take care of your little girlfriend."

Gar's blood ran cold, and he snarled, fighting against the pain and the Joker to try and do something. Anything. He grabbed Jack's arm and jerked the knife hand closer to his mouth. The movement caught Jack off-guard, and he didn't get to react before Gar bit down hard on the base of his thumb, holding on until Jack punched him in the side of his head, snapping his head to the side and making his ears ring.

"There's the round two fighting spirit! I'd hate for you to have given up already." Jack shook his hand, pondering the semilunar teeth marks on both sides of it. A few places were actually bleeding. "Quite a mouth you have on you. Now, if you'd be so kind, I would love for you to scream a bit more for me. Can you do that?" Jack slashed out quickly, slicing into Gar's forehead.

Gar clenched his jaw and glared defiantly through his watering eyes. Jack simply sighed and stabbed him in the shoulder, driving the blade until it hit bone. Before Gar could react, Jack flipped the knife in the air and drove it straight into the hand of his good arm. The knife dragged through his hand in a zig-zag and ripped it apart. The green boy choked back the yell in his throat.

"Oh, come on now. I know you can scream better than that." Jack nonchalantly rammed the knife into Gar's stomach, just below his ribs, and dragged down. Unlike his chest, the deeper slice instantly hurt.

Gar cried out without realizing he was doing it. His good leg instinctively kicked out, and Jack reached back to stab his thigh without a glance. "That's better. Now, keep that up while I finish my work. If you pass out, I might get bored and move on to more lively prey."

The knife moved back to Gar's forehead, and quick, jagged movement dragged it across his skin. Warm blood was leaking across his face into his eyes and mixing with his tears. Each cut's pain simply bled into the overarching ache from his broken limbs and gut wound. A final, deep slash just above his eyebrows was done with a flourish.

"Beautiful!" Jack giggled. "An artist always signs their work. Remember that, Angela." Gar could barely see through the blood in his eyes, but he could make out the shadow of Jack's figure looking around. "Time is moving quicker than I expected. Seems these birds can really fly when they want to."

Gar used the moment of distraction to grab at Jack's knife again. He managed to get a hold of the blade momentarily, but between the blood already coating his injured hand and Jack's quick jerk, his grip was quickly lost. The maniac bodily lifted Gar and stuck the offending arm underneath the boy before replacing his knee on Gar's chest.

"If you want the knife so badly, why didn't you say so?" Jack asked gleefully. "Let's see, where do you want it the most? How about here?" The knife lodged between Gar's ribs. "I may not know as much about slicing and dicing as the butcher boy from last year," Jack continued conversationally as he removed the knife and considered it a moment before plunging it into a similar spot on the other side of Gar's chest. "But I do know my way around the body. For instance, when torturing a particularly annoying person, make it last. It's also important to remember that it's not always the visible scars that cause the most damage."

It was getting harder for Gar to breathe. There was pressure building in his chest that uncomfortably weighed down his lungs. He struggled to shift and to make it easier for him to inhale, but Jack was unrelenting. The tall tribute leaned down so he was inches away from Gar. His teeth had transformed into fangs and were dripping venom like a snake.

"However, I will admit it's very satisfying to give real scars." Jack dragged the knife along Gar's neck, from jaw to clavicle. It was so delicate a movement that if it hadn't been for the warm liquid dribbling to the side, he wouldn't have known he'd been cut.

Splashing sounds were getting closer. At first, Gar thought he was imagining it, but the annoyed look that crossed Jack's features told him all he needed to know.

Gar managed a small, halting chuckle through the discomfort of his chest. "Now you're in trouble. You can't take on both of them at once, and they're not scared of you."

"Is that so?" The Joker's eyes narrowed, his crazed grin becoming a sneer. "I think you've said enough, don't you?"

Gar saw what was coming, and his eyes widened. He struggled with all the strength he had left. Every movement of his damaged limbs sent spots to his eyes, but he couldn't not fight back as Jack grabbed his hair.

"Hold still!" Jack ordered. He straddled the smaller boy's torso to get a better angle and used the edge of his knife to pry apart Gar's teeth. Jack released his hair and pinched in Gar's cheeks to keep his mouth from closing again.

Gar was already screaming weakly as the cold knife found its mark. The older teen's strong hand pressed Gar's head back into the ground as the metal surgically sliced through the green boy's tongue. There was surprisingly little pain, but the knowledge of what was happening was more devastating than anything that had happened so far. As his fear escalated, Gar started seeing creatures of varying shapes and sizes shimmer into existence. Monsters he'd heard of in children's stories. They were all laughing with their sharp teeth and dripping tongues. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block them out. The screams became more gurgled as blood filled Gar's mouth. He felt the warm liquid bubble up through his nose and leak across his cheek.

Quite suddenly, the presence of Jack disappeared. Gar blinked open his eyes to see the monsters had disappeared as well. A little ways off, Jason was fighting Jack. Angela appeared at the edge of his line of sight away from Raven, leaving the two teammates behind to try and help her own. Water sloshed next to him, and a soft hand cupped his face, turning his head away from the fight. Raven gently pulled his arm out from behind him and cradled his head in her lap.

A million things needed to be said, but he knew he wouldn't be able to say any of them. Jack had made sure of that. He tried anyway, choking on the sticky liquid coating his throat. He was having more trouble getting air into his lungs between the blood and the ever-increasing pressure inside his chest. He was getting light-headed. Gar reached over to his right wrist with movements that felt like lead. He tried to undo the bracelet, but his damaged fingers weren't working.

Pale fingers joined his green ones and shakily helped him untie the knot. Raven gave him the bracelet, but he pressed it back into her hand. He unsuccessfully tried to speak again, only managing to breathe in more blood. There was barely any air entering his lungs. He convulsed slightly, his body searching for air that wasn't coming. Gar wrapped his bloodied hand around Raven's as best he could, closing her fingers around the bracelet. His gaze drifted briefly to look behind her, relieved to see that Dick had almost reached them.

 _She's going to be okay_. He focused back on her face and tried to give her a smile. Tunnel vision was constricting his view, but it didn't matter as long as he could still see her until the end. He just wished he could say something to make her smile one more time.

* * *

 **(A/N): In the previous installment, we kept a running tally of deaths at the bottom of Games chapters, so that our readers could keep track of which characters are still in the game and which are not. We'll be doing the same thing again this time around, like so:**

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill


	45. Chapter 44: Know When to Fight

**(A/N): Hello, and welcome back to our Tuesday update - and Happy Halloween! This time, we're looking in on how someone else fared in the bloodbath: the talented Jade Nguyen, written as always by tvfa69.**

 **Thanks as always to all of our writers who reviewed. That first chapter was a serious punch to the gut, and we promise that not every death is going to be that awful. We're not THAT evil. ;) But it was quite the beginning, right? Cas knocked it out of the park.**

* * *

 **Chapter Forty-Four - Know When To Fight**

 **Bloodbath**

 **Jade Nguyen of District Ten**

 **Written by tvfan69**

* * *

 _"Time's up."_

 _-The Cheshire Cat, Alice Through the Looking Glass_

* * *

Today was the day.

After a whirlwind of time in the Capitol, all of it spent training and bending over backwards trying to get sponsors, the Games were finally upon them.

The morning had gone by much too quickly for Jade's liking. She and Garfield had been woken and given a quick breakfast before they were put on a transport with the other tributes and brought to a compound from which they would enter the arena. She and Gar were close together as they walked the halls of the building, until they had to split to change into their arena clothing.

"This is your stop," Raquel, Jade's stylist, said. Jade eyed the door anxiously, knowing that once she stepped through it, she would be sealed into whatever fate was waiting for her in the arena.

"So I uh… I guess I'll see you on the other side." It was Garfield's small voice that pulled Jade from her thoughts, instead prompting her to look down at him. He was staring up at her with a reassuring smile, though the expression didn't quite reach his eyes in the way that it normally did. "Hey, I probably should've said something earlier. I guess I just thought you wouldn't be interested or something. But if you get into trouble in the Games, I'm sure the Titans would love to have you as part of our group," he offered, and Jade's instinct was to roll her eyes and scoff at him, tell him that his precious little alliance was likely to crumble within a day, but with the way his eyes brightened with hope, she just couldn't bring herself to do it.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said instead, and his whole face lit up in excitement. Of course, he couldn't just quit while he was ahead, and the next thing that Jade knew, he had her trapped in a bear hug.

"Alright kid, get off," she commanded, wriggling in his grasp until he finally let go and allowed her to be led through the foreboding door by Raquel.

The room was small, yet it felt much too big for only housing the one pod. Jade felt her heart freeze at the sight of it, her stomach turning slightly as the reality set in that _this is happening._

"He seems like a sweet kid," Raquel commented, in reference to Garfield, but it was beyond evident in her eyes that she feared Gar might be a little _too_ sweet for these Games.

Jade nodded, her mask of no emotion already set into place.

"I'd like to do this alone," she said coldly, bluntly, and if it came out a little rude, she didn't really care. She knew that the tributes were allowed to ask their stylists to leave if they wished, and she didn't want any of Raquel's flat attempts at reassurance.

The stylist looked a little taken aback by the request, but she did understand it. She had learned by now that Jade liked her alone time.

"Of course," she answered, opening the door to let herself out, but as she did, she turned back. "Amistad and I will be rooting for you."

With Raquel gone, Jade changed into the clothes provided in the room, the uniform that all the tributes would be wearing, and almost walked right off toward the platform that would take her up when, suddenly, the door into the room reopened.

Whirling around, she was met with the sight of Professor X wheeling himself into the room, a small grin on his face.

"You didn't really think I wouldn't say goodbye, did you?" he asked as he closed the door, and Jade scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"You're not supposed to be here." She spat, knowing that the mentors were usually all together as their sacrifices entered the arena. With how close they were to the launch, it was past time for him to be gone with the others.

Then again, Charles Xavier did have a habit of breaking little rules solely to irritate the Gamemakers. It was his idea of peaceful protest, and probably the only thing about him that Jade respected.

Not that she would ever tell him that.

He chuckled at her words. "In the short time I've known you, Jade, you've never struck me as one to follow the rules," he teased, and she huffed. She was about to ride a tube up to he death; she wasn't in the mood to be teased.

Just then, the red lights flashed in the room, the one-minute warning.

"You know, you went pretty far to take revenge on a kid," she snarled at Xavier before she could heed the warning, because no way was she going into that arena and not reminding him of why first.

He looked at her, perplexed, before his features shifted with understanding.

"You think I chose you out of revenge?" he asked, and Jade narrowed her eyes. Of all responses, she hadn't expected Xavier to play dumb.

"Didn't you?" she snarled. "Wasn't this all to make an example out of me?"

He laughed at that, actually chuckled as though the mere notion of a man as peace-preaching as himself extracting revenge on a young criminal was the most backwards insinuation in the world. Ok, maybe on paper, it was exactly that, hilariously ironic, but that didn't make it right.

"I'll admit that I chose you because of the break-in," he said, reaching up to lay a hand on her shoulder. "With the annual Reaping only days away and tensions already running higher than normal because of the changes that were made to the process, you still dared to break into my home. Not only that, but you avoided nearly all of my cameras and every other security measure. I had to choose someone by the day of the Reaping, Jade. Believe me, I didn't want to, but since I had to, I decided on someone who I could truly believe would make it out of these Games alive," he explained.

The sincerity of his words had Jade speechless. All this time, she truly thought that Xavier's motives were those of revenge, despite how he had genuinely tried to help her throughout the training process and the politics of the Capitol.

He must have seen the shock on her face, her mind racing back through everything that had happened recently and seeing it all in a new light. He smiled at her understandingly; he must have known by now that her pride would keep her from apologizing — and that seemed alright by him. He dug into his pocket to pull out a small, circular container that was barely the size of his palm and held it out to her.

She took it, hesitantly, and twisted the cap open to see that it was greasepaint.

"Couldn't you get in trouble for this?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"The Gamemakers and President Thanos don't care for me as it is, and it's not as though I'm giving you a weapon," he reasoned. "Besides, you're allowed a token."

Jade smirked before recapping the container and slipping it into one of the many deep pockets of her pants. "So long, X." She waved with a mock salute as she climbed into the cylinder, the red light at its head warning her again that it was time to get in.

He smiled at her, and Jade had never in her life known what pride might look like, but she could've sworn that was the emotion expressed on her mentor's face.

"Good luck, Jade; give them hell," he advised.

She almost laughed, as it was very rare to hear something as blunt and dark, not that it was very dark, from Professor X of all people. But she couldn't laugh, because that was when her glass pod moved and began its ascent into a void of darkness, sealing her off from her mentor.

After a few minutes in the darkness, the pod almost seemed to stop, or maybe it had just been moving through nothingness for so long that Jade simply couldn't tell it was still moving. She decided to inhale through her nose, deeply, shaking out her wrists as she slowly exhaled in a vain attempt to rid herself of her nerves before the cylinder rose up into the arena. She leaned back against the cool and sturdy glass of the pod, taking in and letting out yet another breath.

"Ok, calm down, Jade," she said to herself. "You can do this. You can do this, you can do this." She went on with her little pep talk to herself. A part of her, a very small part of her that she had tried very hard to squash down over the years, wondered if she were lying to herself.

What if she couldn't do this?

What if she died out there?

 _No,_ she thought to herself. She couldn't die out there. She had too much at stake back home. She needed to make it back fast in order to care for her mother; otherwise, she'd be left with only Lawrence for a parent, and Artemis would likely never leave her side again.

She began to wonder, then, if maybe her mother was already dead. Lord knows her father had never bothered to help care for her, and Artemis barely knew how. Jade shook her head, and her arms, again, bouncing from her heels to her toes with anxiety. She needed to make it out of these Games, needed to give Red a smug grin and tease him about being worried over her. She needed to use the publicity and the rewards that come with winning these Games to set herself up for a new life, far away from her father.

Failure wasn't an option.

Suddenly, a neon green question mark illuminated the wall in front of her. Jade squinted at it, her eyes adjusting to the sudden light in the previously dark pod.

 **"This riddle is in rhyming form. Its answer is as well,"** a man's voice began relaying through the speakers behind her at the top of the pod.

 **"The double-sounded beast's ahead, the trouble soon to tell.**

 **The first is talent you have seen in last year's Wolverine.**

 **It also is a circle, large, with runners fast and lean.**

 **The second is a name you'd know, one of your very own.**

 **A beanstalk was his temptation to run away from home."**

Jade couldn't help but simply stare at the question mark with an arched eyebrow once the voice — most likely a recording, but with the Games you never know — was finished. What the hell was any of that supposed to mean?

She figured enough from the first clue that the answer to this riddle was a rhyme, and normally, she wouldn't even care about solving something so stupid — but she had a feeling that there must be a reason this feature had been added to the Games. It could very well be the difference between life and death.

She had no idea what the double-sounded beast this thing was talking about was, and was this large circle a target? But what was that about a runner?

"Does anything even rhyme with target?" she wondered out loud. Sure, there had to be _something,_ as "orange" was the only word Jade had ever known as being infamous for having no rhyming partner.

Then again, "target" probably wasn't the right answer anyway.

She moved on, hoping that some other type of circle would come to her mind. There was something about a tribute from last year, nicknamed Wolverine. Jade didn't know much about him, other than that he fought with some type of claws and that he had won. She had barely paid attention to last year's Games, plus it _had_ been a year. It wasn't like she reviewed the history of the Avenger Games before going into today.

 _That wouldn't have been a bad idea,_ she thought to herself grudgingly, mentally kicking herself for not thinking of something like that earlier.

There was something else in the riddle about one of their very own, most likely meaning a tribute from this year. She supposed the next line was supposed to help her narrow that down from the twenty-four of them. A beanstalk… Jack! Jack Hamill from Eight. He had to be the one the riddle was referring to.

Ok, so she had a target, Jack, and the guy from last year who was famous for making claws in the arena. What did those three things have in common?

"Was Wolverine from Eight?" Jade wondered aloud, pacing in a small circle as she tried to recall the previous victor's home district.

She growled as she walked in a small circle over and over and over again. She had no idea what this stupid thing was talking about.

"Enough with the tests!" she bellowed, slamming a fist against the wall of her pod. "Just let us kill each other already!"

 _Be careful what you wish for._

Her stomach suddenly flipped as she felt her pod moving upward. Whatever advantage she could've gained by solving the riddle was gone by now, and she only hoped that her pod wasn't about to be pumped with poison gas or some other form of punishment for not solving the riddle.

Her body jolted as the pod came to stop, and she gathered her bearings as quickly as she possibly could. This was it. The Games were beginning.

The walls of the tube fell away to reveal the arena, a huge swampland. There were trees all around them, making the clearing where the pedestals were circled around the Tesseract hardly a clearing at all. Shallow, mucky water surrounded their perches, and Jade just knew that it was only going to get deeper the further into the arena that they dared to go. Looking to the right of her, Jade saw Kaldur from district Four, and on her left was Raven from Nine. She smirked at that, knowing that her own district partner had a bit of a crush on the older girl. She looked around some more, her gaze quickly landing on Garfield, who sure enough had his own attention locked onto Raven. She could see Jack, too, laughing tauntingly about something, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes in annoyance. Everyone knew that Jack and his girlfriend, although pet might be a better word for her, were completely off their rockers. Most people said that such a thing made them dangerous, which was an assessment that Jade agreed with, but she also liked to point out that it made them extremely obnoxious human beings. The only tribute whom Jade actually cared enough to look for — aside from Garfield, and that was more a feeling of obligation than actual worry — was Harper. But she had to be on the other side of the Tesseract, because there was no sign of the telltale blue hair anywhere in sight.

 **Ten**

 _Shit,_ Jade thought. The countdown had started without her.

 **Nine**

She felt a flinch, a tightening of a muscle in her ankle waiting anxiously to jump off and book it, but she had to be patient.

 **Eight**

 _Whatever they throw at you, get up and hit them back harder._ Red's voice, his final words to her back in the courthouse, echoed in her mind.

 **Seven**

 _Do you think it's gonna be me?_ Artemis's question flashed through her brain, the fear of her first ever Reaping having given her nightmares for weeks prior.

 **Six**

"A whole lotta people are gonna di-i-ie!" The voice of none other than Harley Quinn sang out, the psychotic tribute from Eight smiling broadly as she slipped her… was that lipstick? Jade was pretty sure it was a tube of lipstick that she dropped into one of her deep pockets.

 **Five**

 _Shut up, circus act,_ Jade thought to herself with an annoyed snarl, in regards to Harley of course.

 **Four**

The quivering in Jade's ankle returned, this time running all up the length of her leg and into her hip, her body aching to move already and get far away from these people.

 **Three**

The image of Gar jumping her in a hug this morning invaded her mind.

 **Two**

 _Give them hell._

 **One**

 _Showtime._

The cannon fired.

Once the cannon sounded, Jade launched herself backward off her pedestal, being sure to spin around in midair so that she wouldn't waste precious time on the ground turning around. She took off running the second even one foot hit the ground, not taking more than a half a second to allow her body to absorb the shock of her landing. She needed to get out of there and into the trees with as little conflict as possible. Would having her hands on a weapon be helpful? Of course it would be. But even with all her confidence in her skills, she wasn't willing to risk running right into the center of the bloodbath just for the chance to grab a knife or a bag of food or something.

Already, there were tracker jackers swarming everywhere, seemingly out for just as much blood as many of the tributes. The insects didn't really have Jade worried. Tracker jackers may not exactly been common in Ten, but that didn't mean her parents hadn't exposed her to plenty of other toxins over the course of her short life to build up her immunity. Of course, that only included one or two actual tracker jacker stings, but still, she was fairly certain she could handle more than a few stings before the venom would take control of her mind.

Not that she wanted to test the theory.

The screams were starting, she noted. Behind her, Jade could hear all the blood-curdling screams of the tributes who were losing their fights, some of their times in the Games being over when the competition had barely begun. She refused to look back, just kept running. She had to make it far, far away from all of this insanity. She had to find shelter, or food, just something. She had to set up a base, some area where she could come and go from, at least until this time tomorrow. Then maybe she would dare return to the Tesseract, scope it out, and scavenge for some of the leftover supplies, as there was bound to be something. She would see how it all played out, but for right now, she needed to get away from this madness. She needed to—

"Garfield!" A scream of despair cut Jade's thoughts off cold.

She turned around. She had nearly made it to the edge of the clearing and far from the danger of the bloodbath, but she turned around. Her gaze landed on the far off but still all too close scene almost immediately. Garfield was standing, or staggering might be a better word, back after Jack Hamill had slashed what appeared to be a knife not far from his face.

Jade nearly turned back toward the trees, as it didn't quite look to her like Garfield had really been wounded by Jack's blade, and there was no way that she could make it in time to help him. But the girl from Six, one of Jack's known accomplices, wasn't too far and had Raven pinned to the ground.

Then there was another scream, this one from Garfield, before Jack dragged him by the ankle over to Angela and Raven.

Jade knew that she needed to run. She knew that she was lucky nobody had noticed her just standing there on the edge of the clearing yet and stabbed a knife through her back. She needed to go; she needed to run away now and not look back. But she couldn't bring herself to move.

She felt numb as she watched the scene unfold before her, only dimly aware of the sharp stings from tracker jackers as they landed on her. She couldn't tell if she swatted at them or if she simply allowed them to go about their business poisoning her. Her attention was completely glued to Jack — the Joker, as he had been nicknamed — while he grabbed hold of Garfield's arm and snapped it like a twig.

 _Artemis's shrill cry filled the air, white bone jutting out of her skin as her arm was twisted and cracked at a funny angle. Lawrence towered over her, his deep voice laughing maniacally as he reached down and jerked his younger daughter's newly broken arm around like a toy. Artemis tried to move, to get up and fight, but she was no match for Lawrence. He got in her face, pulled out a knife, and knelt down on her, one knee being more than enough to sink her deep into the mud._

 _"I really would love to play around a bit more, green bean, but I do have a schedule to keep. These Games can't win themselves now, can they?" he asked her mockingly, a sadistic smile spreading onto his face and… wait._

 _Green Bean? Lawrence had always referred to Artemis as "baby girl"_ — _and Games? Was he talking about training? What did he_ — _?_

 _Right._

Jade shook her head and slapped at the jackers attacking her, messing with her thoughts and making her mind see something different than her eyes.

It was the Joker.

The hellish clown had Garfield nearly drowned in the mud, and a bloodied fist slammed into what Jade assumed was her district partner's face, though she couldn't see, given her current angle. But she saw the knife go down again, harshly, and saw it come back up with thick crimson flying off its blade.

 _Artemis, surprisingly, didn't make a sound when Lawrence drove his knife into her shoulder, at least none that Jade could hear. Then, as he pulled it out only to go down again somewhere lower on her opposite arm, she coughed. Whether it was on the blood or fear rising inside of her throat, Jade wasn't sure. But then Lawrence went at her again, impaling the knife right into her stomach with such force that Jade felt sick even watching. Artemis cried out this time, a loud and deep feral scream of pure agony._

She shook her head again, trying to rid herself of the effects of the jacker venom.

Garfield needed help; she knew that. But running in with Joker, Angela, and countless other tributes whom she had no reason to trust all right there would be suicide. She would be dead before she could ever get anywhere near Garfield.

But then there was an opening.

It was risky, it could be lost at any moment, and if things remained the way that they were now, it would put her right between at least two, if not three, death battles. But as the screams of the thirteen-year-old boy, or maybe the twelve-year-old girl — Jade wasn't completely sure anymore which was the dream and which was reality — pounded against her ears, she knew that she had to try.

She took off in a sprint, or at least the closest that she could get to a sprint in the shallow but extremely thick water of the swamp. Tracker jackers were everywhere by now, and as she ran through swarm after swarm, Jade knew she was lucky to come out with as few stings as she did, either because the jackers couldn't always get through her clothing or because their focus was on something even more disruptive. A lot of the other tributes were gone from the bloodbath by now, or on their way out, or dead. The point was that anybody still here was either busy or dead, and therefore not exactly in a position to take the easy kill of an open target running back towards the danger.

Jade's eyes narrowed as she saw Jack yank Garfield up by his scraggly hair, blood oozing from his abdomen. She growled at the sight, her speed increasing as she ran for her target, dirty water sloshing all around her as she did. She could see Gar's sunken and defeated face — _gray eyes nearly drained of life as Artemis let out a small groan_ — and she _had_ to get to him.

She didn't have a plan; planning had never exactly been what Jade was known for. In all honesty, she was running towards one of the Games' most sociopathic killers with absolutely no weapon, and he would undoubtedly hear her feet splashing in the water before she got anywhere near him. This was a suicide mission; so it was probably for the best that she fell.

A rather large rock hidden on the floor of the swamp tripped her, sending her flying face first into the mud with a shout of surprise and a _splash!_

Picking her head up, spitting out mud, and wiping water out of her eyes with an arm that was dripping wet itself, she searched wildly to regain her view on Jack and Gar. She saw Jack, and the boy from Six, Jason. She hadn't even seen him before, but he was tearing into Jack with murder in his eyes, and his friend from Seven was not far behind him. She searched frantically for Gar, knowing that he couldn't have gone far with his injuries. Yet she couldn't find him anywhere. As she widened the perimeter of her search, she noticed that Angela had become caught up in a completely new fight, and Raven was free. In fact, Raven was over where Jade had initially been searching for Gar. She was on her knees, bent over something, and as Jade wondered why the tribute from Nine wasn't running, her eyes began to sting as her subconscious realized _what_ it was that Raven was bent over — or, more specifically, _who._

Instinctively, her body moving without any coherent direction from her mind, Jade began to scramble backwards. It was already a miracle that nobody had yet bothered with her; she didn't need to push her luck by lying on her stomach only a few yards away from two of the messiest fights in the blood bath. With any luck, Jason would kill Joker before leaving, and if he didn't, she sure as hell would the next time she crossed paths with the sadistic son of a bitch. Right now, she had to leave, but still, she wasn't doing anything more effective than crawling backwards.

That was when her toes came down on something… odd. It didn't feel like another rock beneath her feet, or even a bone, for that matter. Slowly, Jade reached her hand back, and her eyes widened when she found her fingers brushing against the handle of a knife. Somebody must have dropped it in a mad retreat from the bloodshed. Finally having the sense to get to her feet, Jade grabbed the knife and turned and bolted to get the hell out of the madness.

"I'll give you one chance to drop the knife!" The voice had Jade halting in her tracks. It was feminine, deep, and slightly unhinged due to either jacker stings or adrenaline — Jade wasn't entirely sure which.

She scanned her surroundings for the voice's owner, though the jacker venom in her own system was making that just the tiniest bit difficult, blurring most of the nearby trees into each other. Still, she managed to lock her sights on Helena Wayne from Seven coming out from behind a mass of tree-shaped blobs at the edge of the clearing, not more than a few feet away, and aiming a loaded crossbow at Jade's heart.

Jade growled through clenched teeth; she was so _not_ in the mood to deal with this.

"You've got your weapon; now, get out of my way before you end up on the wrong end of mine." She hoped there was more venom to her words than it sounded like to her own ears, not that it mattered much.

"I had that knife first," Helena shouted, her aim still precisely locked onto track for Jade's chest, but her gaze was beginning to wander. "Drop it, and I won't kill you."

"You had it. Past tense," Jade snapped tauntingly, trying to ignore the pounding sensation starting in her head. "Not my fault if you can't hold onto something."

She could see it in Helena's eyes; she was going to fire either way. So Jade narrowed her own eyes, zoning in on the trigger until Helena started to pull it, and then she jumped to the side.

She made it, just barely, and the side of the arrow left a shallow gash across her cheek. Jade paid it little mind, though, and charged at the other tribute with her knife clutched firmly in her right hand. Helena had a limited number of arrows, so she couldn't simply keep shooting.

Sure enough, Helena's long-range weapon became a liability in close range combat, and the girl wasn't exactly eager to put it down. Still, her skills were up to par with Jade's own, and that meant she was just fine fighting with one hand occupied. Jade tried to get a few hits in with the knife, maybe even a stab, but Helena countered every move that she made. On both ends, every punch was blocked, every kick was dodged, and every slashing of a knife or an arrow was avoided. Their fight moved about in an unsteady dance, nobody quite capable of gaining the upper hand with their pounding blood rushing venom through their systems. The other tributes from the area were all long gone by now, resolved to leave the two girls to kill each other.

Though Jade didn't necessarily want it to come to murder, she was not naïve. She would kill Helena if she had to, because this was the arena — kill or be killed.

Jade would not allow herself to end up the latter of the two options.

But Helena was clearly not going down without a fight, and after finally landing a good punch to the side of Jade's face, she backed off, only for Jade to suddenly feel a sharp ache tear into her leg.

"GAH!" Jade screamed out; she couldn't help it. Looking down, she saw an arrow jutting through and back out of the outer side of her right thigh. Helena had used the punch to get enough distance to shoot and was now stalking closer once again.

But she was no longer staring at Jade. Her gaze was fixed, wildly, off in the distance, and the tip of the new arrow in her crossbow was dancing in figure eights. With an effort, she seemed to pull her attention back to Jade and away from whatever she was hallucinating. "Last chance," she panted. "Give me the knife."

"No way," Jade breathed out before delivering her own hard punch to Helena's abdomen and a swipe at her ankle with the knife. The wound she made was barely a scratch, and probably wouldn't slow Helena down in the long run, but the punch was enough to knock the other tribute down. Jade turned and, finally, high-tailed it away from the center of the arena.

She ran through the swampy environment of the arena. She ran fast, and she ran far. The arrow was still lodged though her leg, and blood was streaming from the wound, trailing down her leg in bright red streaks. She tried not to think about the dull and yet somehow also excruciating pain that only seemed to intensify with every step she took. She couldn't go far; she knew that. But she had to get as far as she could from any more danger, if such a thing were even possible in the Games.

Her salvation eventually came in the form of a very small, very dead tree sticking out of the water with a few of its tall roots already shriveled and broken away. It would be a tight squeeze, but the opening looked to be just large enough for her to fit through. Ducking her head, she hobbled inside the tree's trunk to find it was indeed cramped but still workable for dealing with her leg.

"Nrg..ga..aahh." She grunted and moaned as she eased herself into a crouch on the tiny sandbank beside the shallow water, careful to keep her wound dry. She knew, of course, that wounds should be cleaned to avoid infection, but looking at the filthy water in which her feet were submerged, she decided that washing in this case was more likely to cause infection.

Another noise of discomfort escaped her lips as she grabbed hold of the arrow; this was going to hurt. She breathed in deep through her nose, out slowly through her mouth.

"One," she murmured to herself, eyes pinched shut. "Two…"

 _Wait._ An idea crossed her mind. It would ruin a potential weapon, but it might save her leg from further damage.

She took her knife, still clutched in her right fist with a death grip, and twisted herself so that she could see the arrowhead. She winced with the pain that came with holding it steady, using her other hand to move the knife like a saw until the arrowhead was free from the rest of the arrow. Once she was left with only a stick through her leg, Jade finally put the knife down and returned to her original position.

"Ga-ah!" She gasped out when she pulled the stick out from the same direction it had entered, panting heavily once it was out. The pain spiked but quickly began to fade.

She had to think fast. The arrow had pierced far from her bone and maybe even her muscle, but that didn't change the fact that there was now a freaking hole in her leg. She wasn't likely to bleed out from it, not anytime soon at least, but she still needed to address it.

Dress it.

Thinking fast, and hoping the Gamemakers didn't have any cameras that could see inside of the hidey hole — but even if they did, she didn't have time to worry — Jade first stripped off her rain jacket before shimming her pants down to her knees. She then pulled her shirt off over her head and laid it out on her lap. She frowned then, only remembering in that moment that her uncomfortable shirt was waterproof and made of some weird material that most likely wouldn't absorb a lot of blood.

 _Of course not; that would be too easy,_ she thought to herself before deciding that this was still her best option, and so, she picked up her knife once again and stabbed it through the fabric of the shirt.

Once she had a ring of fabric cut from the bottom of the shirt, thus marking the shirt now as more of a crop-top, she cut the ring in half and tied it expertly around her wound. It wasn't a perfect fix, not by a long shot, but hopefully, it would hold up until she managed to get some help.

Finally, as she slipped her clothes back on and fumbled a bit in doing so, the events of the day began to catch up with her.

The canon had echoed.

Raven had screamed.

Garfield had died.

The green teenager who had been like another obnoxious sibling to her ever since the train ride following the Reaping was dead.

He wasn't just dead; he was tortured. She watched nearly the entire thing, although there were parts that she couldn't see with the angle she'd had and parts the jacker venom had warped in her mind's eye. Still, she knew that Jack drew out Gar's death and made it as painful as he possibly could. Her fist clenched, and her already leaking eyes flashed with anger at the thought of how such a bright and innocent boy had received such a gruesome death. Just the thought of it had her tears streaming even faster down her face and her breath coming out in strangled gasps. It had been a long time since Jade last allowed herself to cry so freely, but she couldn't help it. The rage was boiling within her, heating her skin and making her limbs tremble as she all but fell over and braced her weight onto her hands and knees. Her fists angrily gripped clumps of the wet sand underneath her until her knuckles turned white. With every second that passed, her cries grew louder and louder until they were nearing the point of feral screams. Her world was spinning with the combination of rage, jacker venom, and exhaustion that was flowing through her system.

She should've been there! She should've stopped it! It wasn't fair! Garfield was just a kid! He was barely old enough to be reaped, he had people who cared about him, he shouldn't even have been there! Jade punched at the shallow water at the edge of her little sandbar, hard enough for droplets to fly up and join her tears, screaming until her throat was raw. The actions of what could only be described as a class-A meltdown eventually became too much for her normally well-controlled body to handle, and so Jade soon found herself vomiting up what she had eaten that morning.

Catching her breath after the sudden bout of sickness, Jade finally began to calm down. As her head started to clear, she sniffled and collapsed back against the wall of bark behind her. Her tears were still flowing freely, but they were much quieter now as the anger slowly began to leave her body, and the regret started to sink in.

She should've stuck by Garfield during training. She should've yanked him from the fake branches of those trees and put a knife in his hands. She should've brought him into the ring that first day and showed him how to take down an opponent bigger than himself, instead of simply taking him down. A part of her frantic mind knew that McCoy was his mentor, but so what? She was his _partner._ She should've acted like it; she should've had his back. She should've… She should've… should've…

* * *

 _Ever the light sleeper, Jade awoke at the sound of a scream coming from the other side of her wall. However, she determined quickly that there was no danger coming for her just yet, and she was very comfortable on the soft mattress of the hotel bed and warm under its thick blankets, so she easily drifted back into slumber. But the night was not yet done with her, apparently, and not even ten minutes later, a soft knock sounded at her door, followed by the sound of the handle turning._

 _"Jade?" a whispered voice called out, and Jade was suddenly very grateful that she was a stomach sleeper, with her head facing away from the door; maybe he would leave. "Are… are you awake?" His frightened words came as she heard shuffling footsteps make their way into the room._

 _"Hm?" she hummed sleepily, hoping that the guilt of waking her might be enough to send Garfield out of her room and back to his own._

 _"It's… it's really different here, isn't it?" he asked almost conversationally._

 _Jade scowled into her mattress. Was this kid for real?_

 _"You know," he went on with a laugh, "back home, I like to look up at the stars out in the pastures at night. The ceiling lights they have here are nothing compared to the real thing."_

 _Jade rolled her eyes in frustration._ Seriously, it's like two the goddamn morning; why is this kid blabbering about the stars?

 _"I wonder if we'll be able to see the real stars in the arena?" It sounded to be a legitimate question, and this time Jade couldn't help but groan audibly. "Jade?" he asked again. "You awake?"_

Well, no point in hiding it now.

 _"Yes, Garfield, I'm awake," she coldly spat as she rose to sit. "I was asleep, but now you're in my room." She stated it firmly, irritably, and he seemed to finally understand that she did not want him in there._

 _"Sorry, I uh… I had a bad dream," he stuttered. "I was in the arena, and it was dark, and I was alone and screaming and…"_

 _Jade frowned as he began to babble incoherently, tears threatening to spill over the edges of his eyes despite how hard he was clearly fighting to keep them at bay._

 _"Garfield!" she finally snapped, cutting off his rant. "What does any of that have to do with you being in my room?" she asked, and despite the dark, she could've sworn she saw a blush rise to his cheeks._

 _"I was uh… I was wondering if since I'm having nightmares, you've got to be scared too, so I uh… I figured I'd come check on you," he offered._ God, this kid is a terrible liar.

 _"I'm fine," she replied flatly, causing Gar to visibly deflate in a way that was almost comical._

 _"Oh… uh… ok. Well I guess I'll uh… I'll…"_

 _Jade groaned as he went on. She really wanted to get back to sleep, and this kid was clearly not going to let that happen._

 _"Here," she interrupted, chucking a pillow at him, which he caught with a surprised "oof." "I spend enough nights with my sister's elbow in my ribs; I am not spending my time in The Capitol like that. If you want to sleep in here, the floor is wide open. Goodnight," she explained almost mockingly before flopping herself back down to her previous position facing away from him. She half expected to hear him leave, but instead, the only shuffling she heard was that of him lying down on the hard floor and making himself as comfortable as possible._

 _"Night, Jade."_

* * *

She sniffled away another tear, groaning at the memory.

* * *

 _Jade rubbed her hand against the latest bruise to adorn her cheek, glancing over at Artemis sitting on the bed opposite her own; the little blonde looked even worse._

 _"I told you dad would come after you," the nine-year-old mumbled as she wiped at her own bloody lip._

 _Jade only frowned. "Four days without walking on eggshells around him; it was worth it," she spat defensively with narrowed eyes. She had tried running away, again, and this time managed to stay away for almost a full week before Lawrence tracked her to one of Red's older camping spots in the woods and hauled her back home._

 _"For you," Artemis muttered, even more quietly than her previous words, but Jade still heard the comment and frowned._

 _"Get your head out of your ass, Artemis," she snapped at her sister. "Dad is never going to change; if anything, he's only going to get worse. No one is going to help you; you need to help yourself."_

* * *

She sighed at that memory; she should've been a better sister.

Looking around at the inside of the dead tree, her breath still shaking with tears, Jade knew that she couldn't stay there forever. She needed to move on. She needed to find food and a more permanent fix for her leg, preferably while she could still walk. She opened a pocket to store away the blood-coated arrowhead, in case she could make use of it, but stumbled upon something else.

Her greasepaint.

* * *

 _"Whoa! You look so cool!"_

 _It was Garfield's ever-annoying voice that was suddenly being directed at her, and she noticed him practically skipping over to her from where he had previously been fawning over the chariot horses. They were getting in line for the parade, and while Jade had seen her fair share of weird costumes already, her district partner's was certainly up there with the strangest. His actual costume was fairly simple: a purple and black colored jumpsuit. But what really made him stand out was that his entire body, hair included, had been dyed green._

 _"Thanks," she said as he reached her. Her outfit was meant to be an evolution of the green kimono she had worn to the Reaping. This one was the same color, but long enough to reach her ankles and made of real silk. Her messy hair had been brushed and straightened out until it revealed its true length could reach all the way down to her waist. She was wearing it down, with a clip pinning part of it up on the right side, decorated with a jade stone, because her stylist simply couldn't resist. But she knew that it was the red markings along her face that had Garfield captivated. She had one triangle of the paint coming down from her hairline to her forehead, two on each cheek, two very small ones on her chin, and a thick wing tip design coming off of each eyelid. "It's supposed to look like the Cheshire cat."_

 _Garfield's eyes practically doubled in size when she mentioned the animal. "That's awesome!" he gushed. "I'm not really sure what mine's supposed to be; I think it's because I pretty much live in a pasture or something. Hey, is yours gonna wash off?"_

 _Jade nodded at the question, slightly perplexed by it. "Yours isn't?" she asked, and he shook his head, still with a smile._

 _"Maybe someday, but I don't really mind if it doesn't. I like it!"_

* * *

Jade washed off her fingers in the murky water once she was finished with the paint. Gar would've loved seeing her in full Cheshire make-up again, and now, he never would. This paint was gray in color, and Jade had used it to mimic her make-up from the parade. She also added countless other stripes along her neck, arms, and newly-exposed torso. She then began plotting out her next move, and while a part of her hoped that Jack Hamill's face would be projected across the sky tonight, another part hoped that it wouldn't.

She wanted her shot at him.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill


	46. Chapter 45: Unfavorable Odds

**(A/N): And we're back with our Friday update! This time, we're showing you Cisco Ramon, written as always by the lovely and talented Ophelia Claire.**

 **Thank you of course to all of our writers who reviewed the last chapter as well as previous chapters. These Games are already hitting hard, and it's amazing to read everyone's reactions. We really do have some talented writers here.**

 **Thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for your reviews and for letting us know your favorite parts, as well as to actresspdx for your review. Yes, tvfan's Jade fits well into the Young Justice series (which had the excellent Artemis-Jade sisterhood portrayed so well), though obviously, each writer is putting their own spin on everything and drawing from the inspiration sources that they feel will best fit this world. We're glad you're enjoying it!**

* * *

 **Chapter Forty-Five - Unfavorable Odds**

 **Bloodbath**

 **Francisco "Cisco" Ramon of District Three**

 **Written by Ophelia Claire**

* * *

" _The butterfly counts not the months but the moments, and has time enough." - Rabindranath Tagore_

* * *

The tube that was supposed to take him up to the arena was silent, so Cisco could hear the blood rushing in his ears and his breathing coming fast. His stylist sank out of sight below him as the platform began to rise, and his heart sank too.

It was happening. The Avenger Games were really happening.

And he was in them.

Cisco watched the chink of light at his feet shrink to a sliver and then disappear. He glanced skyward, looking for his first glimpse of the arena, but nothing appeared. He felt the tube rise another couple of meters, and then it came to a halt. Cisco did not dare move for a moment, waiting for the tube to recede around him.

There was nothing. Just silence.

"Uh…hello?" Cisco reached out until his hands met the smooth, curved walls of the tube. He was definitely above ground now; something about the air quality had changed, if that was possible inside a tube. He rapped his knuckles on the tube walls. "I think the tube is broken…" he said. "Anyone want to take a look at that?" He probed the walls with his fingertips, but there was no opening, no way out. "Actually," he murmured, "that might not be a bad thing. Just wait out the bloodbath in here until—"

Cisco jumped as a bright green question mark flashed into view right in front of his nose, the light reflecting off his plastic-like shirt. "What the heck?"

A voice began echoing around the tube. It was artificial and cold, neither male nor female, just…there.

 **"This riddle is in rhyming form. Its answer is as well."**

"Wait, riddle? Wh—"

 **"The double-sounded beast's ahead, the trouble soon to tell."**

"You know, I'm good. No thanks on the beast. Don't need that on the first day," Cisco rattled off, but his mind was already beginning to whir. Aimless chatter was how he dealt with stress; something that his teachers were well aware of and wished wasn't so.

 **"The first is talent you have seen in last year's Wolverine."**

"Okay. What did he do? He was stabby, that's for sure."

 **"It also is a circle, large, with runners fast and mean."**

The answer surprised him when it sprang to the front of his mind before the next line had even begun. It made sense — he'd spent countless hours after school with a stopwatch in his hand, watching Barry sprint around the running track on the school grounds. Even in the off-seasons, Barry was set on maintaining his speed. He'd set a record in his first year of high school and immediately been plucked off the freshman team by the upper year coach.

If Cisco was being picky, a running track really wasn't circular, it was elliptical, but there was no time to be pedantic in the Games, especially with the next lines of the riddle echoing around the tube.

 **"The second is a name you'd know, one of your very own.**

 **A beanstalk was his temptation to run away from home."**

The question mark disappeared and was replaced by a glowing green '60', which immediately began ticking downward.

Cisco's first thought when he heard "one of your very own" was a member of his family, but he quickly realized that only Caitlin would know their names. Though if this riddle was tailored only to him, they would have access to that kind of thing, wouldn't they? But then again, he couldn't see them coming up with twenty-four individual riddles… or maybe they would...

Cisco reached up to fiddle with his glasses, only to remember that they'd done something to fix his eyes so that he would no longer need to wear them — because glasses didn't fit in with the "look" of a killer, and that's what you had to be to win these Games, wasn't it? He missed the feeling of the bridge resting firmly on his nose, and he missed being able to play with the bows while he thought.

In lieu of fiddling with his glasses, he tapped out abstract rhythms on the cool walls of the tube. "It's gotta be a tribute," he said aloud. He grinned then, as he realized that if the answer to the riddle rhymed, then there was only one option: Jack.

 **51\. 50. 49.**

"Okay. Track and Jack… Jack and track… Jack track…" Cisco's heart skipped a beat as the answer hit him all at once. "Tracker jacker," he whispered.

 **45\. 44.**

As soon as the words left his lips, he began to rise once more, and the tube began to fall away around him. Sunlight poured in overhead, as well as muggy, heavy air. Cisco could already feel sweat beginning to form on his skin inside the plasticky clothes he'd been given to wear.

There was something else, too — an assault to his ears rather than to his skin. A droning sound, like the machinery in the factories back home. A constant, low pitch that set his teeth on edge as his feet cleared ground level and he was able to get his first look around him.

The landscape was all shades of green and brown. Tall, skinny trees grew directly out of murky water that seemed to cover the entire visible area, including right up to the base of the pedestals, most of which were empty.

 _Swamp,_ his brain supplied, even though he'd never seen one in real life before, and hardly ever in books.

Cisco cast his gaze across the circle, spotting Caitlin almost out of view behind the Tesseract. She'd gotten the riddle quickly too, then. Cisco couldn't help but smile a little — maybe brains could prevail over brawn in this arena.

The Tesseract was on an island; if it could be called that — it was really just a dry patch raised slightly out of the water. The water wasn't too deep, if the items poking out were any evidence…maybe four or five inches, though if there were any deeper spots, it would be hard to tell for how brown and murky the water was. He would have to watch his footing.

And right in the center of it all was the bounty of supplies that the Gamemakers would expect the tributes to rush for as soon as the countdown was over. Dozens of backpacks and bundles made of the same waterproof, plastic material as his shirt sat in the water. Swords and spears poked from the muck like more skinny little trees.

Something darted past his nose. Cisco jumped, flailing an arm slightly as he fought to keep his balance; and he realized with a sinking feeling that he'd overlooked a crucial detail.

Some of the objects he'd thought were bundles of material on first glance were the wrong shape and color. They were brownish, and sort of egg-shaped. He could see tiny shapes flitting around them and through the air as well.

 **33\. 32. 31.**

 _The riddle warned you, didn't it? It said 'the beast was ahead,'_ he berated himself. He should have realized that the riddle was about more than just getting out of the dark tubes — it was _always_ about something more when it came to the Avenger Games.

Cisco pulled up the hood of his jacket and tucked his hands inside his sleeves. A few more tributes were rising up into the circle now — the boys with green hair had emerged right next to one another about a third of the way around the circle from Cisco, far enough away that he could only just see them but couldn't hear what they were saying. If they'd been yelling, maybe he could have, sure, but the platforms were too far apart — the Gamemakers wanted them to really have to _work_ to get to the supplies and to each other, apparently. The subject of the riddle, Jack, was jabbering on as usual, though Gar looked as though he would rather stick his head into a tracker jacker nest than listen to him. Cisco didn't blame him.

A hiss from his left made him look, and he found Harvey rising from his tube. Cisco groaned internally. Two-Face (reeeal original name from the stylists there) was right up there with Jack on the list of people Cisco would like to see locked up for the rest of their lives in a mental hospital.

As Harvey rose into the arena, he glanced around him, taking in the sights, and pulled something from his pocket. He tossed it skyward, and it winked in the sunlight. Cisco couldn't tell what it was, but when Harvey caught it, he studied it for a beat, then looked up, directly at Cisco. The damaged half of his face made his expression unreadable. The two held eye contact — Cisco too freaked out to look away, Harvey too interested — for a few seconds more before Cisco finally tore his gaze away. He really didn't want to know what Harvey was thinking, if he was honest with himself.

The countdown was in the teens now. He had only a few more seconds. He found Caitlin again, and she'd found him. They locked their gazes across the circle, unable to speak to one another. Caitlin was fiddling with something on her finger — the ring Ronnie had given her. She'd explained how they worked one night after dinner, and given Cisco the warm silver band to look at. It had glowed with a faint orange light as it had sat in his palm.

 _"Ronnie didn't have time to explain how they work before we had to leave," Caitlin had said, "But I'm guessing some kind of miniaturized long-distance radio transmitter inside to broadcast the signals of touch. And then maybe…hmm. I don't know how he made a heat source fit inside. If I have time on the last day of training, I might try and take it apart, just to see."_

Cisco wondered if the ring would even work in the arena; the likelihood of any sort of non-Capitol signals being able to make it out of the arena was miniscule. Cait had probably realized that too, but the ring definitely provided a modicum of comfort. At least she had a token. Cisco's only possession to make it to the Capitol had been his glasses, and even those were gone. He hadn't thought to bring anything else before he'd been dragged into these Games.

As the countdown raced through its final seconds, Cisco lifted his chin at Caitlin, hoping she'd understand. _I'm coming your way._ He was too far away for her to hear him without yelling, and even if he hadn't had Harvey Dent right beside him giving him a weird kind of staredown, he didn't exactly want to broadcast where he was headed to the rest of the tributes, either.

 **3.**

Cisco took a deep breath. His pounding heart felt like it was shaking his whole frame.

 **2.**

He tensed, ready to move.

 **1.**

The klaxon wailed, and the arena that had just been as quiet and as still as a mausoleum erupted with life and movement. Cisco jumped down, away from the Tesseract, into the murky water, which did indeed only come up to his ankles. It still slowed his running quite a bit, though, and he was reduced to a sort of rapid high-knee trudge through the muck.

The circle was a melee of activity. Cisco heard a shriek, and though no cannons sounded during the bloodbath, he knew that someone had already fallen victim to…something. A sword in the gut, or one too many tracker jacker stings, or a neck snapped by a Career's thick hands — though he supposed that last one would have been quieter, right?

The smart tributes — the ones that knew better than to try and fight off the ones that were better trained than they were — had made for the woods right away, preferring to risk surviving without supplies than fall in one of those nastier ways. He and Caitlin would be doing just that, as soon as he caught up to her. They weren't fighters, and they both knew it.

Many of the tributes that had run for the loot near the Tesseract had had the same idea as Cisco — hoods up and sleeves tugged over hands, which made it difficult to tell who was who. Everyone was just another brown-hooded figure already covered in swamp mud. But, finally, Cisco found his district partner — Caitlin was hovering a couple pedestals over from her own, using them as cover as she made her way slowly towards Cisco.

Cisco felt a pinch on his neck and yelped. He slapped at it, feeling the body of an insect crunch under his jacket collar. One must have slipped in without him noticing. The site of the bug's sting was sore, but also strangely cool. Cisco hoped the venom wasn't already taking effect. The last thing he needed was to be stumbling around in a swamp of killers with his mind out to lunch.

Had he read any books on tracker jackers? He was sure he had. It would take a few stings to get him addled. One or two might make him woozy, but he should still be able to keep his wits about him.

Caitlin was only three pedestals away now. She was crouched in the water, paying no heed to the muck attaching itself to her legs and rear end. Her eyes were wide, and her attention was fixed on the battles raging around the blue cube. Red was beginning to stain the surface of the water, curls of scarlet floating out towards the ring of pedestals like macabre water lilies.

"Caitlin!" he shouted. Caitlin jumped and turned towards him. Her lips began to form a word, but it died as her mouth and eyes opened wide in horror.

Cisco heard someone splashing behind him, and time seemed to slow down.

He started to turn around. He caught a flash of silver out of the corner of his eye.

When Dante had died, Cisco had seen his brother's body. His family had buried Dante as he was, stab wounds and all. They hadn't had the money to get him fixed up. The sight of the wounds had haunted Cisco's dreams.

It also made him wonder what getting stabbed felt like.

It turned out to be cold.

He didn't feel pain where the knife had entered his body at first, at least not what he expected to feel. It felt more like getting punched, and there was cold. Apparently, that's what happened what your blood went outside your body.

Cisco thought that there would be a lot of screaming involved, too, but when his attacker pulled out the knife and plunged it in a second time, he just let out a little grunt.

Caitlin, however, was screaming. She was screaming his name over and over as Cisco's attacker pulled the knife out and gave him a shove. Cisco stumbled and fell, somehow managing to tumble sideways and land face-up in the water.

Harvey stood over him, that same shiny object flipping between his fingers, but only just drawing the attention away from his mangled features. "Stick with five, or add one on the chest?" he mused aloud, though he didn't seem to be talking to Cisco. He tossed the object, which Cisco could now see was a coin, caught it, and looked at the side facing up. "Mmm," he mused. "Just the back, then." He wiggled his eyebrows at Cisco and strode leisurely away, heedless of the bugs flying around him.

There was definitely pain now. The swamp water seeping into Cisco's wounds was probably not helping either. Most of Cisco's strength was seeping out of his limbs like spilled mercury, but he rolled over, dug his fingers into the soft, smelly peat mud, and pulled himself to lean against the nearest pedestal.

It was getting hard to breathe. Cisco was no doctor, but even he knew that his wounds were at the very least letting air into his chest cavity, if they hadn't collapsed a lung or if his lungs weren't filling with blood. That was probably the most likely scenario, considering the injuries.

It was funny, though — he didn't really feel like he needed much air anymore. He was content to just let it drift in and out of his lungs whenever it felt like it. Even though the stab wounds were taking up most of the space for pain in his brain, he registered a couple more stinging spots on his hands and face.

He glanced around. Caitlin was gone. Had she run away? Had someone else gotten her? Maybe she was hiding. He should look for her.

He let his head flop to the side and didn't see Caitlin, but he did see Harvey. His burnt face was growing new skin, expanding until it was a whole new head growing out of Harvey's neck. The new head wore tortoiseshell glasses and a smug grin.

"Hartley…" Cisco rasped, scowling at his rival. Maybe Caitlin could kill him, since Cisco wouldn't be able to.

 _Wait, no, it's just us two from Three. Two from Three, haha…_

Cisco blinked hard. Harvey was back to normal. Cisco could feel something warm running from the corners of his mouth. Maybe he should wipe that up. He was on TV, after all. He tried for a moment to do exactly that, but he couldn't get his arms to move. _Oh well._

The air didn't seem to want to to the in-and-out-of-him thing so well anymore, either. Black spots were beginning to cloud Cisco's vision. He watched with mild interest as Harvey picked his way through the water towards the little One girl, knife in hand.

What was her name? Tina? Tia? Oh, Cisco had a _tia_. His mother's sister. Her name wasn't Tia, though. Neither was the girl from One.

Lisa? No, that was…

He didn't know who Lisa was.

And then he didn't know anything except blackness.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent


	47. Chapter 46- The Joker's Wild

**(A/N) Welcome back to our Tuesday update! Today, we're bringing you Jason Todd, written by the always amazing Savy 160.**

 **Thank you again to all of our writers who reviewed the last chapter and those before it. The Games are showing how bloody and miserable they can be already, and I sincerely hope that you enjoy today with our last look at the Bloodbath. Our writers have done an unparallelled job at showing how different an experience the kick off to the games really is for each tribute, and this chapter is no repeater!**

 **So without any further ado - Jason Todd, ladies and gents.**

* * *

 **Chapter Forty-Six - "The Joker's Wild"**

 **Bloodbath**

 **Jason Todd, District Six**

 **Written by Savy 160**

* * *

 _"There are no heroes here. There are no champions. There are only survivors." -_ Lara Croft, _Tomb Raider_

 _"In our darkest moments, when life flashes before us, we find something; something that keeps us going. Something that pushes us." -_ Lara Croft, _Tomb Raider_

* * *

Cigarette smoke wafted upward toward the heavens. Jason hopelessly stared at the very last cancer stick between his fingers before taking another long drag. The teenager's compulsory need to calm his nerves outweighed the chance of getting lung cancer. His hands shook violently as he fought the urge to vomit.

Any second now, Red Skull would show up and drag him towards the tube of death that would bring him, along with twenty-three unfortunate others, into the damned arena some sick bastard had dreamed up. _What a way to go._ Jason had practically no allies and no patrons willing to support him. Not that it mattered. He'd have to do what he'd always done in the past. The boy would have to save himself.

"It is time."

Jason looked up in the direction from which Red Skull had spoken. The man stood in the doorway, wearing his traditional leather look, complimented with a twisted smile on his face. The demon practically existed for these hellish moments.

Nodding, Jason extinguished his cigarette before falling into step behind his mentor. The teen couldn't help but tug at the loose-fitting and itchy clothing the tributes were forced to wear. His waterproof boots squeaked along the marble tile alongside the creaky leather boots Red Skull wore. _The devil wears leather._

The two said nothing as they entered the chamber containing the platform that would transport Jason into a world of death and despair for twenty-four unlucky individuals. Johann Schmidt paused as the automatic metal door was locked behind them. Jason wanly glanced over at the two Sentinels guarding the gateway to the battlefield.

This was it. He was going to the frontline.

"Are we still clear on the plan?" Red Skull demanded as Jason glanced back at the two soldiers in the room. "Do not look at them when I am speaking, boy. They are merely mindless slaves to the Capitol."

"I know what to do. I was brought into this world fighting and covered in someone else's blood. I have no problem going out the same way," Jason muttered as he locked eyes with the charred man.

"I would hope so. Remember: trust no one, kill everyone who gets in our way, and do not fail me, above all."

"Relax. I know what's at stake."

Schmidt cocked his head to the side as a dark smile crossed his face. "Do you really? Perhaps you are in need of a reminder."

Red Skull pulled out a small tablet from inside his coat pocket. He then handed the device to the boy. Jason glanced over at Red Skull before cautiously unlocking the device. The teenager nearly dropped the tablet in shock when he was met by the livestreaming page.

Bright, baby blue eyes full of fear and unshed tears looked right back at him. Poor, sweet, innocent Tim was on his knees with his hands pulled behind his back. A filthy rag had been forced between his lips to keep him quiet. The barrel of a gun remained trained on the back of the boy's head, held by one of Red Skull's hired assholes. Artemis was beside him in the same predicament. However, Jason immediately took notice of her busted lip, bruised cheek, and black eye. A cluster of dried blood clung to her bright red hair.

Nothing but pure horror was plastered across Jason's face as he turned to Red Skull. _No way._ This was some kind of sick joke. There was no way in hell that this was possible. Bizarro was fine. Artemis was fine. Tim was fine. They were all fine. Weren't they? _No._

Jason roared, "You sonofabitch! What the hell is this!"

Red Skull said nothing but shifted his gaze back toward the screen. Jason followed his movement. His jaw remained clenched; his Adam's apple bobbed up and down for a moment as the camera panned out to reveal Bizarro. The mentally handicapped man was trussed up like some kind of animal — with restraints connected to every limb and a heavy collar around his neck. Heavy chains kept the man hunched over onto the floor.

Jason's fingers tightened their grip on the electronic device. He practically lost the ability to breathe as a figure approached with a machete in hand.

"Don't do this. _Please_ ," Jason pleaded with despair in his voice.

Jason's eyes widened as the spawn of Satan drew a small dagger from inside his coat pocket and rested the tip against the teenager's cheek. Jason had given that knife to Tim before he left. _No freaking way. This isn't happening. How is this even real?_

Red Skull calmly asked, "Would you die for them?"

Schmidt applied a tiny amount of pressure, causing a small trickle of scarlet to slide down Jason's face. Jason didn't even flinch, though the Sentinels nearby did, ready to step in if it went too far. After all, they couldn't have a tribute die before their precious Games.

But as for Jason, the boy merely hissed through clenched teeth, "No. I'd kill for them. If you hurt them—"

Removing the blade, Schmidt interrupted with a hissed, "Did you dare to threaten me?" before turning his attention to the screen. He harshly commanded, "Proceed."

"No!"

A shriek full of anger and mourning fell from the teen's lips as he watched the blade come crashing down. Tim released a muffled cry, while tears fell freely. Artemis lowered her gaze. The worst part was that it took about five hits with the blade to sever the head from the neck. The decapitated head hit the floor with a splash of blood, revealing the jet black hair, pale skin, rumpled face, and blue-gray eyes that once belonged to Bizarro. The camera feed abruptly died.

Red Skull sighed. "What a tragedy. I was so sure I would have had use for such a creature of his berserker strength. Alas, time continues without his life… Something wrong, boy? You seem distraught for someone who claims to care nothing for his little makeshift family."

"I've done everything you've asked! They have no part in this! They don't know anything! Just let them go and—" Jason barked before being abruptly backhanded by Red Skull.

"The woman fought dauntlessly but surrendered once the child was threatened. However, the cretin resisted my men. He refused to cooperate and submit to me, and now, so have you. I told you not to get close to anyone, but you disobeyed me. Do as I say, boy, or you shall suffer."

Jason locked himself in place and glared at the monster of a man, who merely smirked back at the boy. Ignoring the stinging handprint now on his face, the teen swallowed hard as he fought to control his tongue. Red Skull had the upper hand now.

"Look, I'll do whatever you want. Just don't hurt them."

Schmidt replied, "I knew you would see it my way," before taking a step closer to the teen. The man straightened the boy's jacket and attempted to smooth down a slight crease before slipping the dagger into Jason's jacket pocket. "I do believe you will need this more than Timothy will at the moment."

The teen said nothing as Schmidt jerked his head in the direction of the transport cylinder, along with the two guards that hadn't bothered to do a damn thing. Jason suddenly felt queasy as he stepped toward the tube. Knowing that he couldn't take the knife in — and that the Sentinels who hadn't moved yet _would_ if he tried — Jason glanced back at the man scowling at him, testing him even now.

He made his decision in an instant before throwing the knife with such precision that it drove itself into the wall behind Red Skull with only a centimeter's difference between empty air and the man's ear, yet the man didn't flinch.

Without looking back as he stepped into the portal to Hell, Jason growled, "Give it back to Tim. Tell him I'll be back to get him and Artemis soon… No. Wait. You keep it. You'll need it more than he will when this is all over."

The tube soon enclosed Jason completely. He never looked back as the platform beneath his boots began to ascend. It took all he had to keep from crying. Bizarro was nothing but an innocent child. But he _would_ be avenged.

Jason's heart thumped dramatically against his chest as butterflies fluttered in his stomach. He closed his eyes for a moment as he tried to slow his heart rate. God, he needed a cigarette.

 **"This riddle is in rhyming form. Its answer is as well."**

 _What the hell?_ Jason's eyes snapped opened as a glowing green question mark appeared before him. _What is this shit? What's going on?_

 **"The double-sounded beast's ahead, the trouble soon to tell.**

 **The first is talent you have seen in last year's Wolverine.**

 **It also is a circle, large, with runners fast and lean.**

 **The second is a name you'd know, one of your very own.**

 **A beanstalk was his temptation to run away from home."**

"Okay. Wolverine, fast and lean," Jason mumbled as he tried to come up with an answer before shouting, "tracker jacker!" as the timer nearly ended.

The platform quickly sped up as Jason tried to steady himself. His pulse rapidly increased as he fought to gain the upper hand for controlling his breathing. Keeping calm was absolutely critical at this point in time.

 _No fear. No sorrow. No emotions. Period._

Jason took a deep breath as the portal above him opened. The boy was thrust into a world of murky mud, oozing water, and nothing but swamp land. His nose wrinkled with disgust as the vile scent of mildew and mold struck his nostrils. Dying trees, bubbling ooze, tall blades of grass, and what appeared to resemble either alligators or half-sunken logs were scattered throughout the water and muck.

Jason swallowed hard as he took note of the other tributes around him. Helena and Harvey were beside him. Not that it mattered. Jason didn't have allies. The ultimate plan was to grab supplies and get the hell out while maybe taking a few people down on the way.

The feeling of fear was soon replaced with rage and the desire to survive as his sapphire-eyed gaze locked onto the glowing cerulean box. _The Tesseract._

This was it. He'd either survive or die trying. Jason's gaze remained locked onto his weapons of choice and supplies. Honestly, he could kill with anything the Tesseract provided: the arrows, the knives, the rope, the spears. If all else came down to it, he wasn't afraid to snap a few necks either. Either way, Angela or the Joker would be the first to go. Red Skull wanted the bitch gone, and Jason wanted the bastard dismembered.

A faint buzzing popped near the teen's ear, momentarily breaking his concentration. Jason practically groaned as he noticed several tracker jacker nests surrounding the supplies. Getting stung by one hurt like hell, and the aftereffects were even worse. The hallucinations literally drove even the insane crazy. Red Skull had so graciously introduced them to Jason a few years back in order to test the boy's tolerance. Needless to say, no one was equipped for dealing with the genetically modified hornets, even after years of exposure.

Jason returned his attention to the matter at hand as the timer slowly counted down. He leaned forward, taking his starting position as he slowed his breathing. All of the other tributes leaned forward as well. Jason kept his gaze glued on the Tesseract while blocking out Helena's slow, steady breathing and Harvey's muttering.

 **Five.**

 **Four.**

 **Three.**

 **Two.**

 **One.**

Time seemed to slow as everyone launched themselves off their starting marks. Boots flew across the marsh as everyone scrambled to grab the best weapons. Jason raced toward the Tesseract while trying to dodge a few of the tracker jacker nests. Screams of pain and the aroma of blood filled the atmosphere. Jason pressed on until he paused to grab a backpack and a pack of throwing knives.

Looking for a way out of the hellish scramble, Jason's gaze frantically darted back and forth before landing on Raven being knocked aside by Gar. Gar had literally pushed her out of the way of an attack from a blade wielded by Jack. She cried out from where she lay on the ground, with Gar shielding her from harm. Her fingernails dug into the oozing muck as she tried to pull herself out of the way, only to be straddled by Angela. The she-devil seized Raven by her hair and repeatedly slammed her head against the ground. Gar was soon grabbed by Jack. _Poor bastard._

The clown was practically mutilating his victim. The crimson stained knife was repeatedly slammed into Gar's body several times. The poor kid's body seemed to unravel at the seams as scarlet rained down onto the marsh around them.

* * *

 _Jason gazed up at the boy staring down at him intensely. Between the two of them, one had raven hair and dark blue eyes; the other had red hair with pale green eyes and had to have had at least forty pounds over the slightly younger and smaller boy. A knife lay sticking out of the dirt between the two._

 _Red Skull took his seat with his cigar in one hand and a glass of brandy in the other. Two of his best men stood on either side of their master, with weapons resting in their hands. Schmidt looked over each of his pupils carefully before taking a sip from his goblet. The two boys looked toward their tormenter as he began to speak._

 _"I am at an impasse, my boys. You see, I can only have one victor. There can only be one to carry out my plans of revenge. You both see my dilemma, yes?" Schmidt stated before pausing for a response from the boys._

 _They both replied, "Yes, sir."_

 _"Excellent. You two should be quite pleased with yourselves. Only the two of you managed to meet my expectations. Unfortunately, there can only be one. This will be your final test to prove your worthiness to me. A fight to the death. The champion keeps their life. The more blood you spill, the more dinner rations you receive."_

 _The two twelve-year-olds couldn't stifle their gasps of horror or hide their wide eyes._

 _Red Skull continued, "Come now, death is only the beginning. Everyone dies. Everyone suffers. No one is exempt._ No one _. You may begin_ — _and may the odds be ever in your favor."_

 _Jason didn't even have time to blink before a fist collided with his cheek, sending him sprawling into the dirt. He cried out as the knife ripped through a section of skin from his side. He seized a portion of the dirt and hurled it into the other boy's eyes. Jason swept the legs out from under his opponent before yanking out the knife protruding from his side. The boy's pleading eyes made him pause._

 _"Finish him or die!" Red Skull snapped._

 _That single moment of hesitation was all it took for Jason's opponent to gain the upper hand. A second later, Jason was lying flat on his back with a pair of hands wrapped around his throat. His fingers frantically stretched out as he tried to reach the discarded knife. After what seemed like hours without air, Jason's hand finally closed around the hilt of the knife. The other boy's hands fell away from his throat as three sets of eyes focused on the knife protruding from the chest of the redheaded boy._

 _Jason remained completely numb from the horror of his own actions for survival. He remained completely still as he watched the boy in front of him shudder with each and every breath. Schmidt soon approached and grasped Jason's shoulders. Together, they watched the child dying in front of them._

 _"You never dreamed it would be that easy, did you? No matter. In time, you shall come to learn that there is no such thing as good and evil. There are only goals and what you must do to complete them. There are no protagonists or antagonists. There are only survivors who dare to dream of vengeance. I am one of those dreamers," Schmidt admitted._

 _One of Red Skull's henchmen approached with a container of lighter fluid. Schmidt took it from the man before dousing the dying child with it. He handed Jason his lighter._

 _"Always remember to never allow your enemy the chance to get back up. No matter how life-threatening their wounds may be, there is always a chance they'll come after you if they survive. Those fools made that mistake with me_ — _and look what happened to them."_

 _Jason asked quietly, "What do you want from me?"_

 _"The Capitol took everything from me, and I shall take everything from them, in the end. They will suffer just as I have."_

 _"I don't understand."_

 _"You will," Red Skull replied before guiding the hand holding the lighter toward the boy on the floor still struggling for life. "Now, finish him. He's still breathing."_

* * *

"Jason, we have to help them!" Dick screamed, calling on the nearest friendly face for help — and bringing Jason back to reality.

Call it adrenaline or the fact that maybe he just wanted the clown dead that bad — or maybe it was just pure stupidity — but Jason wound up heading straight for Jack. Dick momentarily was slowed down by the mud while Jason ran on ahead.

Harley's nasally voice echoed from the center of the tesseract. "On the way, Puddin'!"

The little blonde skipped into a run, her focus clearly on Jack. She didn't even see Jason running the same way. He whipped a knife at her, and by some twist of fate, instead of his perfect throw making its mark, the little blonde let out an 'eep!' as she flat disappeared into an unseen hole beneath the murky water.

Jack stood directly over Raven and Angela with his knife raised in the air. But before he could make any further move, the Red Hood quickly tackled the Joker, while the acrobat somersaulted right over Angela before knocking her out of the way with a perfect roundhouse kick, freeing Raven up to rush to Gar.

Jason body-slammed Jack onto the marshy surface. Fists went flying as Jason repeatedly struck the clown as hard as possible. Jack wedged a knife into Jason's thigh before throwing a handful of mud into the younger boy's eyes. Seizing the moment, Jack bucked Jason off before throwing himself at the younger teen.

"I'll kill you for this, Todd!" Jack snarled.

The younger teen rolled out of the way before slamming his boot into the back of Jack's leg. Jack went down as Jason wrapped his arm around the older boy's chest and forced a dagger inside the clown's mouth.

"Joke's on you, because I'm already dead! Not laughing anymore, are you, you sonofabitch! Let's see if we can fix that!" Jason snarled.

A blade suddenly landed with a splash beside them, and Jason looked up to see Jack's alliance rushing towards them with weapons drawn.

Jason muttered, "Shit."

Jack suddenly threw his head back into Jason's face, causing the blade to slip and unravel the skin on Jack's mouth, creating half of a Glasgow smile. The sudden movement threw the two off-balance and caused them to roll down the small slope behind them — right onto a tracker jacker nest.

Jason cried out as his back collided with the nest. Jack briefly landed directly on top of the younger teen. As the papery nest containing hundreds of the life-threatening creatures burst with the impact, Jack scrambled to get to his feet, elbowing Jason in the face in the process. Blinded by the swarm, the teens took off in opposite directions.

The creatures' stings were more like stab wounds as Jason stumbled deeper into the marsh to get away from them. His vision began to swim as he dropped to his knees, heaving. The world blurred together. Shapes and objects came and went in his vision as he staggered deeper and deeper into the marsh. It took a minute before he could climb back to his feet. No longer blessed with the ability to differentiate between the real world and the hallucinations, Jason faltered forward before tripping over a corpse.

Looking back, Jason found a familiar face with empty eyes looking back at him. His breath hitched in his throat as he dragged himself back over to the woman with soulless blue eyes and blonde hair lying there in a pool of vomit.

"Mom?" Jason asked. "You died… You… I… I found you."

Her glossy gaze flickered over to the boy as she accused him: "You did this to me. You let me die."

"That's not true!"

Jason rambled about how he had tried to bring her back before the black leather-clad silhouette of Johann Schmidt appeared beside the tree that refused to stand still.

The skeleton coldly replied, "She is right. You truly are a disappointment. I chose wrong. You will die in here, and all my time spent on you will have been for nothing."

It wasn't long before the corpse of Jason's mother was slowly replaced by Bizarro. Jason broke down even more as the disabled man stared at the boy with accusing eyes. Artemis' mangled body popped up next and began to berate Jason for everything he was worth.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! None of this was supposed to happen!" the boy screamed into his hands.

Jason shielded his eyes with his hands as he sank back onto his knees. Long overdue tears of pain streamed down his face. Jason tightened his hold against his face as he suddenly felt a tugging sensation at his wrists.

He whispered, "Just leave me alone. Please just leave me alone."

"Jay! Get up! Please! Jason!"

Slowly pulling his hands away, Jason gazed up at the blurry image of the boy struggling to get him on his feet.

"Tim?"

The blurry image screamed, "You gotta get up! You are going to die! I'm going to die! Red Skull will kill me if you don't win! You promised you wouldn't leave me! Jason, you promised you wouldn't let anything hurt me! You said I'd never have to go through what you went through! You promised!"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Soft blue eyes grew watery. Tim looked down at Jason with disappointed acceptance. The older boy had to look away while Tim sniffled.

A moment of silence passed before Tim whispered, "He's going to kill me and Artemis whether you survive or die, isn't he?"

Jason merely nodded. Tim gave a slight nod as a couple of tears broke free and slid down his cheeks. The younger boy quickly crossed the empty space between them. The teenager wrapped his arms around the silhouette. The shadow clung to Jason with his face buried against Jason's collarbone while bloodied and dirty fingers stroked Tim's hair. Not a single word was spoken while they clung to each other.

Silence passed before Tim finally pushed back. Two sets of blue eyes just stared back at each other as the moving world slowly began to dissipate. The silhouette gave Jason a small smile.

"You know you can't give up, right? You need to make Red Skull suffer. You didn't spend all this time surviving for nothing."

"Tim, I'm been fighting to live my entire life. I'm a warrior, okay?"

"You look more like a broken down dork to me. Warriors don't sit on their asses and cry about the past or their PTSD. The Red Hood I know does not get taken down by a bee."

The older boy grumbled, "A genetically altered hornet."

Tim rolled his eyes before crouching down. Jason smirked at the ghost standing before him. Tim traded a small smile for the smirk before reminding Jason that he needed to move.

"You can still do this, Jay. You can still survive. You don't have to leave me. We still need you. Big Red, you don't have to die."

Jason shook his head and added, "It might not be a popular thought, but not everyone wants to be alive. Besides, people only die when we forget them, Little Red." He gazed around at the corpses surrounding them. "And sometimes I just wish I could forget them. I wish that some people would stay dead. But they all come back in one way or another."

"It seems the monster always wins, doesn't it?"

Jason smirked. "Tim, I am the monster."

Tim rolled his eyes and groaned. "Do you even realize how lame you just sounded?"

Jason's cocky grin grew larger as he replied, "Do you even realize how much I don't care?"

The two boys looked away as something sloshed through the marsh nearby. Jason looked back to find Tim and the cadavers gone. Minus the sloshing in the background, the world was finally still.

Jason exhaled slowly before examining the pus-filled wounds on his body. _Well, that sucks._

There was no way to even tell how long he'd been out of it. He was just lucky to be alive. Jason sighed before shakily climbing to his feet. Fists clenched and knuckles cracked as the teen gazed out into the swampland, where he could hear the sound of someone running. His eyes narrowed as Jason focused on where the sounds were coming from.

 _First, the tributes_ — _and then, Red Skull._

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent


	48. Chapter 47: Why Is There No Ground?

**(A/N): And we're back with our Friday update! This time around, we're moving on from the bloodbath and moving into the rest of the Games, with pekuxumi writing the lovely Harper Row for us.**

 **Thanks to all the writers who reviewed as well as to Slim Summers2002 for your reviews. Please continue to tell us what you liked!**

* * *

 **Chapter Forty-Seven - Why Is There No Ground?**

 **Bloodbath Aftermath**

 **Harper Row of District Two**

 **Written by pekuxumi**

* * *

 _In pitch dark_

 _I go walking in your landscape_

 _Broken branches_

 _Trip me as I speak_

 _-Radiohead,_ There, There

* * *

Harper Row had always considered herself an urbanite. She and Cullen didn't live in the city center but at the poorer periphery, true, and Harper spent a lot of time in the quarries that were, logically, located a few miles away from the city. But still, Harper loved the city space. She liked the electricity sparkling in the air, the lights, the concrete, the many people hurrying past each other. When she rode through the mountains to get to one of the quarry's tech centers, she spent most of her time pitying the suburban villages and scattered ranches through the train window.

She didn't understand how people could choose the countryside when there was a buzzing city close by. Why waste your time slapping at insects and repairing wooden fences? Okay, so maybe Harper had never _actually_ seen someone repair a fence (in a blue jumpsuit, though, with a straw hat on), but her convictions were clear nonetheless: the city ruled; the countryside sucked.

It was thus just her luck, _just her luck_ , that found her wading through thigh-deep, murky water in the middle of a freaking swamp, with weird trees, other weird vegetation, and insects as big as her fists. She had no idea if anyone was following her, the tracker jacker stings still hurt like hell, she was one hundred percent sure that at least one snapping turtle was behind her and waiting for the right moment to eat her alive, and there were strange and scary noises over her head all the time, even though she hadn't seen one single bird so far.

She knew that the arena was specifically designed to kill her, but this really went over the top. Last year, it had been a deserted metropolis. Why couldn't she die horrendously there? Why did they have to choose a swamp? _A freaking swamp!_ Was it so much to ask for a dry spot to curl into a ball in and wait for death? Was it really?

Deep down, as Harper was trying to make it through the water faster, she knew that the tracker jacker venom was beginning to fade from her system, and her more rational brain would soon take over again. It did not change the fact that this arena really was not what she had hoped for; all water and almost no dry, solid ground. But as she made her way towards an area with more, bigger trees, she felt sanity returning.

Still, Harper wasn't very pleased with the gigantic water spider that happily sat on the water surface, blocking her path. Harper wasn't very partial to any spider, for that matter.

"Nope, nope, nope," she heard herself mutter as she turned away, luckily finding a tree with massive roots sticking out the water in her new line of sight, and finally knew where the hell she was, again.

Not too far away from the Tesseract. Not too far away from the tracker jackers and possibly some of the other kids.

Harper swallowed deeply. A few minutes after they had been released into the arena and all hell broke loose, she had somehow found herself hiding under those very roots and branches as the venom of the tracker jacker stings wormed into her brain and spun out crazy images and fears. At one point, Harper didn't know how much time had passed. It had made her so restless and paranoid that she left the tree and ran away. Her legs hurt terribly now; who knew how long she had simply stomped through the swamp until the glimpses of sanity had steered her closer to other trees and branches and into relative safety?

It also meant that she had basically walked in a circle, but as Harper returned to hide under the roots, she was busy thanking the heavens that she survived. Hurrying aimlessly through a swamp. It was a wonder none of the other tributes had shot her with an arrow or something.

The thought of the other tributes made her shudder. Of course, the images of the early bloodbath, of the tributes running around and the sound of the cannons, had been in the forefront of her mind throughout, but the venom and her panic had obscured them, had made them terribly vivid but also hard to grasp in reality.

 _Get a grip, Harper,_ she scolded herself as she pressed her fingers against her eyes. She needed to focus. She needed to figure out what had happened.

Harper didn't remember the words that had been echoing in her tube, some poem she didn't pay much attention to. ( _Seriously,_ she was about to be thrown into Murder World and the Gamemakers wanted her to analyze poetry. What in the seven hells.) When the tubes had opened, there was a loud noise, and then the countdown was over, and Harper's instincts had told her to _run! Run! Run!_ And she had heeded those instincts without a second thought.

Back in the Capitol, she had spoken with both Kaldur and Harvey about it; both had said that she didn't have any chance in a fight for a weapon. _Run, hide. Find your allies_. It was a simple plan, though Harper wasn't so sure yet what ally she preferred and how the hell she was supposed to be fast enough to get away.

The sudden splash of water as she started to run away from the platform had been a shock, but in the end, the warm water had probably helped somewhat with the tracker jacker stings she had received at her legs. She wondered how the kids had fared that ran up to the Tesseract; the insects had clearly protected it. Maybe this was why so far, everything was relatively quiet. The tributes had gotten their weapons and then ran far away, trying to escape the jackers instead of killing each other, and now they too had to wait until the venom wore out.

Harper hadn't seen or heard anyone while running. Maybe she was doing well, with only two stings. Maybe she was the most level-headed tribute in the arena right now.

That thought really didn't calm her down much.

It calmed her enough to think strategy, though. What should she do now? She could try to get to the Tesseract, see what was left. Weapons would be nice, survival kits, med kits. Maybe a 'how to survive nature' guide for dummies. Food, too, her stomach reminded her as it grumbled. It would be dangerous, but at some point, Harper need equipment.

She peeked through the root branches, looking around for something, anything suspicious. The swamp was as quiet as it got; she heard the flutter of wings but as usual didn't see any birds.

 _Birds_. Her stomach grumbled again. Man, she wouldn't mind some roasted chicken breast now…

Or maybe turtle soup? As Harper contemplated the chances of finding a pan and an oven in the swamp, the water a few yards away from her, behind another tree, started to ripple. Surely the freaking snapping turtle that had chased her through the swamp earlier was coming up for air. (Did turtles even need air? Harper had no idea. Asphalt and cement were so much easier to deal with.)

And then, suddenly, the rippling got crazy, and the upper half of a human head appeared.

Harper almost screamed.

The panic was like a punch into her stomach, drawing the breath from her lungs. A tribute. Someone had found her. One of the tributes had followed her and—

It was Kaldur.

Even though only his eyes were discernable, he was obviously smirking at her. Slowly, ever so slowly and so incredibly noiselessly, he emerged from the surface, grinning at her all the while.

"Hello Harper," he greeted her in a whisper, once his whole head was visible. Looking left and right, he came closer without making any sound.

Harper needed a few seconds until her mouth caught up with the situation. "Holy shit," she pressed out, most eloquently. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

Kaldur smiled warmly at her, having almost reached her hiding place. "I am glad to see you are well. I was afraid you did not make it."

His voice and smile was balm for the soul. Gentleness was radiating from him, and Harper was so happy to see him she started to move over to find him a place beneath her tree roots... until suspicion hit her. This was still the arena. He was still a tribute.

"Hands up," she ordered suddenly, her voice somehow obscenely loud after not having heard it for so long. "Don't come closer."

Kaldur stopped immediately, visibly surprised, but did as he was told. While his left hand was empty, he lifted a heavy bag up with his right one, giving her a second heart attack when it first emerged. "I brought you something to play with," he explained and shook the bag.

The sounds made Harper curious. It sounded as if metal struck against metal. Weapons, maybe? Harper swallowed and nodded, finally. She was too trusting, but then again, what choice did she have? If Kaldur had weapons hidden somewhere, he would kill her anyway, with invitation or without. The swamp was his dream arena; she wouldn't stand a chance. At least with him, she had some sort of connection and deal.

Kaldur ducked under her tree roots and settled next to her. Even waist-deep in water, crouching in confined space, the company felt so good Harper wanted to cry. And he didn't stab her either, which was totally an added bonus.

"Your kind of arena, huh?" she asked as he closed his eyes and let his head rest against a root. The first hours had taken their toll on him as well.

He shrugged, keeping his eyes closed. "At least I know how to find food here."

On command, Harper's stomach grumbled, and Kaldur smiled, amused. As he moved to wrestle something out of his pockets, Harper rolled her eyes at the sarcastic entity that allowed her to have such a flirtatious way with boys. She didn't get to dwell on her bodily functions long, though, because Kaldur suddenly held a dead fish right in front of her face.

"Uh, _thanks_?" Harper said when none of the three moved for a few seconds. Kaldur pulled the fish away, puzzled.

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Well, yeah." Harper was always hungry, honestly. "But how should we prepare it?"

Kaldur's puzzled gaze turned into an exasperated one. "Harper, as long as it's fresh, you can eat it raw."

"That's disgusting."

"It's perfectly delectable!"

"It'll kill you... somehow!"

"It won't!"

"It's still _looking_ at me!"

They had been too loud at the end. Harper held her hands over her mouth and tried not to giggle. It was a ridiculous situation — trapped in an arena full of gadgets designed to kill them, bound to murder each other at some point, they were arguing over dinner recipes. And the dead fish in Kaldur's hand was flapping with his exasperated movements as if arguing along. Laughing felt so good, and somehow, it was the only choice they really had beside giving up and/or crying. Even Kaldur was chuckling lightly, so at least she didn't go crazy all by herself.

"I can prepare it for you," Kaldur said once they had calmed down and made sure no one had heard them. "You should be busy with what I brought you."

"Stop spoiling me," Harper commented as he handed her the bag he had been carrying around. When she looked in, it was full of different kinds of metallic pieces, wet cable protruding here and there, a broken piece of intricate hardware looking suspiciously like a circuit board. "Jeez, Kaldur!"

"I took what I could from the platforms before I had to disappear," Kaldur explained as he expertly cleaned the fish with a small knife.

"A platform," she repeated, flabbergasted. "You tore apart one of the mines?!"

"There was a knife stuck in it; therefore, it came off easily." Kaldur shrugged, looked at said knife in his hand, and grinned his charming, boyish grin. "They told me to take what I could, and I did."

"You're incredible."

"I know. Now, work your magic."

* * *

A few hours had passed when Harper finally deemed the device ready. The technical aspects hadn't been too difficult, but drying the risky parts of the material before reattaching them to a potential electrical source had been tricky and meant exposure for at least one of them.

But in the end, Harper looked down at a cute little deadly mine. Kaldur, next to her, looked at her in turn with a mixture of amazement and fear.

"And you are sure this will work?"

"Yes." She nodded with emphasis. "The explosives aren't dry yet, so we'll have time."

The platform mines were curious things. It had taken Harper half an hour to understand them. They had to blow up once a tribute stepped from the platform too early but couldn't go off after the requested time: a paradox for a mining mechanism, which usually simply used pressure to ignite the explosive. The piece of hardware had done the trick: after the time was up and the tributes had been allowed to leave the platforms, an electrical impulse had set up a different, mini explosion at a very well-protected part of the mechanism, rendering the pressure trigger useless.

Maybe the mini explosions were the reason the mine came off so easily; it was possible that parts of the shell were damaged. Kaldur's journey had let water seep into the broken shell and wet the explosive, rendering it useless until the powder completely dried. Interestingly, too, was the fact that parts of the shell had already started to corrode, meaning that the platform constructions had been installed a while ago. Harper grinned madly to herself as she analyzed the material: the Capitol used iron in its installments, which conducted electricity wonderfully, and chances were high that the other traps and constructions were in bad shape as well.

In the end, Harper used what the Capitol offered her. It was the damaged circuit board that did the trick — the laminated copper sheets were fried and without a power source after the initial safety explosion had been triggered; thus, Harper was able to reinstall the piece's substrate as a new, non-conductive tool connecting the explosives to the trigger again. One of her copper earrings, attached carefully to the trigger and the substrate, recreated the conductor. Then, with Kaldur's help, she ripped a few panels from the outer parts of the mine to obscure its surface and form. She wanted a larger trigger field and less protection of the sides. Maximum damage for minimal trigger energy.

Kaldur listened closely as she explained all that. Wisely, he hadn't disturbed her during her work and hadn't even pointed out how quickly she had eaten the disgusting raw fish. When Harper had emerged again from happy-tech-world, the fish bones had already sunk to the ground.

"So we set it up at the Tesseract, and if someone steps on it, it explodes."

"Yeah," Harper agreed, turning the mine to examine the other sides. "And once the powder is completely dry, a strong vibration will suffice. The copper translates the friction energy into an electrical impulse, and _boom_."

" _Boom_ ," Kaldur repeated. "We will set it up in front of the most dangerous weapons. The heavy ones only the strong tributes are able to lift."

"You think they're still there?"

Neither Harper nor Kaldur had any detailed information about what went down after the tracker jackers were let loose. Harper had run like hell, while Kaldur, bless him, had hidden behind his platform and then simply grabbed whatever was close to him — which was, as it turned out, a backpack with a survival kit, _a freaking platform_ , and the knife embedded in it. Not too shabby at all.

He had heard screaming, and a lot of it. His eyes darkened as he told her about it. Harper's memory was garbled, full of faint noises and shaking images as she ran away, but she distinctly remembered two cannon blasts. Kaldur confirmed it. Two dead tributes.

"Well, Cisco didn't take them for sure," Harper said bitterly, bringing her thoughts back to the question of the heavy weapons.

Ramon was one of the two cannon blasts, the only one they knew about with certainty. Harvey had stabbed him in the back quickly; it was basically the last thing Harper had seen before turning around and running for her life. She hadn't known Ramon well, hadn't really talked to him during their time in the Capitol. Yet he hadn't deserved to die like that, with that look of pure terror on his face.

And she didn't even want to think about Harvey's face.

Seemingly, Kaldur's thoughts were close to hers. "Dent is dangerous."

"Everyone's dangerous in here." She didn't know why she protected Harvey, when Kaldur was so obviously right... but so was she. "But if this thing explodes and blows up a tribute and the most dangerous weapons in one, we won't have to worry about that."

"True." Kaldur nodded. "What is it you need me to do?"

Harper looked at him with wide eyes. They hadn't talked about the next part yet, about how (and who) to get the mine to the Tesseract. Of course Kaldur was the obvious choice — quicker, quieter, and most of all, able to defend himself if he ran into anyone — but Harper hadn't dared to believe he'd take that part voluntarily. He seemed ardent to do it, though, desperately trying to pay back the Capitol what it did to them. And Harper, hands down, was not going to argue for a suicide mission. If he wanted to do it, he got to do it.

Their eyes met, and Kaldur nodded with emphasis. Very well.

"Try to keep it as dry as possible — it'll take ages to dry again otherwise and will be completely useless to us." She turned the mine on its head. "See this? This material will make the mine stick to the Tesseract; you won't need to fasten it to the surface, just make sure it is at least a bit hidden under the lighter weapons." They didn't have enough material to cover it, unfortunately, but it would still work, somehow. "Now, listen, as long as you don't apply pressure on it, you'll be fine. But be careful. No intense shaking, no pressure. Okay?"

Kaldur nodded, listening intensely, and slowly removed the backpack from his back. "Take this while I'm gone." He handed her the backpack with the survival kit. "It is of no use to me if I get into a fight."

They exchanged their precious belongings, each trying to find the courage to go on. Harper felt terrible and relieved at the same time — Kaldur was going to risk exposure while she was safe. It didn't feel right, but then again, this was the best chance they had. Kaldur wanted to do this badly — she felt the fire burning behind his eyes — and in the end, it would benefit them both immensely.

"Take care, please," she said finally, pointing at the mine again.

One of Kaldur's crazy smiles was his answer. "If I do not return straightaway, it is because I do not want to lead anyone to your position."

 _You'll hear it if something goes really bad_ , they both knew but didn't articulate. At least in that regard, one could trust the arena and the Gamemakers.

And then, he was gone. After a quick look around, Kaldur dove under the roots without dunking the mine below the water's surface and quietly swam to the next tree. Somehow, he managed to keep the mine as dry as humanly possible and still moved through the water like a fish in the sea. After only a few seconds, he had disappeared in the direction of the Tesseract, and not even the ripples on the water's surface gave any indication that he had been here.

Harper let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Slade, or maybe Clark Kent — they seemed able to carry heavy loads and had the build to run around with a heavy weapon. Jason Todd, too. These tributes were able to smash Harper like a fly, weapon or no weapon. And oh, Diana Prince was able to simply stomp over her if she wanted to and wouldn't even break a sweat. If the mine killed one of them, her chances of survival would improve drastically.

Harper tried not to think about the possibility that one of the younger, kinder tributes might be blown to pieces just as well through her creation. She risked a moment of contemplation and rested her had against the tree trunk, closing her eyes. If her bomb blew up one of the kids, Thea for example, or the tree monkey from Ten, Harper wouldn't sleep ever again. It was stupid, she knew. She wanted to stay alive, and, therefore, they had to die, they all had to die. Harper had made her peace with the thought of killing the older ones, those that were an actual danger to her. But the young ones…

It was just so unfair, and no amount of nihilistic reasoning made up for that.

 _Oh, well. Time to move_. She couldn't stay in one place for too long, especially not since Kaldur wouldn't come back to this tree. It was a shame, really, Harper thought as she took the backpack and untangled herself carefully from the roots: the tree had been a nice hiding place. Yes, she probably looked like a seventy-year-old granny thanks to sitting in the water for hours, but she highly doubted that—

With a terrifying noise, every thought in Harper's brain came to a halt. A loud roaring, almost making her eardrums burst, shook the tree, the water, herself, everything, and she automatically dove under the water surface.

The water was stirred up, mud and plants floating around as if pulled into a thousand directions, but no hand appeared and pushed her farther under the surface, no arrow had burrowed itself into her back, and no mutated beast was clawing at her. Though her ears were still ringing, Harper managed to get a grip on her panic before coming up for air again.

She coughed and spat out the dirty water as she slowly looked around and found her world still in one piece. It was only the dirty, turbulent water that gave proof to the fact that the loud bang hadn't been a cannon announcing someone's death, but an actual explosion, not too far from her.

But it was too soon. They weren't that close to the Tesseract, and no way in hell had Kaldur been so fast to already attach the bomb…

Without a second thought, but with a stomach turned into a block of ice and heavy in her core, Harper started to run in the direction Kaldur had disappeared.

Something had gone wrong, she knew with heartwrenching clarity. The mine had gone off too soon, and maybe Kaldur was hurt now, or worse.

She didn't need to search for long. Only about two hundred yards away from their hiding tree, a clearing had suddenly appeared in the trees. Trunks and branches had been torn up, floating on the brown, muddy water; there were leaves and whole tree crowns blocking paths. Her gaze darted across the scenery. Harper needed a double take until she recognized the human body beneath a crown of leaves.

" _Kaldur_ ," she breathed out, climbing on top of one of the big, damaged trunks to make her way toward him, but she stopped short when the bloody face turned toward her.

Half of his body was underwater; only one arm that clawed awkwardly into the branches held him above the surface. The water diluted the blood around him, but there was blood. But Harper couldn't see where he bled from... Hundreds of burns littered his visible skin, his shirt was completely torn, and beneath the surface, his leg jerked feebly and uncontrollably.

He was still alive, though badly, terribly hurt, and as his gaze locked with hers, he was trying to say something. No coherent word came out of his mouth, though, just gargling noises that would haunt Harper in her dreams forever. He was in pain, in terrible pain.

She was frozen, unable to do anything and knowing at the same time that there was nothing she _could_ do for him. Even if she managed to haul him out of there, there was no way to cure his wounds in the arena.

Kaldur made another attempt to reach for her but only sank deeper into the water. He tried to say something to her, tried to reach for her, but his voice died on his lips; only gasps and silent moans reached her ears. The expression on his face was pure torment.

The mine was nowhere in sight, but Harper felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing up. She knew that feeling; it meant electric tension was in the air. Had the mechanism triggered? Had he applied pressure, or maybe touched one of the trees with too much speed and thus activated it? Had she miscalculated? There were too many burns littering his skin, the way his whole arm clutched that trunk and that jerking leg — Harper recognized the damages of electrical shocks. But that could only mean the circuit board had backfired. She had checked it thoroughly, hadn't she?

A sob broke through her lips. Kaldur gasped for air with another wet gargle. Time seemed frozen in its impossibility until another sound made Harper whirl around.

Harvey Dent was a few feet behind her, approaching deliberately loudly, looking at the scene with wide eyes and an even wider grin.

"Wow," he said after a few seconds. "That was something, Harper Row."

He came closer, his gaze fixed on the helpless Kaldur. "He's still alive, though, so I have to deduct points for sloppy execution."

She lost it " _What_?!" Couldn't he see that Kaldur was dying, and in pain, and yet he was joking?!

There were no emotions in either side of Harvey's face, except maybe some evil form of glee. "Sorry. Next time."

He thought she did it on purpose. The situation unfolded in Harper's mind, after her desperation had reached that critical level where numbness took over. She had sent Kaldur forward with a mine. The mine had exploded. Kaldur was dying. For anyone looking at it, it appeared she had fooled him.

And now? The cameras were on them, that much was for sure. And Harvey was her only chance of getting through this.

Kaldur's mouth opened and closed incessantly, but no voice followed; his gaze was swaying between Harper and Harvey, shock and then anger on his face. _I didn't_ , Harper screamed internally. _I didn't do it!_

Harvey offered her a knife from his belt. Kaldur gasped and writhed. How many tributes had heard the explosion and were on their way? The three of them were sitting ducks right now.

But Harper couldn't kill Kaldur. Even if it might be kinder than leaving him to drown or bleed out. She couldn't approach him to slit his throat while he looked up at her with _that_ face, those accusing eyes. _I didn't. I swear I didn't!_

"Some of the bursting charge might still be under the surface," she said, and the part of her that was curled into a ball and rocking forth and back internally marveled at her calm and disconnected voice. The audience needed to hear her loud and clearly. "He's not a problem for us anymore."

This caught even Harvey off-guard. "You're leaving him like this?"

Harper turned around, away from those eyes, the soundless voice, and pointed at Kaldur's backpack on her shoulders. "I got everything I needed."

She started to walk into the direction she came from. Harvey followed close by, that terrifying grin back on his face. "Well, that's one story we can tell the others when we reach them."

Harper hummed in response, soon letting Harvey take the lead and following numbly deeper into this arena of madness.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent


	49. Chapter 48: Out of the Phantom Zone

**(A/N): Hello and welcome back to our Tuesday update! This time, we take you to Clark Kent, written as always by the lovely and talented Aliit Vodeson.**

 **Thank you to all of the writers who reviewed and to Slim Summers2002 for sharing what you liked and didn't like. We love hearing your feedback - all of you!**

* * *

 **Chapter Forty-Eight - Out of the Phantom Zone**

 **After The Bloodbath**

 **Clark Kent of District Five**

 **Written by Aliit Vodeson**

* * *

 _"You can't live someone else's expectations in life. It's a recipe for disaster."- Bear Grylls_

* * *

He became aware of himself, slowly. It was not like waking up from sleep, for he was aware of his own body drifting in darkness before he was aware of anything else. The blackness was all around him; he drifted through the abyss without a sense of it ever having an end, the only noise the hum of his heart beat and the thread of his own thoughts. He tried to think of how he arrived in this capsule of darkness, but the only thought was:

 _Riddle me this, riddle me that_.

It didn't make any sense.

Clark sighed to himself. Clearly the Games had already driven him at least partly insane, if he was wondering about riddles that he couldn't remember while floating in the darkness like this. And then, almost right on top of the coattails on his sigh, there was a voice. Not his, far too feminine for it to be his at all, but he couldn't place it. Not the smooth tones, not that gentle accent, not—

"Is he awake yet?"

"No."

Just one word, but he knew who had spoken. And it was like the one word from Kara was enough to break through all of the darkness and open up into something. And this, this wasn't being awake yet, but it was a larger span of awareness. And just like that, the strength returned to his limbs, the light came through the darkness. And he saw again.

Shapes, the blurred outlines of someone above him. So close, and yet all he saw of them was the gray circle of what should have been a face. Pale green backlit their grey shape, a distortion of sky and colors that made no sense but that he simply accepted, and he blinked once, and the voices faded again. The gray, blurry view of the world remained.

He drifted once more.

He frowned. How had he ended up like this? It was a question he wanted answered, even if the only person around to benefit from the answer would be himself.

* * *

 _The tube had closed, leaving him in blackness. The floor gave a short jolt, like the movement of the elevator, and he'd risen up in the air. But even when the upward motion had stopped, the darkness didn't break away._

 _A voice came out of the darkness, speaking a riddle, over and over in echoes. It was hard for Clark to keep track of when the words stopped and when they began. But he didn't understand; he had never been the best at the riddles that Lois enjoyed so much. There was no frustration at not being able to get the answer, because he knew that the audience of the Games wouldn't enjoy it if tributes died before they even got out of the tubes, so he was confident that they'd be letting him out at some point before the Games_ —

 _Logan... and last year. That had to be the important part. What key things had Logan done? What were the highlights they had everyone watching over and over again? The final fight, of course, but there wasn't a danger in that beyond the Games themselves._ Come on, Clark, you can do this. _Earlier in the Games, the dramatic betrayal of his alliance, the death of Kurt_ — _the Capitol loved to replay the footage of that moment any time they had the excuse to (and sometimes even when they didn't)._

 _He'd killed Kurt, after being stung by_ —

" _Tracker jackers!"_

* * *

Someone rubbed their hand on his forehead, brushed cool water over his skin. Clark groaned, and the fingers stilled, but only for a moment. The water dripped down over his face, pooled in the dip of his lips, and then continued to flow down his neck.

"It's okay." Clark rolled his head to the side, toward the sound of the voice, and blinked his eyes open. Blonde hair waved around a face for a moment or two before his vision settled and he could see clearly. Kara. She pulled the cloth off his forehead, dipped it into the bucket at her knees, and then wrung the water out so that it ran into his hair.

He tried to sit up, and she pushed his shoulders back into the ground.

"Stay down; you're hurt."

Her words were the trigger for him to feel the pain along his arms and neck. It was a sharp burn, several points that were harsher than others, but the realization of it brought a groan out of his lips. He refocused on her face, so near to his, too unknown as to be readable, but still the features seemed to be more confused than he would have expected.

"Wha- What happened?" Even as he asked, he knew the answer to his own question. The Capitol had promised to even the Games out, and it seemed they'd brought the threat to one alliance in last year's Games down upon all of the tributes, in equal measure. Clark's mouth was dry, and despite Kara continuing to press his shoulder down into the dirt, he forced himself up. He wavered for a moment, unsteady, as the world spun around him.

He did not fall down.

They were in a small clearing, surrounded by large trees; vines and moss sheets draped down off the limbs. The air smelled faintly like the cellar under the house at home, musty and dank with the kind of richness that Clark associated with wet earth. A forest, rich and alive, grew all around them. Clark took a deep breath, filling his lungs with all of that earthy smell. When he leaned back, he found a sturdy tree to sit against — far easier than his attempts to stay upright on his own.

Kara's face spoke of relief when he gave up and sat against the bark of the tree.

"So." His voice was harsh, his throat bone dry. "You didn't abandon me."

And then, he immediately wondered why she hadn't.

Injured to the point of unconsciousness (and he wanted to know how that happened, because his head was aching in a completely different way than the rest of him, and he bet that there was a lump on his skull somewhere, given the throbbing sensation), he knew he was a burden. And yet, the girl who had looked at him with such disdain and hatred for all of his memories of her was by his side.

The question of _why_ wasn't so far from his lips.

"No, I didn't. Saved your ass, so now you owe me."

And she looked at him hard when she said that, like she really meant it. But then she also smiled and lightly slapped his shoulder. The smile broke her face up, made Clark smile in return off of simple instinct, no thought to how she could go from harsh simplicity to a light air of amusement without any transition.

Laughing softly, Clark looked around.

His eyes naturally found Diana and John, seated over by the fire. Their alliance had survived after all — at least the members that Clark had been aware of going in. Diana had been talking to a lot of the tributes in training, maybe more that he hadn't seen, and he had not really been sure who all she was pulling into their alliance.

Diana looked over and nodded at him. "You are awake."

This time, when he struggled up, Kara didn't stop him. And the world spun only for a moment before he found his feet and stayed steady upright. When he brushed his hand over his head and through his hair, he found a large lump just behind his right ear. When he paused, his hand over the tender wound, Kara blushed and ducked her head.

"Really?"

She shuffled her feet, and the look that she gave him was nothing but an attempt to pass innocence over complete guilt. "You were... irrational. I had to, to get you out of there."

"You were crazy," John corrected her. "Ran right into the jackers, and next thing we know, you're calling Diana Lois? Isn't that your girl?"

"Yeah," Clark said, as they made room for him by the fire."I thought it would be better to get through them before the other tributes stirred up any more."

Diana smiled at his explanation. "It was brave."

"Thanks Diana, but I didn't even get anything. Just made myself more trouble for you guys."

"But you did." From behind her, from the small pile of matching jackets that Clark had not been paying attention to, Kara pulled out a small knapsack and tossed it to him. "This is yours."

Clark had tried to stay positive about the Games, about the people he was allied with, but he wasn't a fool. He knew that in the arena, it was everyone for themselves, unless someone else could help. Displays like Logan's protective streak of his alliance were rare, they didn't happen; people didn't look out for the weak and pathetic in the Games. And that's what he had been, once he started being stung so much.

But the bag still felt full; he heard something rattling around inside it when Kara tossed it to him, as if they hadn't even looked inside to take stock of what he had gotten from the Tesseract. Although he had no memory of grabbing the bag, Clark did know that he'd talked with Peter about how the best thing for him to grab was a knapsack, likely to contain survival gear that would be far more useful than a weapon.

When he looked around at them, just in a split second, Clark noted that he was the only one in the group without a weapon by his side. Kara even had a sword, hung in a simple sheath from her hip. Diana with her own blade across her lap, as befitting all the work with it Clark had seen her in training, and John seemed to have an axe resting by his feet. A shield sat between the girls; he couldn't tell who it belonged to, but it was there.

The bag opened up to reveal several small pots, metal spoons and knives of the size for food preparation, nicer than the well-loved set Ma had in the kitchen at home. He fiddled with the zipper on the side and pulled out several packages of small pills, helpfully labeled as water purification tablets, along with instructions for use.

He smiled.

"That will be helpful," Diana said with a regal nod. She had a presence, even in the stiff clothing and muted colors, that reminded Clark every bit of the royalty she had been referred to as in the interviews. "Good job, Clark."

Her praise should not have sent the tingles down his spine that it did.

"Do you remember what you saw back there? Who did you see attacked?" And of course, that regal attitude was one of a warrior as well, as Diana leaned in, her hand on her sword, her face set. It was a grim determination; the lines around her eyes (too many for such a young face, Clark noted, although he couldn't be surprised by the wisdom they betrayed) gathered up, as she looked at him, studied him, with the same intensity that she had studied them all in training. It was an expression that she and her district partner had.

What had happened to Kaldur? Or any of the other tributes?

He sighed, cast his mind back through the dark haze of lost time and blurred pain, remembering...

"I saw..."

* * *

 _The swarm was thickening. Clark could only focus on what lay directly ahead of him, forcing his vision to narrow down on the path he'd set, the bags near the middle of the pile of the Tesseract. Pumping his legs as fast as he could, only hoping to outrun the tracker jackers before they brought him down, he could already feel the stings on his neck and hands starting to burn._

 _Things were getting shifty; the world was starting to spin. He lost track of the human figures near him, of the sounds._ The bags, the bags. _He had to get to the bags._

 _The buzzing of the tracker jackers only grew more intense as he ducked down and wrapped his hand around on the straps of the nearest bag. He spun around, flicked his gaze around, and tried to spot Kara, or Diana, or John in the chaos that the Tesseract has been swept up into._

 _There was a sharp prick on his neck, like the jolt of pain of a needle. Clark swatted at it, and his hand came away with splatters of red on his fingers._

Away, _his brain screamed at him, although his body didn't seem to want to move. Away, he had to get away, he needed to run... Forget finding Kara; he needed to run away!_

 _He spun (more of a stumble, with his balance being dragged out of him by the seemingly increasing weight of his limbs) on his feet._

 _A knife swung down in an arch; bright metal flashed in the sunlight._

 _Not at him, he realized, only after he had stumbled backward and away. He turned to the side, ran without turning around, slammed into an arm, saw a scarred face falling to the ground, twisted in anger, thought he heard a coin falling to the ground as well as hands scrambled to catch it..._

 _The earth spun again._

 _Lois stood in front of him, stretching out her arm to him. Her belly was swollen, distended, round and heavy with child. She smiled at him, called him by name. He reached out to her, and his hands passed right through her neck._

" _Clark! Clark!"_

 _Lois was still smiling at him. Then, Lois was frozen, floating, her hair floating around her. Her eyes turned dim, glassy. Her expression seemed to scream at him, blaming him. He did this, he killed her; Lois was pregnant and here and dead!_

" _Clark!"_

 _A pain, deeper than anything else, burst across his scalp, down his spine. The blackness flickered across his eyes. The pain hit again, stronger, harder._

* * *

"I think I saw Harvey attack Slade."

"You think," Diana pressed, her voice sharp. Kara's shoulder rubbed against Clark's, almost a support in her simple physical connection to him. "Either it happened or it didn't. How far gone were you already into the hallucinations?"

"I don't know," Clark repeated. He tried to make his face hard and sure like Diana's expression was. "I'm pretty sure."

"We'll find out tonight," Kara said with reassurance, and the tension bled out of the air. It wasn't the nicest of replacements, though, to have the questions of who might have survived replaced by the reminder that they'd potentially see the faces of allies, friends, in the stars.

Perhaps someone in the Capitol thought that was poetic.

It just struck Clark as pathetic.

A stiff silence fell between them; the reminder drove out any desire for conversation. Clark was sure that even if he wanted to speak, he would not have found the words right to follow that solemn remembrance of where they were, how many lives might have been lost. He ran his hand through his hair again, the strands still stiff with the leftovers of styling gel. One curl came loose, relatively, and hung down over his forehead, while the rest stayed pushed back. His attempts to align it with the rest of his hair seemed to only make the curl stick out all the more stubbornly.

When he stood and stretched, he felt the tug in his crotch that signalled nature's call. And then the realization that he had matched up not only with two girls but a girl he was related to and a girl he found objectively attractive ( _Sorry Lois_ , he thought, _you're still prettier_ ), and his chances of going to the washroom without embarrassment were completely shot.

"I, uh..." All three sets of eyes turned to him, and he felt his throat go dry, his words dead in his mouth. John's lips turned up, a hint of a smile, an amusement, and Clark knew that he'd been made. It didn't make his attempts to find an excuse any easier. "I just—"

An awkward shuffle, and he killed his hopes of finding an excuse and just walked away. He turned his back, found the nearest path between the trees, and did not look back.

He swore he heard John's laughter echoing after him.

The ground sloped down, water rising amongst the grass, until it hit the top of his boots, and Clark was forced to stop or risk going with soggy feet for the foreseeable future. A short amount of hunting yielded him two trees grown close enough together to find his privacy behind.

He pushed his forehead against the bark of the tree in undeniable frustration and embarrassment as he did his business.

"Clark?"

He nearly fell.

He did not actually fall, but it was a near thing. The shock of hearing Kara's voice so close came as such a jolt that he nearly toppled over. The water splashed around him; he scrambled to get his pants back up. She called his name again, closer this time.

"I'm here, I'm here, just—"

Two milliseconds after he got everything back inside his pants and the zipper done up, Kara walked around the side of the tree. "What are you doing? Why did you just leave like that? Diana i-"

She stared at him. He stared back.

"Sorry," he offered, and his lack of commitment to the one simple word turned it into a question.

"You — Clark Kent, are you for real? Do you not even know how to say you're going to go pee?" Her voice reminded him of Ma, scolding him without any real anger behind her words, and then there she went, put one hand on her hip, shook her head from side to side real slow. _Just like Ma._ Maybe it was less about Ma and more about the women in his family, the women in his life. Nevermind that she hadn't been part of the faces that came up when he thought of family since before—

Before Reaping Day? Before their arrival in the Capitol? Clark wasn't able put his finger on when it happened, but it was there. Kara was family, and not just family in the sense of knowing that they shared blood. She was there, in his mind, when he thought about Ma and Jimmy back home, of the half-chased dreams with Lois, of the fading memories of Pa.

Even though the scold on her lips went on, Clark smiled at Kara, and he didn't stop as they started to walk back to the clearing.

He should have said something.

He should have grabbed her shoulder, pulled her back before Diana and John could hear, looked her in the eyes, and told her that he'd do it. That he'd make the same call he made for Jimmy, and make it for her. She was family, and family meant something, and he should have said it.

They got back to Diana and John, and he didn't say a single word.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent


	50. Chapter 49: Survival

**(A/N): Here we are with our Friday update! This time, we take you to Thea Queen, written as always by BandGeek24601. :)**

 **Thanks as always to the writers who reviewed our most recent chapter. We love to see you all come out and be supportive, so please keep doing what you're doing! Thanks also to our guest reviewer for letting us know who you're rooting for ;) Each writer in this story gets a basic overview of what to cover in their chapters, but all the details and the excellent writing is all them!**

* * *

 **Chapter Forty-Nine - Survival**

 **After the Bloodbath**

 **Thea Queen of District One**

 **By BandGeek24601**

* * *

 _"The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep." - Robert Frost_

* * *

"This is definitely not how I planned on this whole thing starting," Thea mumbled under her breath as she stumbled through the swampy arena. The weight of Slade's frame was slowing her pace as she navigated her way to the nearest covered area she could find. She needed to set her partner down somewhere where they'd be safe for a bit.

It had been hours since the bloodbath, since they'd both been stung so many times — since Slade saved her life.

* * *

 _As soon as the countdown finished, Thea bolted from her platform and to the awaiting Tesseract. There was a bow and arrow she saw in there, and she wanted first grabs. Clark, the boy from Five, was practically flying on her right, and John Constantine from Twelve was running on her left. She was younger, smaller, and faster, so she was a bit ahead of the older boys beside her. Jason Todd, the boy from Six, managed to run past her, but she didn't pay much mind to him. As long as he didn't get in her way, she didn't care._

 _Once she got near the Tesseract, close enough to really examine its contents, she had other worries: the tracker jackers. She'd heard them as soon as her head cleared the tube, but they had begun to be a real problem the closer she got to the weapons. She kept getting stung as she ran, but that was nothing compared to when she finally got to the bow. Those Capitol monstrosities were everywhere and began to swarm her as she searched through the supplies. Who knows how many times she was stung, but she was already feeling the effects._

 _Beginning to feel a bit disoriented, she heard a yell behind her that sounded somewhat familiar. She grabbed the bow and arrows in front of her and spun around quickly to see Slade standing about ten feet from her; he was turned away from her and seemed to be doubled over slightly. On the other side of him, she saw Harvey Dent looking her way. Before she could do much against that threat, Jonathan Crane came towards Slade from the Tesseract with a short dagger and a sword that it looked like he had picked up when Slade dropped it from whatever it was that had doubled him over._

 _"Slade! Look out!" Thea tried to warn her ally in the one way her adrenaline-fueled body could think of, but it proved to be pointless. As Slade turned and saw Jonathan, Thea could see the blade sticking out of the right side of his chest, but it looked to be the length of a sword to her mind. The hallucinations that the tracker jackers were known for causing were beginning to take hold._

That one must have been Harvey's doing, _she realized when she saw the knife._

 _She watched in fear and shock as Slade raised his own sword to block Jonathan's small dagger as it moved forward, but Jonathan had another plan; Thea stood frozen as the boy's sword went into and through the left side of Slade's torso._

 _Jonathan kicked Slade to the ground as he removed his sword that seemed to be melting, as if it had been dipped in acid instead of another human being. Slade didn't have the strength to resist; he was already disoriented from the hit with the knife and the tracker jacker venom that coursed through his veins. Thea nocked an arrow and yelled in a rage as she let it fly towards her ally's assailant, but it was much less accurate than she hoped. It looked to her like the entire area was beginning to fill with a deep grey fog, and her escalating adrenaline didn't help her aim in the slightest._

 _Through the haze, she saw Jonathan clutch his arm and start to scramble away, realizing that Slade wasn't worth dying for and the girl with a bow had decent aim, considering the circumstances. He knew what Thea knew deep down as she stumbled toward her partner: he wasn't going to last for very long anyway. If Slade was going to have any chance of surviving, Thea needed to get them both away from the bloodbath that was happening around them._

 _As she approached Slade, the venom began to really take hold. Her partner's form seemed to shift. Suddenly, it wasn't Slade laying there in the middle of the arena: it was Ollie. The pain on his face was clear, and the color was still only faint in his face, but it was now her brother lying there._

These Capitol jerks know too well how to hurt us, _she thought as she tried to clear her mind enough to focus. Leaning down so her face was right next to Slade's (Ollie's?), she tried her best to speak over the noise of the fighting around them as emotion began to fill her voice and spill from her eyes. "I don't think I have the strength to lift you on my own. You're going to have to help me get you up and out of here."_

 _Slade slowly shook his head. "No. Just run, kid. I'm as good as dead already."_

 _Thea got an idea from the cruel hallucinations and decided to use her partner's promise to her further advantage."I'm not leaving you. If you're staying here, then I'm staying here. You promised to protect me. How's Ollie going to feel if you end up causing my death?"_

 _Slade glared at her halfheartedly, though with Ollie's face, it was a look she'd seen quite often:_ I want to be mad at you, but it's not working. _"He'd think you were being a complete idiot." Then, after a moment for him to look around at the fighting surrounding them (and realize just how stubborn of a partner he had), he began to use both his strength and hers to get himself to his shaky feet. "Now let's get out of here, kid."_

* * *

Thea's attention was brought back to the present when she heard a groan come from Slade. His strength was obviously beginning to fail him as his body slumped further forward. Thea was strong, but the eighteen-year-old's weight was testing her abilities. Her endurance was wearing thin as she led the two of them to a nearby tree, setting Slade down at the base of it. This was the best as she could do at the moment.

She had been travelling, carrying her ally, for hours since they stopped last; the exhaustion was making it difficult to focus, along with the remains of the venom in her system. At least he'd stopped looking like Ollie.

Her top priority at the moment had to be fixing her earlier attempt at bandaging. Sadly, she hadn't had time to get anything more than a bow and arrows from the Tesseract, and all Slade had taken was his sword. They had no real bandages, so Thea had had to improvise.

* * *

 _After about a half hour of traveling away from the fighting, Thea stopped by a tree and set her partner down. Even through her venom-hazed brain, she knew she needed to find some way to slow the bleeding, at least. If she didn't, Slade had no chance of surviving for more than another half hour. She had to force herself not to panic as she looked at the wounds on her "brother's" body. They had no bandages or anything that would normally be used for such things, only the clothes on their backs and the weapons in their hands._

 _That's when Thea got an idea._

 _She carefully pulled off Slade's jacket and his shirt, deciding to use the material from the shirt as makeshift bandages. Even though it didn't seem very absorbent, it would at least apply pressure to the wounds._

 _"Why did all of these clothes have to be waterproof?" Thea asked quietly. Frustrated at her situation, the venom from the tracker jacker stings taking an even stronger hold on her mind, she took Slade's sword and began to cut and tear strips from the shirt. The strips were all different sizes, none of them had very clean edges, and her vision was definitely not trustworthy, but she didn't have much of an option to wait._

 _When she looked at the cuts, they seemed much bigger and bloodier than she had remembered. The whole world was swaying, the crimson blood began to turn black, and even the shirt seemed to be bleeding the same black ooze. Fighting the terror inside her fuzzy, thirteen-year-old mind, Thea was trying not to scream, cry, or throw up. Her ally, who had quickly become her friend and, at this moment, looked like her big brother, was dying and needed her help._

 _Trying not to look at the ooze or his face, Thea tried to bandage Slade as best she could. It was rough, but hopefully, it would last._

* * *

Now that she had a much clearer mind, though it was still not quite back to normal, she could see just how awful of a patch job it was. The wound was barely covered, and what little had been covered had clearly bled through the cloth long ago. She had already used all of the strips of Slade's shirt, so that particular supply was gone. She still had his jacket and his pants to use, but what if it got cold?

 _Don't worry about trying to keep him warm tonight. He won't be around long enough for it to get cold,_ Thea thought briefly, but she quickly shook it off. The shame she felt for giving up so quickly was quickly changed to determination to do all she could to get him to live. She needed him.

She began to remove the old bandages, needing to see just how bad the injuries were. As she did, Slade began to groan in pain.

"It's okay, Slade. It's going to be okay. I know this hurts, but I'm going to figure out something else to use as bandages, and we'll get you in fighting shape in no time." Thea was more assuring herself than her partner, but she would never admit that. She picked up the sword from the ground and prepared to cut off the bottom half of his pants. Her hands were shaking as she tried to fight back frantic tears, but she was stopped by a large hand on her wrist.

"Don't waste your energy, kid. I know I'm going to die." Slade's voice was gravelly but was still forceful. He could tell that Thea was not going to accept that he was dying until it actually happened… maybe not even then. She _was_ a Queen, after all. Oliver was just as stubborn.

"But…" Thea was finally showing her age, tears slowly welling up in her eyes. She was trained and determined, yet she was still very young, and she was watching her only friend in this entire situation die right in front of her. "How am I supposed to survive these Games without you? You were supposed to protect me through this! Now what do I do?"

Slade tightened his grip on Thea's wrist and looked at her with a piercing stare. "You do what you've been saying you would do since you were picked: survive. I was pretty positive that I would die in these Games, especially since I was counting on protecting you. I planned for something like this and made sure to find people that I would trust to take care of you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You need to find Dick or Diana. They will protect you. I've watched them through the majority of the training sessions and even outside of the training center. Diana is skilled and kind, but she's got a bit of a 'holier than thou' complex. She's trustworthy, though, and she'd take care of you. Dick would take care of you for sure. He would treat you like a little sister. He makes attachments pretty fast, and that'll come back to bite him in the end, but that attachment will help you live."

She barely even registered the words that Slade said past that first sentence. Tears finally began to fall from Thea's eyes as she fought against the thought of these circumstances being unchangeable. "You promised. You promised to protect me. You can't leave me now!"

Slades breathing was slowing, becoming more labored as he spoke. "I did promise that, Miss Queen. And so, I did."

Confused and quieted by this, she merely looked at him, eyes wide, eyebrows slightly furrowed, and lips pursed as she tried to make sense of his words.

"That first knife, the one that Harvey Dent threw… that was meant for you."

Thea nearly fell over as she took in that revelation. He had saved her life. He saved her, and she didn't even realize it until now. She looked back at her partner, the world slightly wobbly and blurry from her emotions along with the remains of the tracker jacker venom. Her eyes pleaded with him to be lying, praying to who knows what that he would live. She hated the thought that she was the reason he was dying. At the same time, that was sort of the plan: Slade would die for her because he made a promise.

And Slade Wilson keeps his promises.

"What do I do?" Thea said, her voice cracking slightly.

"You find either Dick or Diana, remember your training, survive these stupid Games, and win… for the sake of you, your brother… and me."

With his final breaths, her friend said one of the most meaningful things he could have ever thought to tell her. "I believe you can win this… so do what your brother told you to… survive."

As soon as the words weakly left his mouth, she heard the jarring blast of the cannon, and his head lolled to one side.

She could no longer hold back her tears. Those tears turned to sobs, and her body shook as she took in all that had just transpired. Her only real, trusted ally in this stupid arena full of cameras, terror, and murderous children had just died because of her. Her protector was gone. More importantly, her friend was gone. Her knees curled up all the way to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them to hold them close. Her tear-streaked face was still plainly visible as she propped her chin up on her knees, but the tears were still streaming at full speed. She knew, somewhere in her highly-trained mind, that she needed to keep moving to avoid the other tributes, that she needed to stop crying because there were cameras everywhere. But she was only thirteen years old, after all. She felt like these tears were definitely understandable and allowed.

"Stop crying, Thea," she heard, but the voice wasn't who she expected. As she looked around, her brain still in a slight haze, she saw her former trainer and "father" standing on the other side of Slade's lifeless body. "I trained you to fight, to kill, not to make friends. This is why you weren't supposed to make attachments. Now you look like a sad little target waiting to be slaughtered."

She clenched her eyes shut and clamped her hands over her ears, but this wasn't the real Malcolm Merlyn. This was a hallucination. It was all in her head. One last shot at messing with her mind before the venom was completely gone.

"If you're going to cry like a child, then you may as well lay down and let Harvey Dent get another shot at you. Slade's not around to save you anymore."

She lifted her head, realizing he was right. As much as she hated to side with him, especially since he wasn't really there, she needed to focus on surviving these Games. She couldn't take the time to mourn her loss. She needed to get moving.

As she got up from the ground, taking one last look at her friend, she grabbed Slade's sword, along with her bow and arrows. She started to walk away and heard the sound of the transport coming. When she saw it over where Slade's body lay, already fairly far away from where she stood, she almost thought she was hallucinating again. It was large, circular, and had a large claw that was descending toward the body. She instinctively backed away a couple of steps, the claw looking very menacing at that moment. Before she could truly process what was happening, the claw had grabbed her ally and flown away — back to the Capitol.

She hoped that such a transport would never be her means of getting back there herself.

She continued to walk away from that spot once the transport disappeared, but she had no real plan or trajectory. As much as she trusted Slade and his judgement, she didn't have that trust for Dick or Diana yet. She considered just surviving on her own, but that would be very difficult. She knew there wasn't much of a question about what the best choice was, and she knew that at least Dick was kind and seemed like a fairly trustworthy person. She needed allies that would help her live long enough to avoid being picked up by that claw.

She regretted not looking very hard at the other tributes. She didn't know any of them really well, definitely not enough to count any of them as an ally worthy of her trust. Slade had at least looked at a few, apparently, but now that didn't matter. It didn't matter what Slade said or thought anymore. He was dead. He had offered up those two possible allies, but that meant nothing to her, for now.

Thea was going to wander and walk for a while, try to survive alone. If she met up with Dick or Diana, and they seemed good enough, then she would consider an alliance. Until then, she needed to clear her mind, remember her training, and hope that she could keep her brother from having to watch her die.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane


	51. Chapter 50: I Would Do Anything

**(A/N): Hello and welcome back to our Tuesday update! :D This time, we're taking a break from the Games to take a peek at what some of our former tributes from last year are doing.**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed this and previous chapters. We love seeing you guys supporting each other, and your reviews always make us smile. Keep it up!**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifty - "I Would Do Anything"**

 **Task Force X**

 **Kate Bishop, formerly of District Twelve**

 **Written by robbiepoo2341**

* * *

" _She lives in a fairy tale somewhere too far for us to find. Forgotten the taste and smell of a world that she's left behind. It's all about the exposure, the lens, I told her. The angles are all wrong now. She's ripping wings off of butterflies." - Paramore, "Brick by Boring Brick"_

* * *

Kate Bishop, she had been told repeatedly by both her handler and Amanda Waller herself, was an excellent sniper.

It was almost too easy to transition her skills in archery and hunting in the woods in District Twelve to hunting the people that Waller wanted dead. The principles were the same: point and shoot. And while she thought that there might have been a part of her at some point that would have considered killing _people_ to be repulsive… she didn't feel that way anymore.

She could vaguely recall at one point that she had been so naive about what it would take to win the war, to win the Games, that a single murder had reduced her to tears. It was hard to hold onto the details of her life before Hydra, but she did know one thing: the Kate Bishop she had been before was weak, unworthy of Hydra's trust.

She had to be better than that.

Kate desperately wanted to prove herself, to earn Hydra's trust. They had promised her that if she was compliant, if she was their perfect little weapon, when the time came, she would be allowed to kill Logan.

Of course, she no longer remembered _why_ she hated Logan, far too consumed by the _need_ , by the _hatred_ that seemed to grow stronger every day, with every promise Hydra made, with every session she spent with Kilgrave or even sometimes Whitehall. But it ate at her every thought, a gnawing sensation that bled into her dreams.

There were times that she thought she could remember what started it all. She thought she heard Whitehall say once that his methods required trauma in order to truly take hold of a mind, and it had set her wondering … trying to remember what hers had been. She remembered terror, and she knew, of course, that she had been in the Games, but it was so hard to hold onto anything that wasn't something Hydra had given her. Details of her life before seemed so unimportant compared to the great work ahead of her.

She could remember some of them when she was called upon, when someone asked. She remembered Twelve itself easily enough — and had been sent there on missions to take advantage of her insider knowledge. But at other times, it was impossible to remember.

Tactical things — little things. She could hold onto the strangest details. Others… others slipped away from her like they were made of nothing more than smoke.

Sometimes, she had some idea of what had happened in her subconscious mind rather than her conscious mind. She dreamed she was dying. She dreamed she was drowning in her own blood. And when she didn't dream of dying, she dreamed of killing — Logan, usually, but she had also been promised that if she was good, she could be part of the team that went after Nick Fury. Her team would shoot down the man who had sent them to the Games to be tortured and killed.

Those were good dreams.

Sometimes, though, she dreamed of a boy with dark, curly hair. Those were good dreams as well, but for some reason, she nearly always woke up from those upset, reaching for someone she knew wasn't there. The boy was dead — she _knew_ that just as strongly as she knew that it was _Logan_ who had taken him from her — she just wished she could remember anything else about him. But that was like holding onto water as it slipped through her fingers.

And yet details like that were so unimportant — especially when compared to the other, more pressing details, the everyday acts of obedience that would prove her loyalty, her complete and total acquiescence to Hydra. She had to prove herself, or they might decide she wasn't worth sending after Logan when the time came. And she had to — _she had to_ be the one to kill him. She didn't know why, but she knew it consumed her every thought that wasn't turned toward becoming a perfect weapon.

She wished that she was more like Sin or Natasha. The two of them weren't as much of a problem for Hydra as Kate was. _They_ were already perfectly usable weapons. _They_ didn't need the extra help that Kate required to stay on course. _They_ didn't make mistakes like Kate made, moments when she would forget herself and put her own thoughts ahead of Hydra's.

* * *

 _Kate had been perfectly compliant, and as Hydra had promised, compliance was rewarded._

 _She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Down here in the compound that Amanda Waller ran, the former tributes weren't allowed to have anything of their own. Nothing personal. Not unless they earned it. And even then, it was tightly regulated. But one of the things that she_ could _do was change her appearance, and Kilgrave had just recently given her a bottle and permission to do just that_ — _a reward for her perfect compliance and flawless performance on a recent mission_ _._

 _Kate had never dyed her hair before, but Natasha helped her, framing her face with red along with a streak down the middle of her hair. The older girl didn't try to chat with her much_ — _she wasn't naturally talkative anyway. But Kate didn't pay that any mind as she excitedly told Natasha about how_ good _she was getting at killing people, how much she was becoming the perfect weapon she needed to be._

" _And you like going on missions?" Natasha said, as she checked Kate's roots. Kate knew that Natasha was a perfect weapon, but she was also exceedingly gentle as she worked with Kate, almost like a sister._

 _Kate thought she might have had a sister who did her hair, but when she tried to hang onto that thought, her nebulous sister's face turned to Natasha's._

" _More than anything," Kate swore, her eyes wide and sparkling. "I love getting out with my bow. There's something about lining up a solid shot that just… sings."_

 _A strange expression passed over Natasha's face, and she lingered over Kate's roots so that Kate couldn't see the entire expression. "You sound like Clint," she said in barely a whisper._

 _Kate paused. She and the others on Waller's team rarely talked about the others who had been in the Games before, since they clearly hadn't been brought back anyway, though Kate knew Natasha had been district partners with Clint Barton. And she thought, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she had liked Clint. That they'd gotten along._

 _It was one of those things that was hard to hold on to, and it_ frustrated _her so. Especially because, for some reason, she could almost hear desperate screaming when his name came up, but far away, as if it was through a tunnel._

 _She wished she could remember more. She wished she understood why Clint's name gave her a tight feeling in her chest… or why his name made Natasha's lips pull tighter. Natasha had a good poker face, but Kate had an eye for details. She knew that Natasha was just as sad around Clint's name as Kate was when she could almost_ — almost — _remember the name of the boy with the dark curls._

" _Well, what do you think?" Natasha asked when she stepped back from her work and turned Kate toward the mirror, breaking her out of her thoughts to show off her new hairstyle._

 _Kate grinned and she examined her reflection in the mirror. The red was perfectly contoured around the edges so that it made her cheekbones pop in the way it was framed, and the streak added a little more pizzazz so that it didn't look like her face was surrounded by a red halo. It was distinctive; no one else had anything like it._

 _Kate liked it._

" _If you want me to change it…"_

 _Kate quickly shook her head. "No, I love it," she said quickly, then grinned crookedly as she gestured between herself and Natasha. "And now we match."_

" _Not really," Natasha said, though Kate thought she could see a little smirk at the corner of her expression._

" _Seriously, thanks for this," Kate said. She would have hugged Natasha, but something held her back; she wasn't sure what. Maybe it was the worry that Hydra would think they were too close. Maybe it was that she wasn't entirely sure Natasha was the hugging kind of person. Maybe it was both. Or something else._

 _She had a hard time keeping things straight lately when it wasn't something Hydra had given her._

" _Anytime," Natasha promised. "If you decide you don't like it, let me know."_

" _We'll see," Kate said with a little wave Natasha's way as she slipped out the door, though she was sure she wouldn't change it. She liked how distinctive it looked, liked that it was_ hers, _that no one else had any streaks_ quite _like she did decorating their hair._

 _Plus, she liked that it meant all the girls had red hair now. She was pretty sure she was a fan of teams. And wasn't that what Hydra was? Hydra was always talking about how they were all part of something bigger, a larger whole. They were all working together, and Kate liked that._

 _But Kate quickly realized afterward that she should have known better than to think outside the box, even for something as simple as hair color. The bottle Kilgrave had given her as a reward was purple_ — _his favorite color. Kate thought vaguely that it might have been hers at one point, but what did her favorite color matter when her every thought should have been to Hydra?_

 _She instantly regretted the change from purple to red, though, when she met Kilgrave in the hallway._

 _When he saw what she had done, he seized her by the wrist and pulled her to him so that he could grab a handful of her hair, particularly the red parts, his lips curled back in a sneer. "I gave you a present, Katherine," he said, his breath hot on her cheek. "Didn't you like it?"_

 _Kate swallowed hard, immediately realizing her mistake. Obviously, she should have gotten permission before changing the color, even if Natasha had plenty of red that she used to re-dye her hair after infiltration missions. She tried to recover, to explain: "Natasha pointed out that it would be a giveaway_ — _purple on a girl with a bow_ —"

" _So you answer to Natasha now?" he replied with that same sneer on his lips._

" _No!" she said quickly. She knew the answer to that question by heart; she had said it so many times. "No, I belong to Hydra. I belong to you."_

 _Kilgrave watched her, still holding her recently-dyed hair in one hand with his eyes narrowed. It_ had _been the right answer. But there was still no changing the fact that she had done something_ she _wanted to do, rather than what she had been given to do. That couldn't be allowed to stand. If she could deviate even slightly from the path, she could stray entirely, and Hydra couldn't trust a weapon that didn't shoot straight every single time._

 _He watched her desperate expression for a long time before he finally brought his other hand up to cup her chin, running his thumb over her bottom lip as she held her breath. "I think it's time for another session, don't you?" he asked in a low whisper._

 _Kate felt the bottom drop out of her stomach, thinking of that horrible chair, the one that Whitehall used more than Kilgrave, though Kilgrave did use it. She had been in it many times, restrained at every joint and unable to move a muscle… "No," she whispered out, the sound stolen from her before her mind could catch up to tell her that 'no' was not an answer that Hydra accepted._

" _No?" he repeated sharply. "You are_ happy _to comply," he said, and with that one phrase, her mind started to go blissfully, peacefully blank._

" _I'm happy to comply," she repeated with a small smile as the stress of her decision melted from her shoulders. He would tell her what she was supposed to do, supposed to think. That was so much easier._

* * *

Kate's hair was still dyed with those red streaks that she had once loved, though now they were a reminder to her of how important details could be, of how she shouldn't listen to Natasha or Sin over her own handler. The two girls were her allies — she thought, secretly, that they were her _friends_ , but she was terrified to say as much out loud, since she was not sure Hydra would allow her that luxury if she hadn't earned it — but they were just cogs in Hydra's ever-turning machine. Disposable, like she was.

Her hair was hidden, of course, by the hood that she wore to hide her identity, pulled low almost to her eyes. The lower half of her face was hidden entirely behind a black mask that covered her mouth and nose. There was a mic inside if she needed to communicate with T'Challa, but he was as silent as ever — she tried to hide her disappointment by watching him slip through buildings. It was truly like watching a shadow.

The target Waller had given them was exactly where the intel had pointed them, and Kate watched carefully as the girl in the flowered dress walked into her sights. She pressed the safety on the rifle, taking careful aim, exactly the way she had been trained by Deadshot. Assassinations like this, in the Capitol, meant a rifle, not a bow and arrow, which would have been far too distinctive — and they weren't _yet_ ready to reveal their hand to the Capitolites, who would never see Hydra coming. And while guns never did feel as natural to her as her bow did, she was happy to comply with whatever directions she had been given.

She waited until she had the signal from T'Challa that he was in place before she squeezed the trigger, once, and Raina fell dead to the ground. A perfect shot, as always.

Kate smiled. She was a good sniper; Hydra could use that.

She packed her things and was already moving on to the next target. She had a small window of time to complete Hydra's mission in addition to the one that Waller had given her. The girl in the flower dress was a SHIELD problem, leaking SHIELD secrets, but Kate's next target, Victoria Hand — she was one of SHIELD's most loyal, and if Hydra was going to step in to take the throne when Thanos was gone, they needed Fury to be weak, unable to counter them when they moved in and tore his empire from him before they killed him.

T'Challa wasn't far behind her, having confirmed on the ground that Raina was dead, and she wasn't surprised when she saw him tear through the shadows below her as she approached Hand's apartment building.

They didn't have much time, but Kate knew that she would find her target there. Hydra had told her as much. Hydra was always right.

T'Challa scaled the side of the building with effortless grace, getting into position as Kate switched her scope to infrared so that she could see the two women inside. One was leaning against the kitchen counter as she talked to the other at the table, and Kate was just waiting for T'Challa to give her confirmation on which was which.

"Hand is the one at the counter," T'Challa's voice came over her earpiece, and that was all that Kate needed to make the shot through the window.

She smirked to herself as T'Challa confirmed the shot and started to pack up. Hydra hadn't given her much background information on this mission other than the fact that she needed to kill Victoria Hand, but she did know from simple observation that there was another sniper out there making excellent shots like that. The difference in ballistics would be a wrench in the investigation into the assassinations by one of Hydra's other weapons, not to mention the fact that if anyone in SHIELD put together that it was a SHIELD-issue gun, they would start chasing their own tails, perfectly distracted from Hydra's real plans.

And, of course, Kate was more than happy to make SHIELD chase their own tails. All in the service of Hydra, of course.

She met up with T'Challa at the rendezvous point twenty minutes later, exactly as they had been instructed by Waller, and he nodded at her quietly. She couldn't see his expression underneath the mask, but it didn't look like he was smiling like she was.

She didn't understand why T'Challa was so … indifferent, so uninvested in what Hydra was trying to do. He was _part_ of Hydra, and yet he seemed almost mechanical in his obedience. He wasn't going to win any special missions that way; didn't he understand? Didn't he know that Hydra was going to reward _her_ for how completely, totally obedient she was? Didn't he want that?

They weren't exactly prohibited from talking to each other, though Kate was always loathe to do so anyway after her handler had so negatively reacted to the fact that she was making friends like Natasha. She didn't want there to be a record of anything like friendship for him to pick apart with anyone _else_.

There were still, at times, moments that she wanted something for herself, despite all her best efforts to put her every single thought toward bettering Hydra's cause, and this was one of those moments — this desperate desire for friends, for companionship. She knew that, before Hydra, she'd had friends in Twelve, even friends in the Games… and that aching hole wanted to be filled just as much as the yawning chasm that came from Hydra continuing to promise her Logan and then telling her to be patient, to wait and wait and _wait_.

Kate was brought out of her thoughts by T'Challa, who broke his usual silence, to her surprise, with a simple statement: "That woman with her was her girlfriend."

Kate brought her head up to look at T'Challa, and she could see something moving just behind his uncovered eyes. Was it regret? Guilt? It was hard to tell when the rest of his expression was hidden behind the mask, and either way, Kate desperately hoped that neither was the case — for his he was hesitating over the fact that the people they killed had people who loved them, who would miss them…

Kate looked away and pointedly down at the ground, hating the fact that her mouth had gone dry. Her head ached with the thought of it, of having to watch someone she loved die, as she put herself in that woman's position and found that it was far too familiar to her, though of course, the details of that feeling were impossible to figure out. She just knew that it _hurt._

Neither she nor T'Challa spoke for the rest of the journey back to their base, though Kate could still hear T'Challa's words ringing like an accusation. Did he blame her for taking the shot? Did he know that she would have done it even knowing what he had told her, that she would do _anything_ to prove herself to Hydra?

Kate turned away from T'Challa, chewing on her bottom lip for the duration of the flight, worrying her hands over her knees for something to do with them. She couldn't afford to feel guilty, couldn't afford to hesitate. That wasn't _allowed_. Why was she letting T'Challa get to her like this? Why was _he_ saying things like this when he should have been serving Hydra?

She was incredibly grateful when the transport opened up and she was able to leave the close confines with T'Challa and his steady expression, whatever that expression was. She didn't want to think about it too closely. Instead, she just focused on getting to the briefing room to tell Amanda Waller that Raina was dead, that SHIELD's little leak problem had been fixed, that she had done well, hit her mark, and that she was a reliable sniper. That was all she wanted to do.

Well, that and one more thing.

Once she had finished with Waller, Kate had one more report to make, and she was trembling with anticipation as she reached Kilgrave's quarters. Victoria Hand was high in the ranks of SHIELD, and Kate had executed her mission to take her down flawlessly. The woman was dead, with no evidence left behind to implicate anyone — other than the red handprint that T'Challa had left as a misdirect for the SHIELD team that would investigate. After all, SHIELD was so concerned with 'The Hand' that they had no idea it was only one of Hydra's many, many names.

She had done well, and she wanted to tell him that, wanted so desperately for him to see that she could handle missions like this. If she could kill someone like that, then she could kill Fury — she could kill _Logan_.

He _had_ to see that. She _had_ to prove herself. It was so important. It was the only thing that mattered. It was the _reason_ Hydra had chosen her.

The door slid open, and Kilgrave was waiting for her with an oily smile that grew when he saw her manic sort of grin as she rushed forward as soon as the door was closed, her report breathless as she watched his face for any sign of pride or pleasure, any sign that she had done well, that she had proven herself.

When she was finished, he watched her, giving nothing away. It was agony, hoping that he could see that she was _ready_ , that she was _more_ than capable, that Hydra could trust her with its most important missions.

Finally, he stepped forward and cupped her cheek in one hand, and she leaned hungrily into the touch, hoping it was a good sign.

"Well done, Katherine," he said, and she let out all her breath with relief as he ran his fingers down her cheek the entire time he removed his hand to step back and get something from his desk. He returned with something in his hand, a golden tube, that he pressed into her hand and closed her fingers around. "And you know compliance will be rewarded," he added.

The euphoric response to the phrase that every one of Whitehall's assistants — including Kilgrave — had programmed into their operatives was immediate. She let out a giddy sort of laugh as she clutched the tube of lipstick to her chest. _I did it. I showed them. They can trust me. They can use me,_ she thought through the delirium of the euphoria.

She felt almost from far away Kilgrave's hand on her shoulder as he turned her toward a mirror, and she was caught up in her delirium too much to move for a moment before she realized that the _right_ decision, unlike the last one when she had been so callous with his first gift, would be to wear it.

"Good girl," he whispered over her shoulder as she finished and pocketed the lipstick, and she couldn't stop the smile.

She'd done _well_. She was good — she had done everything they asked. She was compliant. Surely they would give her what she so desperately _needed_ , the mission that they had filled her mind with. It was torture to have to wait when every session seemed to pour more and more malice into her mind, seemed to intensify those dreams of killing Fury, killing Logan. They had turned her into a weapon with a single focus but wouldn't let her follow through — it was agony.

She stepped toward the door, but Kilgrave's hand on her waist stopped her, and she froze, wondering what it was that she had forgotten to do as terror suddenly seized her. _I've made a mistake. They won't let me work. They can't trust me_ ….

"I've given you a present, Katherine," he said as he stepped into her, turning her to face him as her back hit the wall and his breath was on her neck as he whispered in her ear, "Aren't you going to thank me?"

Kate's heart was hammering in her chest with the _need_ to prove herself, to please her handler, as she stepped into him, leaving traces of purple lipstick on his neck as she whispered out her gratitude, every word a desperate, hungry plea.


	52. Chapter 51: Amazons

**(A/N): And we're back in the arena! This time, we're checking in on Kara Danvers, written as always by the amazing Ophelia Claire.**

 **Thanks to everyone who reviewed our recent chapter. It's going to get worse before we make it to the end of this revolution and these Games, so strap in, y'all!**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifty-One - Amazons**

 **Day One**

 **Kara Danvers of District Five**

 **Written by Ophelia Claire**

* * *

" _Spirit Tribe - Not connected by blood but rather by energy. Those who are there for you through the good and the bad, those who are patient, and those who are supportive of you and your dreams." - Unknown_

* * *

Wet.

Everything was wet, and Kara hated it.

Actually, it wasn't even _wet;_ that was the problem. It was just damp. Her hair stuck to her neck, her shirt stuck to her back (it was waterproof, which did absolutely jack squat when the water came from the inside), and the ground that wasn't covered in water was squishy and soft. The leather wrapped around the hilt of her sword was damp from her sweaty palms and made it harder to grip properly.

She examined the sword again. The blade was leaf-shaped, with a gentle curve on each side. Both edges were sharp, which meant it was a hacking weapon as well as a stabbing one. It gave her a slight disadvantage in a fight, but she was prepared to make up for it with the round shield that sat on the ground next to her.

The shield had been an unexpected gift from Diana once their group had reconvened away from the Tesseract. Kara was doubly surprised to receive the extra weaponry, because if she was being honest, she hadn't done much in the way of gathering supplies for the alliance during the bloodbath.

* * *

 _When Kara had finally solved the riddle, there had only been twenty seconds left in the countdown. She rose into the arena, squinting from the sunlight that was both shining down and reflecting off the water. She spotted Diana a third of the way around the circle; John was a few spots from being hidden by the Tesseract, and she couldn't see Clark at all._

 _She pulled up her hood when something buzzed by her ear_ — oh, a tracker jacker, probably — _and crouched slightly, ready to run as the timer ticked closer and closer to zero._

 _When the klaxon wailed, she sprang from her pedestal into the ankle-deep water. It splashed up around her as she sprinted as quickly as she could. Her boots squished in the muck and made a wet sucking sound each time she lifted one out of the water. She glanced behind her, looking for incoming attackers._

 _There were none yet. She trudge-ran towards the Tesseract, knowing she'd find Clark on the other side, and then they could meet up with Diana._

 _The sounds of a nearby struggle made her jump and turn, but it was Slade and Jonathan grappling with one another, not paying attention to anyone else. She saw flashes of silver and knew there was a blade involved. One of them wasn't making it out of that fight._

 _As it turned out, she found Clark more quickly than she intended, when he came stumbling around the corner, swatting at several tracker jackers. Multiple stings were already visible on his face, neck, and hands. He was frantic, his eyes glazed over with pain and tracker jacker venom. Somehow, he still held onto a backpack._

 _"Kara! Clark!" It was Diana, with fire in her eyes and weapons in her arms. John was running up behind her. "We need to go!"_

 _Kara turned to Clark, who was staring at Diana with an odd look on his face._

 _"Lois?" He reached out and stumbled forward._

 _If Clark was confusing Diana with Lois, then he was well and truly hallucinating, and that was bad. Clark was stubborn enough without throwing his girlfriend into the mix._

 _"Clark!_ Clark!" _Kara shouted. Clark looked confused, and Kara took the opportunity to rush over and take him by the arm. As soon as she pulled, however, Clark yanked his arm away with an agonized cry. His face was a mask of horror as he stared at something only he could see._

 _"Clark!" Kara shouted again. She glanced to Diana._

 _"Do what you have to," the girl said. She shimmied her arm out of the straps of the shield hanging there and tossed it to Kara. "We must leave, and I do not want to leave him here."_

 _Kara looked at the shield and then up at Clark. "Sorry, cousin." She slid the shield onto her arm, spun him around, and swiped him on the back of the head with it. It was a glancing blow, and Clark staggered. Kara hit him once more, and he collapsed into the water._

 _Kara hauled his arm over her shoulder, and John came over to help her lift the bulky young man out of the water. With Diana on the defensive toward other tributes, they headed into the marshy forest._

* * *

"It is called a xiphos."

Kara snapped out of her reverie and looked up to find Diana standing over her. "What?"

"Your sword." Diana nodded at the blade in Kara's lap. "It is a style of sword used by the Greeks of ancient times. It was designed to be used by the infantry along with a shield." Diana nudged the shield sitting next to Kara. "I prefer two-handed swords, but you are excellent at utilizing offense and defense at once."

Kara was always surprised at how much Diana knew about _everything._ The way she talked about Kara's fighting style after being around her for less than a week and turned it into information about the right kind of sword was ridiculously impressive.

"Would you care to spar with me? It is important to learn the balance of your new weapons quickly."

Kara nodded. Diana extended a hand, which Kara took, and Diana hauled her to her feet. Kara scooped up her shield, and the two found a flat area free of trees and tall grasses. "Never fought with a shield before. Any tips?"

Diana nodded. "A shield may seem like an advantage in a fight, but it can turn to a hindrance just as quickly. Weight should not be as much of a problem with your shield — I do not know what it is made of, but I suspect something similar to Steve Rogers' from last year. It shouldn't weigh on your arm too much, but keeping your arm up can tire you out quickly." Diana held her arm so that it was bent in front of her hips. "Keep it here until you need to block an attack."

Kara copied the position as Diana raised her sword.

"Let's try a few strikes. We will start slowly." Diana swung her sword in a gentle sideways arc toward the left side of Kara's chest. Kara lifted her shield and blocked the strike with a thwack, making her shield wobble on her arm. She fought to get it under control. Steve had made it look so effortless.

"Good, but if you can, angle your arm so that it matches the angle of the sword. It will help with the wobbling."

Diana struck again, and Kara blocked once more, trying to get the angle right this time. Her shield still wobbled, but it was less severe this time.

"You can also use your shield to strike your opponent," Diana said as she slowly ramped up the speed of her attacks. "If you have the opportunity, lunge forward with your shield extended. Pull your arm back and swing it forward at the last moment to add more power." She stopped attacking Kara and pointed her sword at a nearby sapling. "Try it here."

Kara placed herself in front of the tree, crouched slightly, and sprang forward, bashing her shield against the trunk. The young tree cracked at the point of impact and listed sideways before slowly breaking in half and toppling over.

Diana smiled approvingly. "Excellent work. I knew a shield was right for you." She raised her sword. "Let us go again."

Diana began with a few more, slower strikes once more, pointing out how the shield could cause blind spots while Kara held it up. "However," she added, "if you watch the rest of your opponent, you can tell what they are doing. Hold up your shield, and I will show you."

Kara lifted her shield so that she couldn't see Diana's sword.

"Watch the way your opponent's feet move, the way their weight shifts when they are about to strike at you." Diana swung her sword, and sure enough, Kara could see the subtle bend of her knees that indicated her weight shifting.

"If you can dodge the strike instead of parrying, you can batter them with your shield while they are off-balance," Diana explained. "The best time for a counter-attack is immediately after your opponent attacks, no matter what the weapon. If it's ranged weaponry, they will need to reload; and if it's melee, they will be off-balance."

Kara lunged forward with her sword. "I know Four is typically a Career district, but you don't seem like you trained in the way that One and Two do. Where do you learn all this?"

Diana parried Kara's strike and jabbed at her. "My mother, Hippolyta, has a library full of writings of our ancestors — advice on the art of warfare, among other things. I have spent many hours studying in there."

"Your own library?" Kara was impressed. She feinted and swung. "Has the collection been growing for a long time?"

"Yes. My mother has written down her own history since she was young, as did her mother, and her grandmother before that. I have been adding my own to the collection as well, and someday—" Diana cut herself off, but Kara guessed what she was about to say.

 _Someday my daughter will add her own history._ But there was no guarantee that there would be a someday for Diana. She was one of the strongest competitors, that was for sure; but even if she won, she would be in the public eye for the rest of her life. She might not even get the chance to have a family.

Kara changed the subject.

"What does your family do in Four? There are…families in power, right?"

"Not so much in power, but in prominence for what we do," Diana replied. "The Princes are craftspeople. We make the tridents, the nets, the spears — tools for the fishermen. The Curries — they are the ones who go out into the sea. The All-Father — Odin — oversees the fishing operations." Diana shifted the way she was standing. "Now," she said, "let me see what you have retained in your shield studies."

After a few more minutes, the sparring session ended with Kara on her back with Diana's sword at her throat, but Diana looked thrilled. "You learn quickly." She smiled with a hint of wistfulness. "I am my mother's only daughter, but I have found myself wondering this week if you are not a long-lost relative. You would find yourself at home in the Prince household."

Kara blushed. "If you saw me next to my birth mom, there wouldn't be any doubt that I'm her daughter, but thanks."

Diana looked puzzled for a moment as Kara got to her feet, but then her expression cleared. "Oh, you did mention during your interview that you were adopted, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I probably didn't handle that as well as I should have," Kara admitted. "Tivan got me a little flustered."

Diana scowled. "That is his job," she muttered. Kara recalled the way Tivan's slimy words had managed to crack even Diana's regal poise and confidence on stage.

"Slimeball," Kara agreed. "You hear that, Marvel?" She didn't raise her voice at all, but if the cameras happened to be focused on them they'd catch it. "Taneleer Tivan is a sleazy gross dude whose job is making kids uncomfortable."

Diana laughed, a light, musical sound, and Kara realized it was the first time she'd seen any more happiness than a smile from her.

Kara laughed too, and for a moment, the girls lost themselves in mirth. Once their laughter had subsided, Kara slipped her shield off of her arm.

"Shall we go check on the boys? Hopefully they haven't gotten into any trouble while we were gone."

"Boys always find trouble, in my experience," Diana said as they headed back to their camp.

The boys in question had not found trouble, as a matter of fact. John was sorting out their combined supplies, and Clark was on his feet.

Kara gave him an El glare as soon as she saw him up and walking around. "You better be back on that bedroll in the next ten seconds, or I will knock you out again and _make_ you sit on that bedroll."

Diana smirked. "You would do well to listen to her, Clark."

"Kara, I'm _fine,_ " Clark complained. Kara walked over to him and gave him a gentle push. He staggered and caught himself on a tree trunk.

" _Sit,_ " she repeated, pointing at the bedroll. "You've got seven tracker jacker stings to recover from—"

"And a _concussion_ —"

"You are _not_ concussed. I barely hit you. I'm surprised you aren't still tripping out on tracker jacker venom."

Clark scowled but acquiesced. "You're worse than Ma," he said as he plopped down on the bedroll. "What about you? You got beat up at the Tesseract too."

"I didn't try and fight an entire nest of tracker jackers," Kara said, sitting down next to her cousin and bumping her shoulder into his.

* * *

 _Once they had gotten a safe distance away from the Tesseract, Kara and John had eased Clark onto the ground. Kara rolled her cousin onto his back and examined the stings on his neck and hands._

 _"Do you know if tracker jacker venom is lethal in large amounts?" Kara asked._

 _"Normally, yes," Diana said. "But I doubt that is the case here. In this case, I believe an increased concentration of venom simply leads to more extreme hallucinations. The Gamemakers would not want tributes simply dropping dead from too many stings, especially during the bloodbath. It does not make for good television." She scowled during the last words. "We should remove the stinger, though. Leaving them in will impede the healing process."_

 _Kara agreed and set about digging out the stinger. It was careful work_ — _each stinger had to be eased from the site of impact to make sure the venom sac came out with it. Kara wiped away the tiny rivulets of blood that ran from each sting, but they had nothing to clean the welts with for the moment. She looked at Diana and John_

 _"We'll need to find running water if we want something to drink. Boiling water can only do so much for it, and stagnant stuff like all this has all kinds of scum and stuff that can't be boiled out."_

 _Diana and John nodded in agreement. "With the amount of water around here, there must be a stream or a lake or something," John said. "Once we get settled, we can go and look."_

 _"We should also take care of our own injuries," Diana said. "We have all been stung at the very least."_

 _The three conscious members of the so-called Justice League_ — _a name that Kara remembered Diana mentioning from her conversation with Cisco and that she and Clark both had agreed_ _was exactly the kind of name their mentor, Peter, would love: one that fit the heart and soul of the alliance members themselves_ — _helped one another remove the stingers from their necks and faces and hands. Kara had copied many of the other tributes she'd seen and covered as much exposed skin as possible and had made it out with only a couple stings. Diana and John had been pretty lucky on the sting front as well, but they all had various cuts and bruises from the chaos at the Tesseract._

 _Kara was glad Clark was unconscious, because the stings hurt way worse coming out than they did going in. They were barbed and tugged at the skin, causing more tiny rips if they weren't pulled the right way._

* * *

The camp fell into silence — or at least, the people stopped talking. It was impossible for there to be silence in the swamp. There was the gurgle of water all around, the splashes of tiny marsh creatures, and of course, the ever-present drone of mosquitoes. So far, it seemed like the annoying bugs couldn't bite through the shiny, plasticky material of her clothes, so she suspected she'd been spared many bites already.

After a while, she turned to Clark. "Do you remember you hallucination at the Tesseract?" she asked.

He frowned. "Sort of. I remember… seeing Lois. For some reason, I didn't think about what she was doing in the arena; I was just so happy to see her."

"You were looking at Diana," Kara said. "You transformed her, but not the rest of us, for some reason."

"I heard her calling my name—"

"That was _me_ —"

"—and..." Clark stopped. "She was, um… she was pregnant. And then she was dead, right in front of me, and I thought it was all my fault for bringing her here."

Kara raised her eyebrows. "And that's when I knocked you out, I think."

Clark nodded. "Maybe it came from my subconscious or something. I saw what I want with Lois." He glanced sharply at Kara. "Not her being dead! But… settling down, having a family and a regular life. It's just been me and Ma for so long."

"Well, you have me now too," Kara said. "And Lois, and Jimmy, and Winn. You have a bigger family than you know." She leaned backward and brushed aside the hair at the nape of his neck to look at the bump she'd given him.

"Sorry again about this," she told him. "Got caught up in the moment."

"Just don't get caught up in any more, please?"

She couldn't help but smile at him for that one. "I'll try not to."

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane


	53. Chapter 52: Swamp Thang

**(A/N): Here we are back with our Tuesday update! We're finishing out the first day of the Games, brought to you by the lovely and talented Miran Anders, who is writing Helena Wayne again.**

 **Thanks to all of our writers who reviewed this and previous chapters. We love to hear what you think as the story progresses ... and to see that emotional attachment that makes this story worthwhile!**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifty-Two - Swamp Thang**

 **Games Day One – Afternoon**

 **Helena Wayne of District 7**

 **Written by Miran Anders**

* * *

 _"Extinction is the rule._ _Survival is the exception."_

 _-Carl Sagan_

* * *

"Holy Crap."

Helena Wayne froze in the ankle-deep water and stared at the oddly-defined squiggle of dark gray mud on the shoreline. Slowly, as she watched, it morphed into a mottled snake more than a yard long. She took a few deep breaths, still frozen, and waited to see if it would fade in the same way the rest of the tracker jacker hallucinations had. Slinging her crossbow around, she aimed at it — and gave up trying when the point of her bolt continued to trace little symbols of infinity, no matter how she tried to steady it.

The venom was still in her system, clearly, and just thinking about the damn wasps made pain shoot up her leg from ankle to knee, tendriling in stinging lines beyond the original strikes, and up as far as her hip. And that, of course, was just the physical pain.

* * *

Having had watched last year's Games, and knowing Logan, it didn't take long for her to figure out the riddle that presented itself before they were set loose in the arena. As soon as she realized what the answer was, she tried to remember what he had done — besides hallucinating badly enough to kill one of his allies. A poultice of some kind of plant helped, but in the heat of the countdown, she couldn't remember what it would be. "Damn it, damn it, damn it," she whispered through gritted teeth as the seconds ticked off.

Time telescoped, the klaxon sounded, and before she realized she was doing it, she was heading toward the Tesseract — even though she could hear it buzzing fifty yards away.

That didn't matter, though — she saw a _crossbow_ in there.

 _It has to be mine._

Her brain hotwired commands to her legs without leaving time for deliberation with common sense, and she was suddenly running like a gazelle, leaping gracefully, heading straight into trouble.

Helena slipped and wove and splashed toward the glowing cube, keeping close to the hummocky areas. Somehow, miraculously, she got as far as the bow without being stung. She couldn't believe her luck and actually laughed as she dropped to one knee to lift the beautifully crafted weapon.

And that was when she felt the stabbing pain.

Helena cried out in spite of herself. _Seriously? I_ knelt _on the damn things?_

Her arm dropped, but her fingers around the bow were locked tight. As she stood and jerked away from the pain, she saw a hunting knife in a sheath sticking out of an open box and snatched that up as well. Glancing into the box, she saw some smaller bags and grabbed two on principle, not knowing what was in them. _Five seconds was probably too long to be in here. Time to run like Hel._

Getting at least a little distance between herself and the glowing cube, Helena dropped to her other knee, lifted her pant leg, and winced at the angry welts. Using the edge of the knife, she managed to scrape across the stingers and get all three out. _It's a start. Now what the hell were those plants? And more importantly, what did they look like?_

Two of the stings were on her shinbone close to her ankle, and one caught her calf muscle, which hurt like she'd been hit with a nail gun. She stuffed the mystery bags in a pocket, slung the bow and the quiver of bolts over her shoulder, and shuffled into a limping run before the wasps spread the word that she'd been stung — or got around to her, anyway. From the yells all around the Tesseract, they had quite a list to get to already.

Logan had explained during one of their post-training chats that the tracker jackers released a pheromone when they stung that called the rest of the swarm in on the kill. But luck appeared to be on her side again — at least until her leg gave out and she stumbled in the water. Catching her breath, she looked around, just in time to see, some distance away, the strange boy from Eight towering viciously over the kid the stylists had turned green. _That's one of Dick's kids, isn't it? Gar,_ she remembered vaguely. _He doesn't have a chance against Hamill._ She shook her head and tried to catch her breath. Some still rational part of her mind registered that barely a minute and a half had passed since the klaxon sounded.

 _Damn it. Dick said he was a good kid, too_ — Dick. _Where's Dick?_ She looked around wildly but only saw wobbling fights around her and heard oddly modulated screams. _Great. Not even out of ground zero and I'm already hallu_ _-_ she ducked to the ground as she heard a particularly loud buzz and saw a tracker two feet across speed by, turning to look at her with dripping fangs as it passed. _That can't be right...crap, if this is what it's like with only a couple stings…_ Her mind turned once more to her mentor, and she shook her head.

All around the Tesseract, incredibly rapid life and death struggles were going on. She looked around again, blinking to focus clearly, and froze when she finally glimpsed her brother. Saw him drop down next to Gar's body, then shake his head, more anger in his face than she had ever known. Helena blinked and opened her mouth to call his name, but he vanished from her view as he bent quickly to scoop up one of the girls, reappearing a moment later as he carried her out of harm's way. _Or at least away from Jack Hamill, which is the same thing. Already taking care of other people, of course. Be careful out there, brother._

A wave of pain hit her with a gasp, and through angry tears, she thought she saw Harley standing behind Jack, who was laughing like a demon. _She's got to see he would do that to her_ -

Helena wanted to get over to them, to take out Hamill right then and there — but everything seemed to be happening in fast and slow motion simultaneously. She took a few limping steps in their direction, heard a noise behind her, and spun around dizzily. It was Jade — the girl from Ten — picking up a knife. Helena slapped her side pocket. _My knife!_ It had slipped away when she fell.

They fought viciously until Helena managed to knock her down and get far enough back to raise her crossbow once more — which was when she saw the creature.

The hideous, monstrously giant form of Jezebel Jet rose from the swamp a distance behind Jade, fangs dripping and claws raised, her hair hanging in moldy clumps like the Spanish moss all around them. She smelled like rotting vegetation and dead fish, and Helena gagged at the stink. Helena's eyes went wide as the apparition snarled at her, screaming, spittle flying from her flabby lips in slimy streams. She appeared to get closer or just larger, Helena couldn't tell which.

 _You useless little nobody! How dare you try to come between your father and me? You're nothing! Nothing! Once you're dead, he's mine!_

Helena jerked back as if she'd been struck. The crossbow went off as she clenched her fist, and the next thing she knew, Jade was spinning her around and pounding a fist into her stomach.

Helena had to give the girl from Ten credit; she didn't really remember much for a while after that. She came to with a sore gut and an aching leg, finding herself not terribly far from where she started.

"Great." She stretched her jaw carefully, muzzily rose to her feet, and checked her pockets. Luckily, she had fallen from the waist up onto what passed for dry ground in the swamp, or she'd be dead by now.

She still had the crossbow and quiver, but evidently, Jade had ended up with the knife. _Damn it. That would have been handy. But no use crying over spilled milk. I've got to get moving._ The marshy isle where the Tesseract glowed ominously was no place to stay, especially since she could still hear subdued, angry buzzing coming from that direction.

 _God, I could use some water._ She looked around and laughed, quietly but ruefully. _Okay, so I could use some_ drinking _water. But standing out here in the open probably isn't the best way to go._ She could practically hear Logan yelling at her from wherever he was watching. "Right. Right. Shelter. High. Right. I _know_." She thought of Groot sitting near him, with that look of solemn concern on his face. _Right. What I need right now is a good tree to climb._

* * *

Which brought her, eventually, to this muddy bank with its squiggly mud. She had been planning to climb the cypress growing here, but there was still the small problem of the line in the mud — that actually appeared to be hissing at her now. Helena took half a step forward, and the line of mud curled into a spiral, one yellow end vibrating. She blinked at it a few times, and shook her head hard to see if the vision changed. All _that_ accomplished was making her head hurt, and evidently the snake didn't care for it either, as it coiled tighter and lifted its head toward her ominously.

 _Okay. We're going to assume you're not mud, then._ She tried to remember the reptiles at the fauna training station. _Cottonmouth? Yes, probably. Under the 'will kill you' sign. Stupid way to die after surviving the bloodbath, Hel. Can't have Dick remember you as being stupid as Hel, not after you were quizzing each other on them._ The thought of her brother brought some clarity, and she nodded.

Helena backed up slowly, trying to keep one eye on the snake as she stepped back into the water. As she got farther away, the reptile seemed to calm somewhat, so she moved a bit faster until her foot slipped off an edge and she splashed abruptly into water over her chest.

"Damn it!"

She yelled, then buckled her knees and dropped deeper into the water, worrying that someone might have heard. When a few minutes passed and she heard nothing, she stayed low and paddled farther out, looking for a safe place to huddle for the night. It was well into the afternoon now, and being out after dark seemed like an incredibly bad idea. _Come on, Hel. You_ can _think clearly. You can do this_. It was then that she saw the stand of three huge cypress trees, taller than the one the snake claimed, draped with more moss. The huge old center trunk seemed more dead than alive, but was so intertwined with the others that it hinted at easy climbing, once she got past the broadly skirted bottom. She headed in that direction, and the water quickly became shallow again. Scanning carefully for snakes — or other cranky tenants — Helena used her rock climbing skills to mount the knees of the trees. Then, after pausing for breath, she made her way up the smooth trunk until it spread out, using low-hanging branches heavy with moss to help her. Once she got to real branches, it was just a matter of choosing her spot. Climbing slowly, she worked her way up, coming to a section where there the oldest trunk had broken to a flattish top, and might once have been a nest for some bird.

"Holy… _big bird,"_ she said, in a tone that sounded very much like her brother. The platform of the nest was a good eight feet across and clearly had been built up several times. Luckily, there was no fresh material in it, which must have meant that nesting season was not happening at the moment. Helena pulled herself over the edge, testing the strength of the nest before letting go of supporting branches. It was slightly cupped and seemed sturdy. _Eagle, most likely. Hopefully they won't mind._

"Okay. So, if no one is going to fly in and tear me out of here… this could work." She unslung her bow and quiver and proceeded to efficiently check through her pockets.

The small bags that she had grabbed from the Tesseract were each revealed to contain a small plastic bottle of pills wrapped in a sheet of plastic. Helena frowned at that for a while. _What the hell…are they offering a suicide out?_ She sniffed one of the pills and gingerly touched it with a wet finger before sniffing it again and making a face. _Chlorine? Yuck. Yeah, that might work for suicide, but it would sure be ugly._ She frowned for a few moments before her eyes widened.

 _Oh, wait… Chlorine something. Chlorine dioxide. Right. I remember._ She nodded and gave a thumbs-up to her mentor, wherever he was. _I hope starting to be able to remember things means this stupid venom is wearing off._ Then she examined the plastic sheet the little bottle was wrapped in again and found that the material unfolded into a good two-liter-sized bag with a drinking nozzle. _Perfect. Now I just need some…_ She looked down at the water all around. _Yeah. Maybe a little less muddy, okay?_

Deciding her nest was as safe a base as any, she stashed her bow and quiver and climbed down the tree again, finding an easier path was on the opposite side of the trunks. _Of course, I could do a Grayson and just somersault out of the nest into the water... probably wouldn't stick the landing as well as he would._ She smiled in spite of her situation and made her way down.

Helena hiked stealthily until she found a smaller stream feeding the larger waterway of the swampy river. A tiny taste to make sure it wasn't saltwater pleased her enormously, and she filled both of the bags. Then, she took one of the pills from the bottle for each bag and dropped them in. In less than an hour, she would have potable water. _Potable. Meaning it won't kill me. Probably would taste a lot better with lemon and a few cubes, but I suppose not having any deadly bacteria will have to do._ She grinned to herself as she sealed the bags and walked back to her nest.

As Helena worked her way around to the easier climbing point, a flattened dome rising in the water made her heart stop. She froze as a roughly ridged shape, coated in algae and more than two feet across, slowly surfaced from the swamp. Adrenaline squirted in her abdomen as she saw a primitive-looking head lift from the water and a cruelly-beaked mouth open. _Holy crap._

The creature seemed to regard her distractedly, then sank once more into the swamp. Helena realized she had somehow clambered up onto one of the lumpy knees of her cypress and was breathing hard. _What the hell was that? That shell_ — _wait! Alligator snapping turtle. Yes. Holy crap. I knew they got big, but come on._ She stayed where she was for a few minutes, making sure that the turtle was well on his way and letting her heartbeat settle down. _At least I know this is all fresh water here, then. They don't live in salt._ She nodded thoughtfully, weighing the bags in her hands. _Okay. How, Hel, are you planning to get this water up there?_

A few minutes of muddled thinking finally got her to a point where she could tie her lightweight jacket into a kind of sling for the water bags while she climbed. Dusk was starting to fall, and she realized that the experiences of the day, not to mention the venom working its way out of her system, was leaving her exhausted. _Tomorrow, I'll have to hunt up some food._ She barely got up to the eagle's nest before curling up and falling into a dark and dreamless sleep, her crossbow clutched tightly in her hand.

* * *

The lights woke her abruptly.

Glaring blue-white lights streamed and flickered through the trees in the swamp, electrifying the water as well as the sky. _It isn't fair,_ thought Helena. _It's almost beautiful._ A sudden flash like a sheet of lightning stole her night-vision, and she clung more tightly to her bow. Then, in the ringing silence and total purple-tinged blackness, a pause.

Helena swallowed hard _. Oh. This is it. The beginning of the end. Who lived through the day, and who died._ The fanfare opening of the Marvel anthem started to play, full of pomp and self-importance. _I've always hated this music. Now I suppose I'll hate it for the rest of my life, however long that turns out to be._

She realized she would have to climb higher up to get a clear view of the sky, which was largely hidden by the moss surrounding her nest. The younger cypress trees on either side had grown higher than her perch and canopied her view. _I don't know if I even want to watch. What if Dick is one of them? What if_ —

As she stood and grasped a branch, her gaze dropped down through an opening in the canopy to the surface of the swamp, and she gasped. Evidently, the Capitol had figured for this eventuality as well. _Heaven forbid we don't see who every single sacrificial lamb is._

Shimmering on the dark water was the Marvel emblem. Helena looked around suspiciously, suddenly picturing every other tribute close enough to see what she was seeing. Then, she closed her eyes hard for a moment, trying to get her natural vision back after the bright flashing lights, and looked out in another direction. From her curtained safety, she could see dim glowing blue in other areas, farther away. _Oh, great. So we're all getting painted with giant blue bulls-eyes_. She shook her head and thought again. _No. Think, Hel. They must just be doing it all over the place, probably use the same kind of set up as the hidden cameras everywhere, possibly using drones. Showing us where everyone is by only projecting where tributes are hiding would end their fun too soon._

Her expression hardened as she looked back at the shimmering emblem. They wouldn't be passing out advantages like that _yet,_ anyway.

The music swelled again, the ripples on the water stilled, and the emblem disappeared. Slowly fading into clarity was a face. Helena held her breath. The only person she saw die was the kid from Ten. _Other than him... could be anyone…_

 **Slade Wilson**

The name appeared just the barest moment after the face became clear, and beneath it,

 **District One**

Helena swore under her breath. This was it. It was real. One of them was dead and was now being broadcast like some kind of advertisement for the Capitol, for Marvel, for Thanos. _Bastards. I swear, if I get through this…_ Anger stung in her eyes as the boy's face faded, and the music swelled once more. A carefully timed pause, and another faded into view.

 **Cisco Ramon**

 **District Three**

Her jaw clenched, and she found herself leaning forward, nearly too far for the branch she was holding. With an act of will, she settled herself more upright, watching. _Right, they're doing this in district order. If Dick is... if Dick is going to be projected, it's going to be before the boy from Ten._

The music at this point had reached a veritable frenzy of excitement. She thought she might actually throw up before another face came into focus.

 **Garfield Mark Logan**

 **District Ten**

The sound that came out of her at that moment startled Helena. It was a sob — she'd like to believe it was a cry of relief. Angrily, she wiped her sleeve over her face, staring hard at the lights in the water. _Sorry, Gar. You never even had a chance. Dick, I know you said he was a good kid... Be strong, brother. You can't save them all._ Her index finger tapped automatically on a hand that wasn't there.

Trembling with anger and something more, she waited for what could be next — but it was only the Marvel emblem. Helena realized, still trembling, that she was aiming her bow at the projection and barely stopped herself from shooting pointlessly at the image.

The lights faded slowly away, and a faint breeze rippled the water.

 _Oh, that must have made great television,_ she thought bitterly. _Just marvelous. And I wonder how many of the younger kids are onscreen crying themselves to sleep right now_ — _if they can sleep at all_. That led to the thought of the families who were looking at screens from their homes, filled with shock and horror… and she knew they, too, were being captured on video for the enjoyment and edification of the masses. _Damn them. Damn self-serving Capitol bastards!_

She opened the nozzle on the water bottle and took a swig, warm and chemical. _Great. That's pretty disgusting._ But her mouth and body welcomed it as if it were a fine wine, and she had to stop herself from drinking too much too quickly.

As her eyes adjusted to the night once more, she looked up. Between the branches of the ancient cypress trees, she could see a sprinkling of stars, and a waxing moon that glowed like the cup of an alabaster chalice. She blinked at it and took a few deep breaths, feeling the strength returning to her heart.

 _They'll pay. They'll all pay. Every single one of the Capitol bastards._ Shifting her weight carefully, she sat down in the center of the nest, making sure her bow was close. _I don't care if I have to come back and haunt them after this, they'll pay._

But suddenly, part of her was hoping otherwise. Part of her felt so much anger, so much resentment, that she wanted to get to the end of this charade. She wanted to walk out of the arena, alive. And she wanted to be the one to put a bolt right between Thanos' eyes. And she was suddenly quite sure that there was someone who felt _exactly_ the same way. She swallowed hard and looked out into the darkness, speaking quietly but clearly.

"Wait for me, Dad. We'll do this together."

 _They'll pay. And all the innocents will have justice._

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane


	54. Chapter 53: As the Crow Flies

**(A/N): Happy December! Here we are with our Friday update! This time, we're beginning Day Two of the Games, brought to you by InDeepDarkWood and her excellent Scarecrow.**

 **Thank you, as always, to our writers who have reviewed the most recent chapter as well as the previous ones. We always love to hear from you and to see what excites you and what doesn't. And it is always fun to see the different writers describe the swamp environment; it adds depth to the story, we think.**

 **And, of course, we can't say it enough: If you're enjoying this one and have the time, the first installment of this series, "In the End You Always Kneel," is worth a read. That is, after all, where the Tahiti kids come from!**

 **Thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for all your reviews. We love hearing what you liked about the chapters - and love giggling at your jokes. :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifty-Three -"As The Crow Flies"**

 **Dawn Day Two**

 **Jonathan Crane of District Eleven**

 **Written by InDeepDarkWood**

* * *

" _Anyone who hasn't experienced the ecstasy of betrayal knows nothing about ecstasy at all."_ \- Jean Genet

* * *

It was funny, really, that he'd only been in the arena a day. Already, it felt like a lifetime ago when he had swung through the trees — the _dry_ trees — of Eleven, hitting off nests with his partner-in-crime. Now, it was like a different world, full of relentless humidity that even the nighttime barely escaped from.

 _It's a good thing I didn't have a cold entering these Games,_ Jonathan thought to himself, wondering if blood in the lungs would have a similar effect as mucus in the damp air that surrounded him. His feet had sunk down as far as where his laces tied over the past few hours, and he cast an eye over to where his companions and acquaintances slept. It had occurred to him about two hours into his watch that perhaps the person who had decided where they would camp for the night had absolutely no idea of what constituted a _good_ camping ground.

The land around him most certainly curled upwards to varying degrees of altitude, meaning that there probably were a few places that contained a water depth of less than two inches — the approximate length Jonathan guesstimated his laces were from the ground. It didn't matter too much to him, though, since he had pulled the short straw, unluckily, that indicated he was on the darkest night watch.

He smiled to himself, a little knowing smile, as he sat on the tree stump he had decided would be his post. _Unlucky for some, I suppose._

Jonathan knew he was diligent in his watching. He had spent a great number of years of his childhood learning how to watch for the signs, listen for the voice, for the sound of off-kilter footsteps approaching. It was the one good thing about the arena, he supposed, and the dampness: despite the many plants and glorious pieces of nature — to paraphrase Pamela — it was difficult for someone to truly _hide_ when each footfall they made began and ended with a delicious _squelch._

At home, he had been unable to escape the footsteps of his grandmother, but here...it was a different story.

Jonathan looked over to his little pack again, their features more distinguishable now that the black night had begun to fade. He quite liked the nights here, if they were going to be anything like the one he had just experienced. It was never truly quiet in the arena, and not just because of the still-breathing tributes that lay in the murky waters beside his tree stump. The world was alive, and not all of it was Gamemaker related. Fireflies winked at him occasionally in the night, and the chit-chat of the cicadas provided a narrative once the Marvel light show had faded, and all the birds had gone to sleep.

" _I'm a dingle-dangle scarecrow, with a flippy-floppy hat,"_ he sang softly, the night creatures whistling back in accompaniment as he tapped his feet gently in the splashing water. The body of water that spread out to his left was much deeper than where they had stopped. Jonathan thought maybe that was why Jack had decided on the place, to prevent ambushes coming from that side.

 _Jack Hamill is an idiot,_ he thought to himself, staring into the unknown depths, the water ripples visible in the long grass on occasion when a lightning bug flashed over it. Perhaps that wasn't entirely true. Their pack leader's laughter hid a brilliant mind and deadly consciousness when it came to planning for people and strategy for chaos and mayhem. But Jack seemed to have little experience of creatures — they were few and far between in fabrics, after all — and more importantly, of the _Games_.

"And that, my dear Jackie boy, is your downfall and black knight," Jonathan said to himself. Gamemakers didn't rely on tributes to take each other out. He had already quietly pointed out a snake to Pamela while they had been walking, darker in color than the rattlesnakes in Eleven's orchards, and no doubt just as venomous. He thought she would be the only one to appreciate the snake in a way that didn't involve a shriek from Harley, or an over reactive attack by Jack, but small little Jervis had been behind him, nearly forgotten about, and his eyes had gleamed with delight.

If the snakes in the grass and the water were the natural inhabitants of this arena, Jonathan was equal parts excited and apprehensive of what the Gamemakers could create. _And Jack just doesn't think that a giant body of water is the perfect hidey-hole for a mutt._ Jonathan wondered if Jack had even watched last year's events, and the lake beast that had emerged. _The water giveth, and the water taketh away,_ he thought, letting out a little chuckle aimed at the dark water.

It had been all glittery and artistically appealing when they had portrayed the dead tributes last night; the boy thought it was rather brilliant that they showed it in the sky and the waters. The latter gave a hazy wave to the tributes' pictures.

"How easy it is to become just a little ripple in the water," he mused, and then his body stilled, fixed in position the way a hare would, an ear metaphorically cocked towards the unmistakable squish of a boot attempting to be quiet. His breathing became slow and shallow, mind whirring to pinpoint the weak points of the camp and where an intruder could approach from. The morning was not supposed to begin with an intruder. That wasn't part of his plan, after all. That wouldn't get him _noticed_ , or give him a way to get—

Jonathan halted his inner anger at the footstep-sounding tribute as he figured out its location, and his breathing began again. "How quickly the face can be obscured with one little ripple."

"One ripple might be little, but a little can do a lot when in multiple."

"Good morning, Jervis," Jonathan said without turning to acknowledge the shorter boy. Jervis didn't seem to mind that all too much, and continued his quiet-but-not-quiet walk to sit down on the stump next to the teen. He didn't seem to mind all that much that he had just forced Jonathan into sharing said stump either. "You're up early."

"Yes, I am," Jervis replied softly, his gaze following Jonathan's out onto the water, shifting his weight on the stump, his hand brushing off his fingers. The teen wondered if the other's hands were clammy from the heat, or nervous fear of what was happening around them. He hoped it was the latter.

"You have your first kill under your belt," Jervis continued. Jonathan didn't reply to the statement for a long moment, because he wasn't sure _how_ to reply, since despite his joking and blatant eyerolls towards Sam Wilson, the man had a point about divulging past histories.

"In a way," Crane said carefully.

"Which way?"

"Well it can either be one way or the other, so why don't you just take Harvey's coin over there and take your best shot?" he returned, watching the light creep over the water and move slowly towards their sleeping companions.

"It must have been exciting for you," the other boy said instead, reshuffling their conversation and returning to his earlier words. "I don't think it holds the same appeal for me, but maybe it would after two or three. We'll see."

"Perhaps," Jonathan replied. "Perhaps not."

"I suppose I could always try to alter your mind, to bring you to see things my way," Jervis mused.

"Altering the mind?" he asked, his gaze on the water, because he had planned on getting up from the tree stump by now, but Jervis, his small, hat-wearing companion — a man after his own heart, or vice versa — had reminded Jonathan of their words in the Capitol. And therein lay the idea that Jervis was a _useful_ part of the pack.

* * *

Day Three, _Jonathan thought to himself, settling down onto the couch in the common room. He thought it was going swimmingly. He was served his breakfast and his supper, and there was always plenty of food over lunch if he wished to eat. He never had to clean his room, it was just_ done _, and nobody in the Capitol looked at him like he had murdered his grandmother, chopped and stuffed her into one of the burlap sacks used to make scarecrows. They looked at him in some kind of awe_ — _or at least, looked at the building in some kind of awe, but Jonathan liked to think they had caught his gaze on more than one occasion._

 _The tributes were an interesting collection. The joker from Eight, the honorable stiffs from Four, the boy with the hat who was walking towards him… all different, all potential kills, or allies, or both. The girl from Six he had seen staring at him discreetly, a small smile on her face that made him wonder what she was thinking about._ Not that it matters, _he thought. Privately though, it did matter. He liked to know what was going on in people's heads, and what made them tick._

" _Like a clock?" Jervis asked, sliding into the seat next to him with perfectly awkward grace._

" _Yes, exactly," Jonathan said absentmindedly, then narrowed his eyes and cast a mildly suspicious glance the other tribute's way. "What's like a clock?"_

" _Ticking," Jervis responded, crossing his legs and tilting his head towards the taller boy. "A little more like a pocket watch, if we're being pedantic about that sort of thing, but a clock will suffice as a substitute word."_

 _Jonathan was silent as he observed the smaller boy, trying not to betray his frustration as to how Jervis knew what he'd been thinking._

" _I like clocks," Jervis continued mildly. "I saw you at the poisonous plant section with your partner. Is it just plants they have there?"_

" _Unfortunately," Jonathan replied, keeping his mind whirring away at Jervis' magical ways. "I suppose knowing edible plants is a lot more important than knowing venomous creatures."_

" _Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that now," the other tribute said. "A venomous snake can be eaten when you know how."_

" _That's true, but why tell someone how to eat it correctly, when you can cook it for them incorrectly and watch them die?" Jonathan asked, tilting his head over, sizing Jervis up, mind for mind._

" _I never thought about that; I mainly just use them to extract." Jervis scratched his face._

" _Extract?"_

" _Venom. It's a great thing, can turn someone topsy turvy and change their ways. Like the Spider."_

" _Wolverine, you mean?"_

" _Oh yes. Him too, I suppose." Jervis fell quiet on the couch. Jonathan twisted his head away, glancing towards the other tributes in the common room to see could they hear a secret conversation. The only two glancing their way were the male tribute from Two_ — _and Jonathan couldn't be sure if both eyes or just one was watching_ — _and the female from Four, Diana, staring evenly over at them, out of earshot, but somehow just_ knowing _what they were talking about._

" _Tell me more about your extraction methods, Jervis."_

* * *

"I know what you're planning," Jervis said suddenly.

"You do?" He hadn't thought anyone had noticed his plan, even Pamela, despite their mutual knowledge of tracker jackers and how to smoke them into submission. The mutts were common enough in Eleven, remnants of the war his district had mined weapons for, brought to the orchards and gardens to stop thieving citizens and flourishing under the pollen-rich lands between the deserts. It had taken a good number of years for the Sentinels' complaints of death and mayhem in their _own_ ranks for the Capitol to halt the tracker program and replace them with dogs. Their current Sentinel Prime, Martha Washington, was still tearing down nests, and would be for a good number of years more.

Beside the tree stump, in the oozing ground, a peculiar smell was wafting out of Jonathan's backpack, a smell that had been gently floating behind them in the humid air since they had left the Tesseract. Jonathan had made sure to stay near the back during their trek, ever watchful to assess whether his failsafe was needed, or his misgivings of his deal were nothing to worry about for the time being. _It's never a good plan to not have an exit strategy,_ he thought to himself, recalling many occasions when he tested his product in the earlier trials without any heed of what would happen to him if it was less than effective, or the people noticed him.

He hadn't made that mistake when he had gassed M'Baku. He had procured a _train_ for that escape plan, after all.

"Yes, the world is an odd place when you know what people are planning, Crane," the younger tribute stated, crossing his legs and touching the brim of his hat as he straightened his back out. "I didn't think you planned on doing something big so early in the game. I thought we'd have time to plan."

"I thought it was stranger when you didn't know what the plan was. It makes everything more… alive, wouldn't you say?" He paused, glancing over to the other tribute. "I like your hat. Don't you worry that it's going to get caught on something and you'll spend hours and hours trapped by your own token, dangling in a tree just waiting for someone to come along, to free you by letting you fall, or slit your throat?"

"What if the fall kills me instead of the knife; is it part of the plan if it still takes your life?"

Jonathan smiled a little at the words. Jervis had his own coin for a safety blanket; it just wasn't as physical as Harvey's ostentatious token. "I say we figure that out when we come to it," he replied, and Jervis looked up from beneath the brim of his hat, the dawn light creeping in to reflect against his eyes. Jonathan couldn't make out what emotion was behind them, but he knew it wasn't fear.

"We?"

"Yes, we. You and me." _He has me doing it now,_ he thought with a grumble, quietly standing up and reaching for the backpack.

"Little old me. Huh." Jervis remained on the tree stump while Jonathan untied the backpack and removed the smoking incense he had created. "I thought you were going to leave me behind, and after all that work I did teaching you how to deal with tracker jackers."

"You _reminded_ me, you mean," Jonathan corrected, as Jervis stepped off the tree stump.

The lavender was the strongest scent inside, but there were others, sharper, in there too, all creating a merry little smoke bomb in his bag. He threw the stick into the deep waters, watching the smoke tail fade away. It didn't take long for the incense effects to wear off, based on previous experiments, and the homemade job he'd done here made his calculations slightly skewed.

"Head away from the deep water," Jonathan said quietly to Jervis, as the tribute stepped back onto wet land from the stump. "We're running to the hills."

"So to speak," Jervis finished for him, and he sent a wry smile in the other's direction.

 _Useful,_ Jonathan thought, his own footsteps quiet in the squelch as he moved into the belly of the beast, passing Harvey on the way.

Harvey never warmed to Jonathan, though the latter could hardly think of a reason _why_ , since pushing him off a roof he _knew_ the other would survive was hardly a relationship-ending action. It was fine, though, since the cool feeling was mutual. Harvey seemed to be all for fairness, even if the jacker venom from the day before had taken a long while to wear off, and he had been a little unhinged, swinging occasionally for his packmates.

Jonathan knew he had nearly tried to kill his district partner while under the influence of the venom, as well as the rush and the high of Slade Wilson. Even telling himself that the world around him was not real had been a challenge. Jervis had seemed positively normal throughout the whole experience, and the teen wondered if that was because of his worldviews.

He cast an eye down to the backpack, where a faint buzz was starting. The Gamemakers had obviously tried to dilute the venom slightly, reducing the length of time the hallucinations lasted. Last year, there had been hours and hours post-sting. _Interesting_.

This pack was too different for him, too many ideals and morals for his style. Jonathan didn't want to flip a coin to decide someone's fate, or follow a man who seemed to have lost strategy in favor of focussing on particular tributes. Jonathan wanted to kill whomever he wanted, whenever he pleased. He wanted to see _fear_ , and to see people try to overcome it and _fail._ He had lasted the bloodbath with them, and that was important, since a refusal in the Capitol would have painted a target on his back, and with their aid, he now had a knife. He liked knives.

"Don't you think you should take Angela with you?" Jervis whispered from a little ways away, cupping his hand over his mouth to channel the words.

Jonathan shook his head violently at the question. Angela was fine to talk to, and they had had some interesting conversations when it came to poisons, but she was too close to Jack; he had watched her in the Capitol, trying to worm her way deep into Jack's ear and take the place of Harley.

"Alright, but if she finds us, I'll be laying the blame on you. Are you coming?" Jervis beckoned with his hand.

Jonathan held a finger up to his lips and then waved two fingers in silent communication. He knew there was someone else he had to casually mention his plan to before he left, that someone just wasn't Angela.

* * *

 _What was Sam going to think, when Jonathan told him that he had gotten himself into a little alliance? And not just himself, but his district partner too, all wrapped up in a little bow and neatly protected from the initial first wave of deaths by tributes._

Keep your secrets, you crafty devil. _The words echoed in his head, along with Jack's laughter as the elevator reached Eleven's floor, and Jonathan stepped onto the plush carpet, his bare toes curling up into the plush fabric. He had a lot of secrets to keep. Other men, lesser men, would have found his secrets a burden to bear, but Jonathan carried on with his same stride and stance, never faltering, because that would indicate to the other side that he thought there was a possibility of losing in life._

 _Santana barely looked up from his drawings as the teen walked past him, casting a quick eye over the different ways his stylist was trying to incorporate the hat into his uniform. A stitch onto a hood seemed the most popular choice the tattooed man was making; easy to do while they would be getting ready before launch._

" _Sam's still out trying to woo you some sponsors," the stylist murmured._

" _I doubt he'll get very far," he responded as he headed towards Pamela's door. Santana gave a barely perceptible nod._

" _You got it in one, homie. He still thinks one of you is worth savin', though."_

" _Probably because he picked us to die," Jonathan said as he knocked on his partner's door sharply._ Rat-ta-ta-ta. Rat-ta-ta-ta.

" _What?" The teen raised an eyebrow at the question-that-wasn't-a-question and opened the door slowly, half expecting a flying shoe to appear in front of his face._ Not that our dear Pammy would have the guts to do that, _he thought, his brow arching ever so slightly higher at his thoughts. "Oh. Jonathan. What do you want?" He watched her spine stiffen as she spoke, leaning against the headboard of the bed, cross-legged with a bouquet of flowers on the bed stand beside her._

" _I would like to apologize," Jonathan announced and barely hid a snicker of delight as her stiff demeanor vanished and confusion washed over her pale little face._

" _What? For… for what?"_

For knocking you out all those years ago, _he thought in his head. "For what I said to that Racquet girl today," he said instead._

" _You mean_ Rachel," _Pamela countered, her voice stronger again._

 _Jonathan waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, her, yes, whatever. The point is, I've found a way to make it up to you. May I sit? I'll sit." He didn't give her an option as he strode over to the bed and sat on its edge, crossing his legs and tucking his fist under his chin, supported by his elbow as he surveyed her like a psychiatrist would. Or someone looking at a particularly interesting cut of meat. "You and I are going to be in an alliance."_

" _What? But… But I don't_ —"

" _Well, we can't always get what we want, but just think, you'll have what you need_ — I'll _be there, and the acquaintance you've made in Harley Quinn will also be present." He gave her a smile that crept all the way up to touch his glasses._

" _But… why? I mean… Jack, he wouldn't… I don't think he saw anything in me during training," Pamela said, starting to look down and checking herself just in time, so her gaze remained locked with Jonathan's._

" _Yes, I doubt he paid you any attention at all, with your naivety and the overly innocent look you have mastered," Jonathan agreed, waving up and down the redhead's attire. For a moment, he thought she was uncomfortable with his roving gaze, but then seemed to realize relaxed, timid Pamela held no appeal when she wasn't frightened._

" _But," he continued, "we are both from Eleven, and it only seems fair we look out for each other on the first day at least. Unless one of us gets caved in by a hammer."_

* * *

The redhead was asleep at the feet of Harley Quinn, the latter looking as though she was reaching out for the boy next to her. Jonathan wasn't sure how Hamill managed to stay sleeping and still curl just the right angle away from his girl to prevent her from getting a touch. _Genius in some ways, idiot in others,_ he thought, bending over his district partner, a hand on the backpack that had begun to buzz even louder.

His free hand reached up to Pamela, and he closed his fingers around her cheeks, blocking off her mouth, leaning over her ear. He had brought her into the pack to keep her safe, to make up for his wild and unnecessary attack on her all those years ago. It had taken him so long to place her face, no longer distorted from his fist, scarred from something else, though. Maybe he was like Harvey. Maybe he wanted to give this girl a little fairness. Maybe he was starting to actually _like_ someone. It was an unsettling feeling.

"Pamela," he hissed, and her eyes flew open, her jaws already working against his grip to unleash a scream, struggling against him. Even when he knew her eyes had recognized him, he saw her freeze for just a moment, saw the scared little Pamela he'd made fun of for crying on the first day in the Capitol.

And then she seemed to speed up again and thrust her head forward. Jonathan pulled back at the last second so he only received a glancing blow. The jarring effect was enough, however, for him to drop the backpack, and it landed with a squelch and a feeble roll towards Jack's feet. The _buzz_ was amplified.

He glanced over to the backpack and then scrunched up his face and turned a murderous eye towards the redhead, watching as she bit down on his finger like a rabid dog.

"Calm down, you idiotic girl, for two damn seconds," he tried to whisper, because Sam had mentioned he should help his district partner, more than just getting her into the pack, but Pamela continued to struggle. Her leg went to kick back and hit Harley in the foot, and the other girl began to stir. "Alright, _fine_ ," he growled, snatching his hand away from her and standing up, tempted to aim a kick in her direction.

"Whyuz there an alarm goin' off all the way out here?" Harley asked sleepily, already reaching for her baseball bat.

"Enjoy your trip, Pammy," Jonathan said coldly, as the first tracker jacker rose from the nest in the backpack and hovered in front of him for a moment, then flew, still slightly drunk from the incense, to where Jack lay, and stung his exposed hand. The leader jerked awake at the attack, and Jonathan backed away. "Try not to look so _un_ afraid, my dear, it doesn't suit you." He felt the sharp sting on the nape of his neck from one of the tracker jackers in his nest and slapped it, catching the jacker and throwing it back towards Harvey and the youngest pack member of Harper. Then, he strode past his district partner and toward Jervis Tetch in the swampy bushes.

 _I_ tried _to warn you, foolish child,_ he thought, as the rest of the camp started to stir now that the buzzing had increased in decibel. _You chose to fight, not listen._

"What were you doing?" Jervis asked him as he rejoined his companion a little ways from the camp.

"Attempting to repay a debt," Jonathan said shortly, with a small smile at the screech Harley let out. "Now, I suggest we be quiet, or we'll miss the show."

It was a glorious show, aided by the fiery red sky that lit up the chaos in dawn lighting. The tracker jacker that had stung Jonathan made it all the better, he figured. Mild hallucinations made the bugs morph in size, with bared teeth and deadly stingers. The mutts were not like ordinary wasps and bees that pollinated the plants and orchards of Eleven. Ordinary ones swarmed to defend the nest. Jackers swarmed when one of their own was in danger; conveniently, the one Jonathan had swatted and aimed at Dent.

"Ah, Mr. Dent, your faces seem to be getting lives of their own," he whispered to himself, watching the Career's features split down the middle as he grew a second head, fumbling in his pocket for his coin. "Such a little trinket." It made him smile as one of the faces had a look of worry, and then the other, disfigured one, took control, removed a knife from his belt, and began to slash at the giant mutts. "Isn't it exciting, Jervis, to see their fear? Can't you just _taste_ it?"

He let out a short laugh as Harvey swung and nearly connected the knife with his district partner. Harper seemed to be the least affected by the stings, most aware of what was going on. _Probably as she was such a downer all day,_ he thought. The younger girl had double-crossed her previous ally and left him for dead, but it seemed she was not as balanced with the action that she led the others to believe. Without any of that adrenaline, the hallucinogen just didn't seem to slow her. _How dull._

Jervis clapped his hands together and pointed towards Jack as the lanky teen threw back his head in the early morning light to let rip his trademark laugh, the sound acting like a beacon for the tracker jackers. Even as they settled on him, he twirled around in the mud, acting like a child in the rain. His body dipped and swooped with the unseen hallucinations, and then he reached out with both hands as Angela backed towards him, swatting at both the real and imaginary opponents.

Jack's hands clapped the girl on either side of her head, and seemed to jar her out of the envenomation process. She staggered away, and then turned back, outrage mixed with the embers of fear. Her facial expression only seemed to make Jack laugh some more, and he reached forward, poking her in the forehead with a finger. "Don't be so _serious_ , m'lady. Feel it!" he exclaimed, circling around and around again.

Jonathan presumed he would have continued like that, spiralling further and further away from reality, but Angela took a step forward and shoved him into the deep water at the edge of the camp. Jack came up spluttering, the jackers falling off him in the water. His chalky make-up was still on him, but now it looked like he had run a marathon in it, rivulets of sweat and swamp water streaking down the white.

"They might take each other out," Jervis observed, and Jonathan snapped his hazy gaze towards the two-headed Dent as he swung his knife blindly around and then aimed in the direction of Pamela.

There was a brief, strange, peculiar moment for the teen as a feeling akin to fear _for someone else_ rose up in him, watching Pamela about to get struck down at the hands of an ally. _This is how she ends,_ he thought, his body twitching with the odd emotion within, treating it as a foreign body and making the pit of his stomach sick. _With a whimper, as expected._

Then Harley swung her baseball bat, and instead of connecting with Pamela as Jonathan presumed, the pigtailed girl slammed her weapon into Dent.

"You leave Red alone, ya hear me?" Harley exclaimed, pulling back ninety degrees and belting Harvey again, this time in the ribs. Jonathan wished he was closer, so he could hear the crack. "Scram, wise guy!" she called, beating at the delusional teen as he slashed at her with the knife, hitting the bat and no doubt leaving a slice in the wood. "Don'tcha know it! You still look ugly when I'm flyin' high!"

Harvey careened away, towards Jervis and Jonathan, and Jonathan yanked the other's hat off to make him several inches shorter, crouching right down as Harley crashed through the undergrowth, ignoring or unable to spot the two.

Harper did spot them, though, as she followed her district partner, away from Jack Hamill and his girls, and looked torn for a moment, as Jonathan very slowly raised a finger to his lips and smiled at her. _She doesn't have it in her,_ he thought, as she kept a level gaze on him. _Not now, at least._

Harper left the pack and followed Harvey. _Better the devil you know, little girl._

"That's our cue, Jervis," Jonathan said after a few moments, handing the hat back after a moment of caressing it. He nodded approvingly at the other, who had the foresight to carry a backpack of his own, so they weren't without supplies, and then began to walk in a similar direction as the Twos. He cast an eye back at the four that remained in the camp, watching Pamela already start to rummage through her pack to search for remedies, as Jack crawled out of the water, and the camp fled away from the deep water.

"I just broke a bargain, and the devil's going to be hunting for a soul."

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane


	55. Chapter 54: Mortal Coil

**(A/N): Here we are with our Tuesday update! InDeepDarkWood is back again, this time with none other than Wonder Woman.**

 **Thank you to all of our writers who reviewed this last chapter and previous ones. As the story continues, we love to see the things that resonate, and of course, in a collaboration like this, your support means the world!**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifty-Four - Mortal Coil**

 **Morning Two**

 **Diana Prince of District Four**

 **Written by InDeepDarkWood**

* * *

" _In the long run, we shape our lives, and we shape ourselves. The process never ends until we die. And the choices we make are ultimately our own responsibility." –_ Eleanor Roosevelt

" _You play the hand you're dealt. I think the game's worthwhile." –_ Christopher Reeve

* * *

Day One of the rest of Diana's life could have gone a lot better. It could also, however, have gone a lot worse; a point she told herself every time she forgot to be busy and saw Cisco Ramon's dying gasp. _Lambs, Diana,_ she told herself firmly, swatting absentmindedly at the incessant, high-pitched buzzing that swarmed around her ear. The mosquitoes buzzed around other areas of exposed skin, like her wrists and — occasionally — ankles, but it was the hovering next to her ear, a potential entry point into her body, that made her skin crawl and twitch away from the bugs.

Cisco had been just a little lamb in a pack of wolves, and there was no place for him in an arena like this. Unless he'd planned on undergoing a full personality change upon entry to the Games, there had always been little hope for him. Still, Diana had hoped he would reconsider her offer and join her alliance when the bloodbath started and the shouts filled the air. Should she have been more forceful in getting him under her wing? Could she have prevented it?

"Diana, you foolish girl, there is no time to dwell on the past," she said quietly. "We can only look forward, never backward. Inside, but never behind."

The burden of leadership had settled comfortably on Diana's back, and appeared to be there to stay for the foreseeable future. She glanced over at where her alliance lay sleeping, the dawn light watery in the swamplands created or stolen by the Gamemakers. She had picked them for traits she had seen within them and had asked others based on those reasons as well. John had been the most surprised when she'd made the offer to him. Odin had been less than thrilled at her selection, but Odin was blinded by tragedy and a soldier's eye. Once, she knew, he had been worthy of the name All-Father. Now, she was not so sure.

 _I will protect them,_ she thought, standing up and beginning a short circuit around the perimeter of the camp they had set up. It wasn't too far from where the bloodbath had ended, and as Diana walked, her feet sinking heavily into the water despite her best efforts, she heard the occasional distant hum of the tracker jackers, guarding their prizes with jealous zeal. They were too close in her mind, but Clark had been a dead weight to drag away from the action after he had been stung at least a dozen times and lost all sense of reality, and she knew he wouldn't be up for moving until a night's rest.

The gods had smiled on them during the night, and they had been left alone by both man and beast, but Diana knew that couldn't last forever. Her pack did not have the strength of previous years to just sit in the same spot for a few days and claim a section of the arena as their own; to begin with, they were fewer than previous years, and they lacked the brute strength required to defend a region.

"But we don't need to keep still, Diana," she said. "The waters are always flowing, and so should we. There are times for standing in one space, but this is not one of those times, of that I am sure."

She wished her mother was beside her, to help her with the decisions she was making. Hippolyta was steadfast and sure, and Diana had always been able to speak with her should doubt arise. Now, she was alone, in unfamiliar territory, where her decision-making not only held her life in balance, but the lives of her allies. It was rather… overwhelming. And yet, she had offered her hand to the three sleeping camp-mates, with the unspoken assurance that she would be able to lead. Discussing her doubts with her alliance would break that tentative link.

So Diana spoke with herself, and voiced her reasonings aloud, and privately hoped that the cameras continued to portray her with honor and bravery, as opposed to turning her into a mewling kitten just waiting for some knight in shining armor to save her. _Like Clark,_ she thought with a half-smile of amusement, thinking of the now-coherent tribute. _Or Kaldur._ That thought got a chuckle out of her. She had done well to pull herself away from that image after the first few minutes of the bloodbath, but she feared the damage was already done, and her family's name had been tarnished.

She learned strategy from Antiope; how had she found the riddle so difficult?

* * *

Breathe, Diana, _she thought to herself, as the tube closed off her stylist from view, and an unmistakable sound of elevator whirring began._ Think. _She was already feeling her clothing, running through what Karolina Dean had observed about it._ Dampness. Heat. Requiring protection. _All good points, all helpful in figuring out what the arena was before the sixty-second countdown. She could deal with dampness and heat. Whatever she needed protecting from, she would be aided by a sword or a shield to ward off opponents. Diana had been training for this_ — _or, at least, something a_ kin _to this_ — _for many years._

 _The whirring noise stopped, and she waited for the view of the arena, to think of her strategies and find her allies. None appeared in the darkness, except for the dim pulsing of a light, growing in strength until it was fully apparent that a green question mark glowed in front of her. "Curse the Gamemakers," she muttered under her breath, clenching her hands into fists._

 _Then, the words began, and Diana had fifty seconds of varying facial microexpressions, from a furrowed brow to a mildly skewed glance to the left to a single drop of sweat forming along her nose as Diana, heir to Four and the candidate to bring honor to the family name of Prince, had no concept as to the riddle's answer._

 _Her heart dropped as the tube spilled away, and the loud countdown_ — _which began at_ ten — _was almost overwhelmed by the droning noise similar to an old SWORD helicarrier. Diana froze at the site, catching a quick glimpse of where the weapons were, and where a gleaming lasso lay coiled around a tracker jacker nest, and then the claxon rang out._

 _She was last to leave her podium._

* * *

She hadn't been prepared for the jackers initially, but she remembered last year's Games, and the calls from the band of tributes to get to the water. Diana had hunkered low in the water, sloshing through areas keen eyes had picked out as deep water. She had gotten her weapons, and she had gotten her allies out safely, or as safely as could be managed with hallucinations. _So maybe there is hope,_ she thought, pushing the thoughts of Cisco out of her mind. Her fists clenched automatically, though. "He did not die a warrior's death. There was no honor." The kill had solidified the knowledge that Harvey Dent was a psychopath.

She would take him down, and it would be a mercy killing, like spearing a rabid dog.

Diana paused at a sound of sloshing water, uncurling her hands slowly, one foot half out of the cesspool that was trying to pass itself off as an arena. The sloshing faded away briefly and then sounded again. It reminded her of the fishermen of Odin's, when they were trying to move large catches, like sturgeon or the occasional whale. _Slow. Cumbersome._ A literal dead weight, struggling to get out of the water.

The mystery being sloshed water again. The sound had barely travelled an inch. Diana sent a look back toward her camp once more, and decision-making again settled on her shoulders, alone. "It may be nothing," she muttered. "Or it may be a trap." She cast her mind back into the reruns of the Games she had watched with Otto on the train, and in the Capitol, searching for a similar event that had occurred, and what they had done, and how it had worked out for _that_ tribute.

Last year, James Howlett had found Kurt Wagner.

Three years ago, Bobbi Morse had led tributes to their deaths.

What would Odin tell her to do in this situation, and would she heed his words? _The eternal question,_ she thought dryly, keeping her ears sharp and honed in on the sloshing. _I wonder: does he know the answer to that?_ She knew what she wanted to do, though. Back in the district, Diana had been left alone to work some things out herself, from climbing a tree, to figuring out how to set up a tent.

"This is just setting up a tent, Diana," she whispered. If she could convince herself that life did not hang in the balance, then she wouldn't have need for her mother's advice, because she would be able to _do_ it herself.

"You have set up many tents like this," she continued, slowing her breathing deliberately to still the racing heart she had inside her. She stepped toward the sloshing, each footstep careful in the dawn light to minimize the splashing effect of the water. She was glad she didn't have to worry about the positioning of her shadow, since all other directions toward the noise held open views and no coverage.

Her hand on her sword hilt, she crept towards the noise, preparing for a foe to engage in combat. Antiope's words of training flew through her mind, going through different techniques that were slightly more sophisticated than 'stick them with the pointy end' advice.

Hippolyta was honorable when she went to fight, announcing herself to her opponent. She said it gave them a fair chance, and justice was sweeter when a fair deal had been struck. Diana wanted to be like her mother, to have her courage and wisdom, and to be honorable. Strategy told her otherwise, and a small voice in her head reminded her that Hippolyta had _lost_ some fights where the outcome may have been different had she listened to logic over honor.

She adjusted her grip on the sword and, with one fluid motion, drew the weapon and pounced, her sword swinging towards the origin of the sloshing.

Her breath came out in a loud _whoosh_ as the sword came to an abrupt halt half a foot away from Kaldur Ahm's neck.

"You foolish man," she choked out, her eyes wide as she took her district partner in.

* * *

 _Diana sat on the end chair in the kitchen of Four's floor in silence, trying to focus all of her attention on the stuffed snails that took pride of place on the plate directly in front of her. There was an inner struggle going on inside of her, whether to eat the delicacy of the Capitol or to force courtesy out and ask for the meat resting on the plate beside Kaldur. She lifted her gaze in her district partner's direction and felt the sting of his blade against her shoulder. Her back stiffened slightly, and she reached over to pick up one of the snails and put it on her plate._

" _Great idea, Diana; it's always good to try new things," Cobb said enthusiastically. "I'll request the milk-infused thrush for tomorrow evening. It's easy on the stomach if you're feeling some butterflies." Diana lifted an eyebrow toward their escort._

" _I do not feel butterflies, William," she returned. "There is no room for a sick stomach when heading to wage battle."_

" _It is why she finds it so easy to butcher those she allies with," Kaldur said, the words like needles. Her gaze flew towards him, a thunderous look within her eyes. Kaldur met the look with a stoic and calm expression; she was the storm, he was the eye._

" _That is_ not _true," she insisted, through gritted teeth. "I can help them be stronger, and fight, and be capable of protecting themselves, Kaldur."_

" _Until you cut their throats while they sleep in your camp," he countered. "You will be no better than Sarkisson."_

" _I will_ do _what is necessary," she growled. "But I will_ not _do it with such dishonor."_

 _Kaldur scraped back his chair and stood tall, looking down on her. She resisted the urge to stand up; she could match his gaze while seated. She was not a quailing woman. "You are so blind," he said, in his soft, booming voice. "I cannot make you see your wrongs. You are too stubborn for your own good, Prince."_

 _Diana watched him walk to the elevator and disappear from the floor. Silence descended over the table once more, along with the barely palatable taste of unease._

 _Cobb finished his snails without any more attempts to lighten the atmosphere and made his goodbyes. Karolina and Kaldur's stylists had long since left for a night of revelry in the Capitol._

 _After a moment, Otto cleared his throat and stood, sharing a look with the other victor as Diana fixed a stony expression toward him. "I can work with this," he finally stated, his hand moving across an imaginary headline. "Vivacious warrior princess of Four shows leadership qualities by standing up against injustice, even in her own district." He dusted off his suit and headed toward the elevator, letting out a small sigh. "I'll just make sure to remember_ not _to say that to the ones we want for Kaldur." He left, muttering something about not drinking too much, and Odin and Diana sat alone, across from each other._

" _You and Kaldur are acting like a pair of squabbling infants, Diana," Odin said, his voice carrying easily across the table. Diana said nothing, crossing her arms instinctively and then forcing them to stay by her sides._ I will not stoop to such childish defenses, _she thought. "There is truth in Kaldur's words; you are just too blind to see it. That is not what makes a leader." Her fists clenched despite her best efforts, and she took a deep breath, controlling her bubbling anger._

" _That is_ not _what makes a character people can be inspired by," he added, fixing her with a hard glare with his one eye. "You will lose your power, Diana, if you do not open yourself to seeing what others do."_

" _I_ have _opened myself," she responded, her fist connecting with the table in a gentler manner than she really wanted._

" _You have not opened yourself to your greatest asset, your district partner." Odin's gaze intensified._

" _I have looked at allies that are capable, and smart, and have abilities outside of brute strength. I have not been blinded by_ you _and your choices, as Brunhilde was last year." She paused, leaning back on the chair, matching his gaze. "Do you wonder: if she had led the pack last year, if one of your own might have won? Or did you just think that the pack needed a male to lead it successfully?"_

" _Kaldur is correct," he breathed out, his expression flickering to a hint of sadness for just a moment. "You are stubborn. I fear if you are not careful, that stubbornness will consume your honor and integrity, as Loki was consumed by his resentment." Odin reached over to the plate of meat at Kaldur's empty seat and brought it to his side. "Do not be so far in your mother's shadow that you cannot see the light of my words."_

" _I do not need your words, Borsson," she growled as he gnawed on a sliver of beef. "And I do not need Kaldur Ahm."_

" _Then you will lose, and the Princes will feel the same pain of loss as I did."_

* * *

Diana's sword hadn't moved from Kaldur's neck, her face close enough to her district partner that she could feel his hot breath against her cheek, even though his chest moved in and out in a shallow manner. He gave an occasional jerk in the water, and the mystery of the sloshing was solved. She wasn't sure if the movement was intentional or a result of what had happened to him; her gaze blinked away from his face and across his body, a low anger boiling up underneath her skin.

One of his legs was held stiffly, like it was no longer a part of his body, but it was the torn and burned bits of his clothes that drew her attention, and the skin that lay beneath. Kaldur was a mixture of raw, oozing burns, with areas of dying tissue already blacker than his normal coloring. _Debride to heal,_ she thought, flickering her gaze back up to Kaldur's face. It was etched with thinly-disguised pain, and he looked as though he'd aged a decade in the day she'd left him, but his eyes still burned with a fire.

"You're burned," she whispered, unwilling to draw unwanted attention by speaking loudly. Part of her thought he could be a trap for her, set by some other tributes.

"I am aware," he answered, his voice gritty from lack of use.

"Can you feel your legs?" she asked, reaching with one hand to touch the awkwardly-placed leg.

"Tingles," he said. The words seemed to pain him, but he still raised an eyebrow with effort and added, "Can you take your sword away?" Diana glanced down, where one hand still held the sword over his neck, and she blinked a few times, taking in the sight, aware that Kaldur was saying her name as she moved her hand from his skin and returned it to the sword.

Kaldur met her gaze. Diana watched a blood vessel in his temple pulse.

"Are you going to kill me, Diana?" he asked quietly, as she made no move to lift the sword from its position.

 _This is how Elektra felt,_ she thought, her breathing steady. She half-expected her hands to shake, but they remained even, hovering with the heavy weapon inches from the diver. Kaldur was injured, and would likely slow her group down significantly. He would not be an ideal candidate to pit against an opponent, human or otherwise. His wounds could fester and poison him from the inside out, and he could die a slow death as opposed to a swift swing of her sword.

"I am debating it," Diana answered honestly.

There was no trace of fear in Kaldur's expression as he took her words in. "You always said you would do what is necessary," he said, his words catching a little with pain. "The drowned gods come for us all one day. This is my day."

She adjusted her grip on the sword, expecting him to close his eyes and lean back and accept his fate, that fortune was not on his side, and his luck had run out. But Kaldur's eyes remained open, watching her with the same calm and strong expression they always had.

His wounds could fester and poison him, but there was a chance that they could be healed. She had watched the boy from last year heal Stark's chest, and they hadn't even been district partners.

Odin's words echoed in her head, and with them, the memory of sparring with the diver.

Kaldur was Four, and that meant something to Diana.

"Aye, I will do what is necessary, Kaldur," she finally replied, swinging her sword up and away from his exposed neck, sheathing it at her side. "You are _not_ dying today, by my hand or by another's." She bent down next to him, sliding her hands under his back and knees, and braced her heels like she had been taught. She took a quick breath and heaved, lifting the large tribute out of the water, hearing him groan in tandem with her grunt of effort.

She wasn't sure if she'd have the strength to lift him completely, so she simply straightened him up so he had one leg on the ground and was leaning heavily against her. She could smell the burned flesh and metallic blood of the raw skin.

"For a moment, I thought you were going to carry me," Kaldur heaved out, the effort of standing taking its toll already. Diana gave a small, almost-forced snort as she hooked his arm around her shoulder and shot him a look.

"A fine day that would be. What I would give to see Arthur's face at one of his divers in the arms of a _Prince_." She let out a small chuckle, the sound echoed in a pained way by her partner, and began to hobble back to camp.

"I am becoming the one thing I swore I wouldn't do here," Kaldur continued, as her campmates came into view. She could see John was already starting to stir, the morning light beaming through the moss that clung to the trees.

"An ally?" she asked, gesturing toward the camp.

"A hypocrite," he corrected, then fell silent, concentrating on moving his feet with Diana's aid.

Their arrival at camp was far noisier than her departure, and it was only a few moments before there was a flurry of movement, Kara leaping off the sleeping roll Diana had given her and reaching for the short sword. Clark, for all his jacker stings, still managed a quick response, snatching up the shield to act as defense. Both shielded their eyes from the sun's glare to assess the intruders.

"Calm, it is me," Diana called, huffing a breath under the weight of Kaldur. Kara, wisely, kept the sword up in position despite the words, until the pair came into clear view, and it became obvious it wasn't an illusion or a trick.

"Is that Kaldur?" Clark asked, with a hint of disbelief.

"I thought you said he wasn't joining our… oh." John's words trailed off as the trio took in the state her district partner was in.

"Kaldur has been injured," Diana announced in the silence that followed, half-carrying Kaldur to a comfortable area of soft ground and setting him down as gently as she could; the diver still groaned as the clothes rubbed against his open burns.

"Yeah, I can see that," John eventually replied. "What did you do to him?" Diana caught a slight trace of fear in the words. " _Did_ you do this to him?"

"What happened?" Kara asked at the same time, moving toward them and dropping her sword, picking up the supplies she had treated Clark with the previous day. Her cousin followed suit, bending down beside Kaldur and peeling back some of the fabric, letting out a low whistle at the state of his skin on his chest.

"Doesn't look like a fire burn, Diana," he noted, then leaned right up to Kaldur's chest, his ear nearly touching the waterproof material. "Not all of it, anyway."

"What are you doing?" she asked, a small wave of protectiveness rushing over her on her partner's behalf.

"This is more electrical than fire, which makes sense, because there ain't no way fires are going to start out here," Clark explained, lifting his head, seemingly satisfied. "Folks that get electrocuted tend to have all sorts of lung problems, which we would never be able to sort out here."

"And?"

"And right now, his lungs are looking clear, so that's something in his favor."

"There isn't much else in his favor, though," John said quietly from a few feet away. Clark kept his expression reasonably blank at the words. Diana waved him away.

"Go, make some breakfast and eat. Kara knows much about lighting fires in damp spaces," she stated, shooting the younger girl a small smile and taking the first aid supplies off her. "I will take care of Kaldur." Seeing the other girl hesitate, Diana waved again. "Don't worry; I know a thing or two about aid." Kara hesitated once more, dancing on her feet, before nodding and heading over to the two boys.

Diana started to rip at Kaldur's clothes in the areas that rubbed against the burns. Her breath caught a little as she realized the extent the injuries went; although there were many superficial burns, more than a couple of places had deep, gaping areas of burns and a few worrying lacerations.

"Make sure he doesn't get cold," Clark called over helpfully, like he couldn't help himself.

"Your allies think you are making a mistake," Kaldur observed, barely showing a flicker of pain as she began to work on his wounds. It didn't seem like she was causing him any more pain than he was already in.

"I'm not," she said firmly.

"Suit yourself," he acquiesced, letting her clean his wounds, growing panic inside her as she saw the full extent of his injuries. The only other sound aside from her cleaning was the low creak of trees from beside them, as Kara scaled part way up to tear down the drier branches from on high, the ones baked by the oppressive sun far away from the groundwater.

"I miss the sea," he said after a long while. Diana paused her cleaning, which she didn't think was helping anyway.

"I miss it too," she said after a long moment.

"The sea always has a breeze," he added. Diana shot him a look, and then pursed her lips together, and lifted the waterproof overtop, shaking it roughly to generate a small hint of wind. Kaldur took a deep breath — most likely causing him pain — and closed his eyes.

She stood up after a few moments and headed over to her allies. Kara, as predicted, had managed to create a small fire, despite Clark's assumptions, and they were cooking small slivers of meat over it. Diana, despite her mind wandering toward her district partner, gave a satisfied nod of approval at the other girl's use of kindling. The hanging moss crackled and curled in the fire but gave little smoke to alert other tributes.

"How's Kaldur?" Kara asked immediately, concern on her face.

"He'll live," Diana replied, sitting down next to John. She shook her head as he offered her some of the meat, staring at the fire.

"Will he, though?" John asked softly, his words not unkind. Diana ignored the question for the time being, breaking her gaze off the fire and resting it on each of her allies in turn.

* * *

" _Mother," Diana managed to get the word out before Hippolyta closed the gap between them and wrapped her in a firm hug. They stood there together, alone in their pain and thoughts of what was to come. It was a long while before they broke apart, Hippolyta's hands resting on her daughter's shoulders, the physical burden of responsibility. Diana felt it through all of her bones._

" _I don't know what to do without your guidance," she said, meeting her mother's gaze, searching for answers._

" _You will become the woman you were always meant to be, my daughter," Hippolyta replied, resting her forehead against Diana's. "You are a warrior, and you are a leader. You do not deserve this, and the Capitol does not deserve you; take care. Thanos does not like other leaders."_

" _I'm not ready to be a leader, Mother," Diana said, her mother's hands weighing heavily on her. "I still have so much to learn before I am ready."_

" _All you need to know to be a leader is how to make a choice, and stick with it, no matter how others view you for it. Then you will be true to yourself, and you will be who you truly are." Hippolyta cupped Diana's face in her hands, giving her a small smile. "Odin may advise you otherwise. The Capitol may advise you otherwise, but just listen to your_ heart _, Diana. You cannot falter then, whatever choices you make in the arena."_

 _She kissed Diana's hair._

" _You will have to make a choice between living or dying, and who lives or dies. Do it with honor. Make your family proud."_

* * *

"The real question is: what say the three of you to this situation?" Diana said. "You were brought into this group with the belief he would not be joining us. You are free to leave at any time if you don't like my decision to take him in, but I will not send him on his way to be prey to Jack's pack."

"I would never expect you to do that." Clark was first to reply. "You're a noble person; you'd never rob someone of their life so harshly."

"Neither would I," Kara said rapidly after. "We stick together. Life bonds us all; blood and friendship." The two cousins exchanged brief looks with each other, almost surprised at the fervor of each other's words.

"John?" Diana asked. "What say you?"

The miner was quiet, chewing thoughtfully on the breakfast, his expression seemingly calm and willing, but she was all too aware how good an illusion he could create. "I'll follow you wherever you lead us, Diana," he said eventually. "Whatever road you're on, I'm with you."

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane


	56. Chapter 55: Ruminations of a Clown

**(A/N): Happy Friday, everyone! Here is our Friday update, brought to you by the amazingly talented abrokencastiel, who is writing the Joker for us :)**

 **Thanks to all of our writers who have reviewed; we love to see you supporting each other and to see your reactions to all of the storylines being woven here. Thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for your reviews. We love to see what you liked, especially when you point to specifics so we know what we're doing right!**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifty-Five - Ruminations of a Clown**

 **Morning Day Two**

 **Jack Hamill of District Eight**

 **Written by abrokencastiel**

* * *

" _It's funny, in a human kind of way, how we can convince ourselves that we're in control at the very moment we are beginning to lose it._ " - William Moyers

* * *

How could it have all gone so wrong so quickly? All of his plans had fallen apart right along with his Injustice League. Those traitors were to blame for the majority of their problems, but Jack would be lying if there weren't problems with the infrastructure of their group before the attack. It was becoming increasingly clear to him that entering the arena had changed everything. He'd suspected such a shift in loyalty might occur, but he'd hoped his influence would have lasted longer than one measly night. In fact, he'd been planning his own form of team destruction once a few more of the heavy hitters had been taken care of. The simple fact of the matter was that he had overplanned. He'd gotten too comfortable in the fact that he was the smartest one in the Games, and that had cost him.

He reached up and gingerly touched the barely-healing skin of his cheek, following the half-moon cut from the corner of his mouth toward his ear. He'd done this same type of torture on a few of his own enemies back in Eight. The Glasgow smile method was one of the reasons he'd earned the nickname the Joker. It was almost poetic he had one now.

 _Half of one_ , he corrected himself. _The bird couldn't even finish the job._ Jack's hand clenched into fists, his fingernails biting into his palm. His other hand mindlessly twirled and flicked the pocket knife open and closed around his long fingers. The blade flashed in the light that seeped through the swamp's trees, dancing around the remains of his League. The girls were recovering from the effects of the jacker venom Jervis and Jon had so kindly delivered to camp.

The silvery visions were dimming for him as well, only briefly flickering in his peripheral vision now that the venom was wearing off. That was annoying him as well. Unlike the rest of the party, Jack actually enjoyed his delusions.

* * *

 _His initial plan was to go for the princess beside him when the klaxon sounded. It would make sense to take out the great Diana Prince before she had a chance to arm herself. But when he realized two of little Dickie's friends were on his side, he just couldn't resist. The green boy was too bubbly and optimistic. All he ever did was talk about nothing, distracting from the actuality of the situation. Someone needed to remind the kid of what was actually at stake._

 _Jack's gaze trailed from the sprout to Angela. Their eyes met for an instant just before the countdown ended. The wicked smirk that crossed her lips was almost as sinister as Joker's wide grin._

 _The rush of tributes to and away from the Tesseract was instant. The ones with better sense ran the opposite direction of the angry tracker jackers. The brave and the foolish tried for the weapons. Jack rushed toward the outer rim of weapons and scooped up the first thing he saw: a small pocket knife. He laughed joyfully at his luck, practically skipping as he sprinted after his escaping prey. Tracker jackers stung his arms and neck, but he ignored them._

 _Angela was pushing herself up from where she had fallen into the water. The murderous expression suited her. She resumed her run after Gar, her trajectory working perfectly with Jack's curving approach to pin the pair between them._

 _As he ran, silvery images began swimming into view. A carnival. Pasty white clown faces smiled at him from signs, and ghostly people with blurred expressions flitted between tents and rides. A large tent materialized just ahead of him, shimmering into existence with a grimacing clown's mouth forming the entrance. The tributes he chased were leading him into the tent, seemingly unaware of the trap they were entering._

 _The terrified girl tripped as she entered the tent, falling to her hands and knees. Arms emerged and held her down for Jack to catch up. The lanky tribute reached the girl before her green boyfriend._

" _Why don't you let me help you up?" he chuckled as he jerked her free of the grabbing hands by her hair. She cried out and tried to wiggle free of his grip. "What? No 'thank you'? No smile for my assistance? Well, that's just no good. That's just bad manners! I think I need to fix that." He gleefully flicked open his new pocket knife and was considering what to carve into his pale canvas when the small green boy torpedoed into his stomach._

 _The attack knocked Raven free from Jack's grasp and caused the older teen to stagger back deeper into the silvery tent. He now stood in a circus ring, hundreds of clowns smiling down at him from their seats. The Joker glanced around at his new surroundings. He cocked his head at the green tribute that was practically shaking in his boots._ Well, if he's so willing to play the heroic sacrifice, it would be wrong of me to deny him, _he mused as a sneer stretched across his face._

* * *

Harley was conversing with Pamela, who was using some sort of plant concoction on their welts. The two were getting closer with each passing moment. Jack's eyes narrowed for a moment in consideration before sliding his gaze to the last remaining member of their party.

Angela was harvesting what venom she could from the tracker jacker remains. She sensed his gaze on her and smiled in his direction. "My blow darts could use an extra punch," she explained.

Jack grinned back, the action pulling at his scab and making it bleed. He could feel the warm droplets run down his gaunt cheeks, and he nonchalantly wiped the red rivulets away with the back of his hand.

"Puddin'!" Harley scolded without moving from her position by Pam. "Ya can't do that no more! Every time ya smile, yer just gonna open up that cut again."

The clown's eyes narrowed, ignoring her concern. "Are we ready to move yet, Harley?"

"Sure thing! Red an' I gots some more paste stuff if ya want some."

Angela smiled sweetly. "I wouldn't mind some."

"Well, we don't exactly have enough for both of ya." The blonde gave a wide-eyed expression. "It wouldn' be fair ta just hand it over to ya when Mistah J's hurt."

"Give it to Angela, Harl," Jack ordered as he stood and straightened his clothes. "I'm not a baby that needs coddling." He brushed his lank green hair back from his face, but a few strands stubbornly remained dangling in front of his eyes.

He didn't pause to make sure anyone was following as he started marching in the direction with the most trees. The water sloshed around his ankles as he pushed forward. It was beyond annoying that he had to go slower than he wanted in the sinkhole-ridden environment.

Angela caught up and kept pace half a step behind him. "We're leaving Harley behind."

Jack growled and whipped his head to look behind them. Sure enough, his district partner was lagging behind in order to set up some sort of silly trap. He gritted his teeth and glared at the blonde as she finished what she was doing and rejoined the party.

"What?" she asked, though Jack didn't grace her with a response and simply resumed walking. "Yeesh. Looks like a leech crawled up his butt, don't it, Red?"

"I'm simply tired of always waiting on you, Harl," the Joker snapped.

* * *

 _The crowd cheered as Joker finished his bloody signature. He drank in the praise, moving a bit to the side so the crowd had a full view of the disfigured green boy. The silvery faces shifted into grotesque smiles in approval of what he'd done. The teen was giving them exactly what they asked for, and they were eating it up._

" _Beautiful!" He laughed and turned to enjoy the moment with Harley, but his little blonde was still struggling to get to him through the crowd outside the tent. The redheaded gardener was with her. At least Angela was able to enjoy the moment. "An artist always signs their work. Remember that, Angela." She nodded like a good pupil from where she held down Raven._

 _Jack gave a last glance toward the distant Harley and frowned when he noticed the two bird-brains launching themselves through the air on trapeze, avoiding most of the crowd and speedily approaching. "Time is moving quicker than I expected. Seems these birds can really fly when they want to."_

 _His attention went back to the squirming boy that was trying to grab his knife for a second time. He easily readjusted Gar to a more restrained position and pressed into his chest with a knee. "If you wanted the knife so badly, why didn't you say so?" Jack continued to ramble as he expertly pierced the boy's chest on either side. Within moments, Jack could detect the respiratory distress of the boy. He leaned in with a grin, enjoying the harsher sound._

 _Despite his obvious discomfort, Gar managed a chuckle. "Now you're in trouble. You can't take on both of them at once, and they're not scared of you."_

" _Is that so?" Joker's eyes narrowed. His grip tightened on his small knife. "I think you've said enough, don't you?"_

 _Ignoring the feeling that time was running out, Jack wrestled with the boy until he was able to pry open his mouth with his knife. The circus crowd had fallen to a hushed silence in anticipation of the grande finale. A spotlight fell on the clown and his prey. He held open the boy's mouth as he began cutting into his tongue. The muscle refused to hold still while the Joker sawed away at it, making the whole process a bit messier than he liked. Blood flicked across his face. It was always easier when he had someone else holding the victim still so Jack could better focus his efforts on restraining the tongue. Yet again, Harley wasn't where he needed her._

 _The heat that bubbled through his veins at the thought of his girl abandoning him fueled his slashing at the tongue, but distracted him from the rapid approach of Jason until it was too late to avoid the teen's attack._

* * *

The swamp was already heating up to uncomfortable temperatures. The standstill water did next to nothing to alleviate the heat as they moved. If anything, it made the air seem muggier. Jack could feel his greasepaint smearing down his face with his sweat. The pale look had lasted longer than he expected, but not nearly long enough to make him happy. Then again, nothing truly made him happy.

 _No_ , he thought. _Slicing that boy apart while his friend watched was extremely satisfying._ Destroying the girl as well would have made the moment even better, but that Jason had ruined his moment and given him a new scar. If Harley had actually been there when he needed her, it never would have happened. They could have decimated the bird.

 _It was her fault_ , Joker decided with a sneer. _If she had just been where she was supposed to be, none of this would have happened._ Instead, he appeared weak in front of the children he had so carefully selected for his team. The Capitol as well had seen him in all of his disappointment.

What had he done? He'd just murdered a boy so unimportant and unfit for the Games that he would have killed himself given a little more time. Not only that, but he'd been attacked by one of his sworn enemies and, instead of killing Jason like he was supposed to, Jack had gotten hurt instead. That had been followed by the mutiny.

It was unacceptable.

A tingling on the back of his neck shifted his bright green eyes to glare at Angela, who was staring at him. She met his gaze for a few moments before slowly looking back at the other girls. Jack's eyes narrowed as he looked the Six girl up and down. She was proving herself more useful everyday, but the betrayal of Jon and Jervis had reminded him to keep his guard up. The other tributes were by no means on his level, but that didn't mean they were as idiotic as his goons back in Eight.

"Jack," she said softly, reaching out but not quite touching him. "Perhaps we should take a small break. We've been walking for a while."

The tall young man relented and led the way to a small patch of dry land. He settled on a fallen tree and observed the others. Harley immediately set to work rigging another trap while she had time. Pam stood with her, assisting Harley in her mediocre work.

"Where do we go next?" Angela asked as she settled closer to Jack, but not close enough to impede on his space.

The Joker's green-eyed gaze surveyed the area. What he really wanted was to hunt down the traitors or one of the birds, but was that really a good idea at the moment? So far, his careful planning had led to more disaster than accomplishment. The best thing that had happened was when he decided to kill Gar spur of the moment. "After the recent developments we've faced, I feel it might be smarter to refrain from any long-term plans. It might be in our best interest to follow where the wind takes us. Be _unpredictable_." He grinned at her, ignoring the throbbing from his wound.

Angela smiled back slyly. "Sounds like an intriguing tactic. I like it." She pulled out her poison darts and continued working on them while Jack leaned back against the tree and let his eyes close for a moment.

* * *

 _The two teenagers rolled through the marsh, each trying to get the upper hand on the other. The circus swirled around them, closing in until it was a shapeless mass. Jack managed to stab the younger teen in the thigh and blinded him with mud. Using his advantage, the Joker tried to subdue his opponent._

 _The boy managed to roll out of the way and somehow managed to restrain Jack while stealing his precious pocketknife. The weapon was lodged into the clown's mouth and pricked at the corner of his lips. Jack grimaced as Jason snarled in his ear, "Not laughing anymore are you, you sonofabitch! Let's see if we can fix that!"_

 _An arrow sunk into the ground beside them, distracting Jason. Jack smacked his head back into Jason's face. The movement knocked both of the boys off balance. The sharp blade slid through Jack's cheek, warm liquid leaking from the cut all the way down his neck._

* * *

"So, Angie," Harley called out, her shrill voice impeding Jack's rest. "Why don't you do yourself a favor and slip into something more comfortable? Like a coma."

"What's the matter? Feeling a little shown-up?" Angela didn't bother looking away from her darts.

Harley frowned dramatically. "I wish you'd climb up your ego and jump onto your IQ."

"How long did it take you to think that up? A decade?"

"It must be difficult for ya, using your entire vocabulary in one sentence like that. I couldn' imagine bein' that dumb."

Angela stopped and glared at the blonde. "Why do you hate me?"

"I'm not saying I hate ya." The innocent look Harley gave was one Jack knew well. "But if ya ever got hit by a bus, I'd probably be the one drivin' it." She winked flirtatiously.

A twitch of a smile pulled at Jack's expression. Any other time, he would have been rolling at Harley's jokes.

"You're just jealous that I'm taking your place, _Hurl_." Angela smiled sweetly.

The blonde's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. "Whaddya just call me?"

The bickering dissolved into pointless yammer, with both talking over the other.

"Enough!" Jack erupted, throwing his hands in the air dramatically. "How am I supposed to think with you two blabbering? Just shut up." He glared between the two of them.

Angela took him seriously and quietly averted her gaze. Harley, on the other hand, didn't get the hint.

"Why're you so angry, Mistah J? Huh? I'm just tryin' ta have a good time, and then Angie here had to make it all serial." She stood with her hands on her hips. "Ya know, ever since we got here, you've been actin' real mean."

His green eyes narrowed, and his hands clenched. "You haven't been doing any better, _dear_. Instead of helping me like you promised, you abandoned me in my time of need. Look at this!" He stomped toward her and pointed sharply at his cheek, which had begun oozing again. "This is your fault. If you had been there, at my side, it wouldn't have happened."

Harley's eyebrows furrowed. "Puddin', it wasn't my fault. They put me on the other side of the circle an—"

"Excuses," Jack spat. "Nothing but excuses. Even now, you aren't helping me. You're wasting your time on silly traps when we should be hunting down our next victim." He sneered at her before returning to his log.

The redhead gently pulled the blonde away before she could continue arguing.

Angela had returned to working on her darts, pretending not to have noticed what happened. Her skilled hands carefully dipped the points into a small container of poison she had collected. The liquid flashed in the sunlight, reminding Jack of the wonderful things it had shown him. The most fantastic things.

"Let me see that vial." He held out his hand expectantly until she handed it over. "How potent would you say this is, Angie dear?"

"Depends on what you're trying to accomplish."

Jack leaned forward and swirled the vial. He cocked his head to Angela. "If I just wanted a little buzz to take the edge off."

The girl frowned, but more in consideration than confusion. "A drop would be plenty. Too much and you'll lose yourself in the delusions."

"That's a good girl." Jack placed his ring finger over the mouth of the vial and tipped it quickly to leave a thin coating on his skin. After the vial was safely passed back to his companion, he spread the venom along his cheek cut. A slight tingling along his skin made him smile. His eyes closed in a slow blink.

Silver shapes were swirling as he opened his eyes, making the world brighter. He could feel the buzz of the arena, the hum of possibilities. The remaining tributes waiting for him out in the swamp seemed to urge him onward. The crowd was waiting just out of sight for him to give them a good show.

He smiled as he flipped open his knife and used the blade to examine his reflection. A ghastly visage stared back at him. As he'd suspected, the white grease-paint was smudging off, revealing the sickly, scarred skin beneath. The make-up around his eyes had smeared into dark circles. Despite the destruction of his usual visage, the new look was beginning to grow on him. There was one problem, however. The slice along his cheek made his appearance lopsided.

He frowned at his reflection, the curved cut keeping one side of his face in a grin. "Angela, when someone does something to you that you don't like, what do you do?"

"Get revenge?" she offered.

"Of course, but what else?" He waited a beat before continuing. "You take what they did to you, and you make it your own." With a flourish, Jack dug his knife into the skin at the intact corner of his mouth and slowly, precisely, dragged it up toward his ear.

"Mistah J! What're ya doin'?" Harley's horrified call didn't stop him. "What did ya do ta him, Angie? Huh?"

"He asked for venom, and then he decided to take control," the girl replied calmly.

"What does that even mean?!" Harley tried to pull Jack's hand away from his mouth, but he pushed her away.

"Oh, shut up, Harley." The Joker finished his carving and quickly wiped his bloodied blade clean enough for him to see his reflection again. A halfmoon extended along his other cheek, bleeding bright blood that ran down the groove, across his lips, and over his jaw and chin. Silver danced around his lips. He could practically hear the crowd cheering in approval. _Not too shabby for freehand_.

"But Mistah J, she made ya do that to yer face." The blonde leaned in to examine the new cut with concern.

"Nonsense!" Jack barked, standing abruptly. "I don't do anything I don't want to."

"But, yer cheek." Harley reached up to touch him, but Jack caught her hand in a tight grip.

The silver flicked across her face and made it seem like she was grinning. The Joker gave her a matching grin as he placed his hand softly against her cheek. "Oh, Harley." Before she could realize what was happening, he cocked back his arm and punched her square in the jaw. She would have fallen if not for the vice-like grip he had on her wrist. "Don't question what I do again, _Pumpkin_. I don't need your fake sympathy." He dropped her hand, letting her stumble back into Pam's arms, and turned on his heel. This was better. He was showing his control to the Capitol. He was proving he didn't need to be cared for. Nothing done to him would affect him in any way. "We're moving."

He didn't look back to make sure the girls were keeping up as he strode through the swamp, following the silver threads that would lead him toward his next victim.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane


	57. Chapter 56: Green Eyes

**(A/N): And we're back with our Tuesday update! This time, we're taking you to the Teen Titans and Kory Anders in particular, written by the talented Unlucky Alis.**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed this last chapter as well as others. With that most recent chapter in particular, we like hearing what gives you the creeps as well as what you like! That's how you know you've done a villain well (go, cas, go).**

 **Thanks also to ThatOneGuy875 for your review and letting us know what your favorite chapter was as well as your favorite characters. We're so glad to hear that you're enjoying the stories being told! Obviously, with a big cast like this, there are going to be periods of less death, but as the cast narrows, maybe we'll sate your appetite :P**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifty-Six – Green Eyes**

 **Morning of Day Two**

 **Kory Anders of District Twelve**

 **Written by Unlucky Alis**

* * *

" _To cure jealousy is to see it for what it is, a dissatisfaction with self."_ — _Joan Didion_

 _"Alone we can do so little, together we can do so much."_ — _Helen Keller_

* * *

 _The heat was suffocating. Noh-Varr had taken one look at the arena clothes and warned Kory it would be warmer than she was used to. She trusted his judgement but hadn't given it too much thought at the time. She had experienced the occasional unbearably hot day back in Twelve and was more than durable. She thought that would be enough to prepare her_ — _but those days were nothing like this._

 _The moisture in the air clung to her skin and clothes, and the warm water surrounding them was no reprieve. If Kory didn't know any better, she would have thought she could drown just by breathing. The first wave of heat when the darkness pulled away and the tube returned underground had her rocking on her heels._

 _Maybe if she hadn't underestimated the heat, she could have avoided the first sting._

 _Kory was smart. Smart enough to know her strengths, how to use her looks, how to fight someone with an advantage over her. But as it was, riddles were not her forte. Capitol mutts were a guarantee every year during the Games, tracker jackers included. Kory's mistake was assuming the bloodbath would be her biggest concern in those first few minutes._

 _She hadn't solved the riddle in time, and that only gave her a few seconds to get her bearings as the heat washed over her. She focused on the big things: Dick on her right, that colorful Harley girl on her left, all the trees and water, and the Tesseract. Then the gong sounded, and everyone was running, and she was stung one, two, three times by the small things she hadn't watched for._

* * *

Kory's hand drifted down to her waist, her fingers ghosting over the daggers on her hip. She had been lucky to grab anything at the Tesseract in her delirious state; the fact that she was able to obtain knives _and_ staves was a near miracle.

Beside her, she felt Dick shifting, and she opened her eyes to see him staring at her. They were lying on their sides, curled towards each other. They definitely didn't need the extra body heat, but Kory wouldn't have pulled away if the ground itself were on fire. She smiled, bringing her hand back up and brushing her knuckles under Dick's chin. She leaned forward to give him a light, chaste kiss, and smirked at the way he practically melted.

"Good morning," Kory said as she pulled away, sitting up and scanning their surroundings. It looked different in the daylight, but that was probably due to the tracker jacker venom fading from her system more than anything.

There wasn't much in the way of dry ground, but the spot they had found last night was a little less wet than everywhere else. There were surrounded by thick trees and tall grass, the air stagnant.

Kory started to rise and immediately tipped to the left as the world spun around her, the morning sunlight glittering off the water harsh against her aching eyes. Dick shot to his feet, grabbing her arm to steady her.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Kory squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. "The venom is not as finished with me as I thought, but I'm fine." She ignored the fact that most people would be stumbling around in a delirious state, or completely unconscious, in her situation. Like she said, she was durable.

"How's Raven?" Kory whispered. Her memory of the bloodbath and the hours after wasn't too reliable, but even her fevered brain had noticed one person was missing from their group as they headed north.

Dick leaned around the tree, then murmured softly, "I don't think she slept."

* * *

 _Kory stumbled to a stop, listing against a thick tree as Dick drew his arm back from her shoulder. She instinctively reached out for him. So few things were solid and real besides him, and she needed something to hold on to. Even the bark under her fingers was moving, swallowing her hand the more she leaned on it for support. She reeled away, only to find Dick's hands on her back again, guiding her to the ground._

 _Standing behind him was a dark, feathery shadow. It shimmered, purple and black and ashen-faced, wings drooping_ —

 _Kory bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. It wasn't some giant, fearsome raven, it was_ Raven _. Who had just watched Garfield die._

 _Kory hadn't known the younger boy for long, but she had enjoyed his company. His loss stung. Being around him was how Kory always imagined having a little brother would be like. Raven, too, was somewhat like a sister. A little more reserved and quiet, but the redhead wanted nothing more than to treat her the way she wished Komander would have when they were little._

 _Kory wanted to pull the younger girl into a hug, not considering whether or not the action would be appreciated, but when she leaned forward, her hand slipped off the partially dry patch of ground into the water._

" _I'll take the first watch," Dick said, holding the staves Kory had managed to pass off to him some time before. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. It was surprisingly innocent compared their recent, heated moments before the arena. He guided the shadow —_ Raven — _down beside Kory, and nestled into the space between them. "Get some sleep."_

* * *

A pang of guilt swept through Kory. She had been lucid enough to insist on taking a watch shift. Her fevered brain kept her awake for most of Dick's shift anyway, but she must have drifted off, lulled into sleep by his hand running over her hair and the pressing heat, present even in the dead of night.

"Raven," Kory said softly, thankful enough venom had been leached from her system that the dark-haired girl looked normal and human again.

Raven didn't say anything but shifted and looked her way. There were bags under her eyes, though the distinct redness from crying was absent. But they were surrounded by water; it wouldn't have been a challenge for her to wash that away.

"We should get going before another group finds us," Dick said. He tried to mask the note of concern in his voice, but Kory could hear it easily. He was thinking of Helena.

She wondered what it would be like to care so much about a sibling. Nothing she ever felt for Komander was so deep, and now, the only thing she had for her older sister was anger. Kory shook her head and focused on who she did care about. Dick had given her something Kory didn't even know she needed. It pained her to know that what they had was doomed.

Kory grabbed Dick's wrist, forcing him to turn towards her, and kissed him more deeply than before. A distraction for both of them. She let her lips linger against his.

"I thought we were supposed to go," Raven commented dryly, and Kory smiled when they broke apart. The younger girl was hardly okay, but sarcasm was a good start.

"We should pack quickly. Right, Dick?" Kory asked.

Dick blinked, then nodded. "Right, uh, yeah."

Kory laughed lightly and stooped down, snatching up Dick's backpack and then pushing it into his arms. "There, all done. Shall we go?"

They didn't make it very far. They had to move carefully to avoid making noise in the water, and something sounded off to Kory. She raised a finger to her lips, catching Dick and Raven's gazes.

They stopped walking, but they could still hear splashing.

The marsh was a very still place; the only time they could hear the water was when something moved through it. Kory gripped her knives tightly, while Dick went for his staves. They shared a quick glance before shifting to cover Raven, Kory on one side and Dick on the other.

They would not go into an ambush unprepared, and they wouldn't lose their youngest teammate again.

Kory's eyes narrowed as she watched the tall grasses in front of her; they were moving. She didn't hesitate to run forward when someone burst through — smaller and nimbler than her. Kory went low to remove the height advantage.

"Kory, wait!" Dick shouted.

Startled, the redhead quickly drew her daggers back, and she collided with the smaller tribute. The sturdier of the two, Kory remained standing while the other stumbled back and tripped into the waters over a hidden root.

Now that Kory was focusing, she recognized the girl from District One. What was her name? Tina? Tia?

"Thea," Dick said as he rushed forward, holding out a hand to help her up. Thea brushed off his offer and stood, shaking out her clothes.

"Great, more water," she muttered, but her voice was strained.

Kory took a step back and examined the girl she had almost gutted. One of the younger tributes, slighter built but more muscular than Raven and Gar was. She also looked shaken, which wasn't surprising. Her district partner was dead — Kory remembered seeing his face in the water last night — and only some of his blood had been washed away from her clothes by the splash.

"I'm sorry about Slade," Dick said.

"Why?" Thea asked. She looked Dick up and down, scrutinizing him distrustfully. The shake in her voice took away from the hard edge in her gaze.

"Because he was a good guy."

Thea relaxed, but only slightly, her gaze turning on Kory, who still had her knives in hand. She returned them to the waistband of her pants.

"Apologies for nearly stabbing you," she said. The girl was no threat to them, not yet anyways. The Warlords encouraged a healthy hesitancy to trust, especially when it came to potential allies. They would probably be disappointed to know she had no hesitation in trusting Dick.

"Trying to," Thea corrected with a weak smile. "Great way to make new allies, right?" She glanced at Dick. "Slade, before he, um — he told me to find you, so I could be safe."

Dick instantly jumped into what Kory would call "big brother mode." He was gentle and reassuring, asking Thea if she'd had run-ins with any other tributes, if she was hurt, hungry, how she was in general.

As Kory watched the exchange, she started to scowl. There was something about it she didn't like. At first, she thought it was Thea, Kory's training with the Warlords warning her about something she hadn't noticed yet. But that didn't explain the prickle in the back of her throat, the heat building up behind her eyes, or the way she kept clenching her fists.

Kory was angry. But it wasn't like the anger she held towards Komander. This was different, desperate. She had never felt anything like it, and she didn't like feeling it. But watching Dick sooth Thea, there was a sharp pain in her chest. At the same time, it was like something was slipping away from her.

Taking another step back, Kory closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

* * *

 _Her parents had just left, Mother heading out into the district, Father going to open the shop. They kissed before they walked out the door, with Kory watching the exchange from the living room. Komander sat on the chair opposite her, reading through a notebook._

 _Kory was thirteen, almost fourteen, and very aware of how many stares she got when she walked down the street, along with how many of her classmates would get together just to kiss._

" _Mother and Father kiss as an expression of love, correct?" she asked._

 _Komander scowled and glanced up from her notes. "Probably."_

" _But what about the people that don't?"_

" _Don't what?" Komander snapped, her notebook closing with a muffled slap._

" _Love each other," Kory elaborated. She leaned against the armrest and brushed her thumb over her lips._

 _Komander's eyebrows scrunched together, her mouth twisting in annoyance, before her expression relaxed and she smirked instead. "They're just looking for love. You know, the more people you kiss, the more likely you are to find that spark, right? It's just math and probability."_

 _Kory frowned. "Really?"_

" _Yeah, everybody knows it." Komander stood, tucking her notebook under her arm. She paused in front of Kory on her way out of the room, tipping Kory's head back by her chin and making a point of looking over her carefully. She sneered. "A pretty girl like you? I'm sure you'll have lots of chances."_

" _What about siblings?" Kory asked when Komander pulled away._

 _Her sister scoffed. "Siblings don't love each other. That's what other people are for."_

 _That evening, when Kory went for a walk, she caught the eye of one of her admirers. He could only have been a year or two older than she was, and when he smiled, she smiled back. It was Kory's first kiss, lasting only a couple seconds, stagnant and disappointing. She went home right after, aching to find the 'spark' that Kammie spoke of._

* * *

"Losing someone early isn't easy." Raven's soft murmur drew Kory out of her mind. She opened her eyes to see the dark-haired girl had taken Dick's place by Thea's side. Dick himself was standing shoulder to shoulder with Kory. She could feel the spark as their hands bumped together.

Raven scooped water into her palms and helped Thea wash off Slade's blood. The District One tribute didn't look visibly shaken, and her gaze was more guarded than anything, but she couldn't wash the blood off fast enough. Thea didn't look weak, but she was still small, and young, and chosen by her victors to die.

"What's up? You're being really quiet," Dick said.

Kory looked back to him and smirked. "I like to admire in silence."

Dick flushed, and his gaze drifted away from Kory's eyes.

"Apparently, so do you." With Dick floundering for a dignified response, Kory approached Thea, fighting down her smile so the younger girl wouldn't think too terribly of her. Nearly attacking her was bad enough.

Kory dipped her hand into the water and threaded her fingers through a bloody strand of Thea's hair. "We are to be allies now."

"Who says I want to be?" Thea's tone was hard.

"Enemies, then?" Kory could feel Raven's disapproving gaze, but she didn't waver. Thea was proud, serious, and rational, but she was still only thirteen.

"Will I really be safe?" Thea asked, looking past Kory and Raven.

Dick nodded, an encouraging smile spreading across his lips. "I'll do my best."

It was the most he could promise, they all knew that, and it seemed to be enough for Thea.

"Do you have a plan?" she asked.

"We were heading north. Food and water should be a priority, especially since there probably won't be any clean sources of water. We'll have to work for it, but it would kind of ruin their game if we starved to death," Dick said lightly.

"I can hunt with my bow," Thea offered. "I don't know what kinds of animals are here besides birds and snakes, but it's better than nothing."

"I wish we had one of those fruits," Kory said, her mouth already watering. She cupped one hand and mimed taking a bite. "One of those fuzzy ones, that are so very soft and juicy, with red and yellow skin. They have the most wonderful taste, especially with mustard."

The others just stared at her.

"You mean a peach?" Raven asked.

"Yes, that!" Kory nodded enthusiastically. She loved all the foods she had been able to try in the Capitol, but peaches were one of her favorites. Having a nearly unlimited supply of mustard as well was enjoyable.

"With mustard?" Thea added.

"Of course. It tastes excellent with everything. You really should have tried it."

"That's gross."

"Kory's very whimsical," Dick said.

Kory chuckled. "You know, I had a peach before the arena. Do you think you could still taste it?" She kissed him lightly, more teasing than anything, and smiled.

"Can't taste it." Dick spoke softly, their lips still brushing.

"Are they always like that?" Thea asked, whispering loudly.

Kory waited for Dick to pull away first. If it were up to her, they would stay like that forever. She didn't need anything more. When Dick smiled, it was easy to forget there were other people watching. But she supposed the performer in him was always aware when they had an audience, and the abashed look on his face, complete with a smirk and apologetic gaze, was nothing short of adorable.

"I want to say you get used to it, but you really don't," Raven said. She and Thea were leaning towards each other, the conversation and new company distracting both from their pain. But that was only as long as the conversation lasted.

"I suppose if you were older," Kory teased.

"Even then," Raven insisted.

"We should probably head out anyways," Dick said before Kory could squeeze in another playful taunt. "We don't want to be in one place too long. I'll take the lead. Raven and Thea, you're in the middle, then Kory can bring up the rear."

"Why don't I take the lead?" Kory suggested, leaning forward close enough that Dick could feel her breath on his neck, but not so close that they were touching. She caught his eye and was suddenly thankful for the heat. With the way Dick was looking at her, her blush would be unmistakable if they were anywhere else.

"Any reason?" Dick asked, a flirtatious smile crawling across his lips.

"Would you not rather be where you can watch everything?" Her hands drifted around his waist, and she loosely draped her arms over Dick's hips as she bit her lip.

"How about where _we_ can't see everything?" Thea whispered much quieter this time, but Kory still heard it. She laughed, drawing away from Dick, and took out one of her knives.

"Shall we go?" She twirled the blade, then started walking north. Quiet splashes trailed after her as the others followed.

Kory glanced over her shoulder. Gar's loss had been sudden and unexpected. Kory thought all four of them would survive for a couple days at least. Thea wasn't a replacement, but it felt right, having a full quartet again, especially as the two youngest members spoke softly to each other. Kory's gaze drifted farther back, and she saw Dick watching her, just as expected. She winked and looked forward again.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane


	58. Chapter 57: Hesitation Wounds

**(A/N): Happy Friday! This time, for our update, we're peeking back at what's going on behind the scenes and not in the arena. Which means we're bringing back last year's victor, Logan, written as always by the lovely Canucklehead Cowgirl.**

 **Thanks to all of our writers who reviewed this and previous chapters. I know we say it every time, but we really do grin every time we see those reviews come in!**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifty Seven- "Hesitation Wounds"**

 **Capitol Training Center**

 **Logan Howlett, 24th Victor**

 **Written by Canucklehead Cowgirl**

* * *

 _If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading. - Lao Tzu_

" _She comes along, she gets inside._

 _She makes you better than anything you've tried._

 _It's in her kiss - the blackest sea._

 _And it runs deeper than you dare to dream it could be._

 _Wave goodbye to what you were,_

 _The rules have changed, the lines begin to blur."_

 _\- With Teeth, Nine Inch Nails_

* * *

"You seem awfully at ease for a first timer watching their tributes struggle," Viper noted as she slid up next to Logan where he was passively watching the morning goings on. She slid one hand across his shoulders, smirking to herself simply because she'd done it often enough since their arrival in the Capitol that he no longer tensed even slightly at her touch.

"They're good," Logan replied in lieu of an explanation for his almost defiantly calm exterior. "And there's not much I can do for 'em. _Yet_."

She smiled and sidled in a little closer until he almost automatically shifted his arm to rest around her back - she was far closer than what was necessary for where they were watching the Games alone. "Still. It's a good sign. I should tell you that no other new victor has been this clear headed by this point in the _festivities_. And considering that the little twist was meant to make us quit entirely … well. What's your secret?" she asked in a breath, still smiling, though Logan wasn't putting any stock into what she was saying. If anything, all the extra schmoozing and crap he'd had to put up with while dealing with the Capitolites had him tolerating more of this sleazy kind of dealing, though he wasn't _really_ ignoring it when someone touched him.

Which … was saying something considering how positively predatory the Capitolites had become after the big reveal on how they were leveling the playing field for the districts with fewer victors.

* * *

 _The victors hadn't quite left the arena staging area after sending off their tributes. Logan had sworn under his breath on seeing where they were as they left. The deep green swamp looked like a foreboding place to try to survive, and he wondered to himself if he'd done the Wayne kids any favors at all considering where they were at now. This was nothing like the cedar swamps at home that hid moose and wild berries._

 _Groot directed him with one hand on his shoulder - to keep him moving back to the transport, and by the time that he'd settled in between Groot and Peter Quill, the show from the Capitol was on screen - running on a short delay so the victors could see what was happening to their tributes on the long flight back to the Capitol._

 _As the Tesseract was revealed fully - with artistic camera angles and dramatic exposition of weapons -Thanos' voice played over the footage._

" _ **This first Quarter Quell has shown us what the best among you thinks of your districts. The tributes they have chosen echo what they themselves believe to be the strongest among you.**_

 _ **Over the course of the Games, the victors responsible for the fates of your tributes will be tasked with securing sponsors, as we have done every year in the past. However, in the interests of fairness, those districts with more than one victor will find their task to be that much more difficult.**_

 _ **Districts with more than two victors will have twice the burden placed on them to sponsor their tributes, and those with three will double that burden as well, and again for those with four. There is no reason for a single victor to raise the same for sponsorships that a group could do in half the time. This will even the playing field, and require**_ **all** _ **the victors to work for sponsorships if they want to raise as much as they are used to in years past. There will be no complacency in something so important as the Quarter Quell.**_

 _ **Let each and every one of the victors feel the weight of the lives they have voluntarily placed in their own hands.**_

 _ **And as ever, let the odds be in their favor."**_

 _The transport carrying the victors was positively silent as the footage played on and the kids began to come into view - each face popping up on screen as they solved the stupid riddle that had preceded the President's announcement._

 _There weren't many districts with more than two. But it was a clear slap in the face to districts One, Two, and Seven. Logan was completely sideswiped for a moment. He'd been warned that getting sponsors was going to be tough on a normal year, but now …_

 _Fury had told him to focus on what mattered, to keep his head on straight, and to follow his plan, but it didn't miss Logan's notice that he'd failed to mention how much the revived tributes in his program remembered about their deaths. Or how much it hurt to go through whatever process it was to bring them back to life. In fact, he'd been pretty quick to gloss over much of what Logan wanted to know, so he still wasn't about to just … give up on the Wayne kids. Even with the bar raised that much higher._

 _He'd just … he'd have to force himself to listen to more than Betsy Braddock._

 _The buzz of chatter started up in earnest, and Logan wasn't surprised at all to find that both Quill and Groot were quiet for their own reasons. Groot dropped a heavy hand on Logan's shoulder, and when he looked up at him, Logan could see the determination on his face. He was going to try to help, for what it was worth._

 _When the victors landed in the Capitol, the buzz was going hard, and for the first time since he'd been on this side of the veil, all of the victors seemed off their game. But there was no way in hell that he was giving up, so, with his chin held high, he broke ranks first stepping into the waiting cocktail party._

* * *

Logan snapped out of his haze when Viper rested her free hand on his wrist and gave it a squeeze. He looked up in time to see Jessica Drew approaching. The two women shared a look - for just an instant - and Jess gave them both a smile. "I know you're focused on working, but do you have a minute, Logan?" Jessica asked.

He turned to Viper and the green-clad vixen simply held onto him tighter. "Oh, I'm going with you," she purred out. He was only marginally surprised at this point when Jessica smiled a little wider and didn't seem bothered in the least.

He'd been angry with Jessica after seeing her blatantly turn her back from her chosen tribute, but Jessica had been the _one_ person he'd really connected with from the very beginning, back when they made his victory official.

Jessica had explained, of course, what her reasoning was behind abandoning her tribute. But Logan didn't exactly appreciate her faith in the system that he knew could easily resurrect the maniac if they thought they'd had a use for him. Not that he was about to tell her that.

"Sure, where are we going?" Logan asked as Jessica took up a spot on Logan's side opposite Viper. He wasn't entirely shocked not to get his answer right away as he simply allowed the two women to lead him off to parts unknown. Not until they were far below the city and well away from the cameras that SHIELD had scattered _everywhere_.

"It's been so busy since that silly announcement," Viper said. "Not that it means anything, of course. The ones that are supposed to live, will live."

Logan was careful not to react, but Jessica blew right past it. "Who did Fury show you?" Jessica asked, her expression complete excitement as she nearly bounced on her toes. "I'm sure it was someone really _good_ to get your attention and I'm sure you didn't see who you _should_ have. So spill."

Logan shook his head, his pulse ticking upward when he realized that they knew … well. _Something_. But he wasn't going to be the guy to confirm it for them.

"We know all about the Tahiti program, dear, and frankly this is a safe spot." Viper gestured around the room and rolled her eyes. "No eyes or ears for SHIELD. So tell us- if it wasn't Silver Fox, then who was it Fury used to try and buy your loyalty?"

"You're both crazy," Logan said, shaking his head and looking irritated, though the insinuation had him spinning already. "Fox is dead."

"Well she _was_ ," Viper corrected. "Though … not everyone does very well in their little program."

"Who was it?" Jessica asked again. "So we can get them away from SHIELD for you."

"What are you talking about?" Logan said, torn between finding out what they knew and just getting the hell out of there. Every hair on the back of his neck was on end watching them work together.

"Not everyone _wants_ to follow the Head Gamemaker after he and his predecessors tried to kill us and murdered our best friends, families, and loved ones," Jessica told him.

"We all know that a war is coming," Viper agreed. "That's why Fury's trying to recruit. He wants us - after everything they did to us … he wants us as his poster children to rally the masses against the Capitol. To be the targets for the royals to aim at while he gets his little coup and rises to power." She took a few steps closer and reached up to straighten the collar on his flannel shirt, then rested her hands on either side of his neck. "And you with all that 'fight me' makes you a prime target."

Logan shook his head and took a step back out of Viper's hands as he looked between the two women. "I don't … want to talk about _politics_ ," he said. "You said Fox is alive. Where the hell is she if she's not with SHIELD?"

Something in Viper's eyes flashed and the smile widened for a moment before she spoke again. "She's on _our_ side," she said carefully. "And we have room for more, if you're willing to play along and help us."

"Just tell us who to get out for you when it all goes up in smoke," Jessica agreed. "We'll take care of them."

"I want to see Fox," Logan said, ignoring the question for the time being. It wasn't that he didn't want his people out … it was more that he needed proof before he walked away from what was a damned attractive offer from Fury. He needed more than what Fury had shown him, and if these two were going to sway him … it had to be cherry.

"Certainly," Viper said, full of confidence. "Later tonight, after the Capitolites leave the party."

* * *

When Logan returned to the lounge with Viper and Jessica, no one missed the fact that he was plainly distracted. They were, of course, wildly off on the reason why. Yet, it seemed to be playing in his favor. The Capitolites looked more than happy to see him starting to look worn, and several were clearly ready to move in, just waiting for him to step out of the victors lounge.

Logan was almost in a daze and he didn't fight it when Peter Quill pulled him away from the bar where he'd been sitting with Jessica on one side and Viper on the other. The two women had been sticking close, and Viper still refused to take a hand off of him, though it was clear he was still thinking about all they'd said to him. Logan didn't notice that Viper was subtly frowning at him not touching his drink. Not when everything going on was giving him a headache.

"Hey, we gotta get you some time away from the girls," Quill joked as he dropped a hand on Logan's shoulder, then led him away from the women, and handed him a bottle of water. "I mean … at least now we know where your tribute gets it."

"What?" Logan spun to look up at the screen and narrowed his eyes. "Damnit, Grayson." Of course, the music on screen had dropped off to just the sounds of the swamp as Dick and Kory kissed.

"I mean. _Damn_. You've got the evil lady victor all covered in green crawling all over you. What's _that_ like?" Peter asked with a grin that didn't totally match the alarmed look in his eyes. Logan glared at him but it didn't slow Quill down from continuing on. He bumped Logan's shoulder with his and dropped his voice down to a theatrical stage whisper. "You know, when they said we were supposed to mentor these kids, they really _didn't_ mean teach them how to pick up girls. Word is _out_ , man. You've been _encouraging_ these kids to go for it and don't say it's not true because Hank McCoy and Charlie Xavier are still entertained about it. I don't mind telling you … that … _that_ … is the kind of motivational technique that I could respond to."

But when Logan saw the grin Quill had, he let out a breath of a laugh. "Why not?" Logan defended, not even considering an attempt to fight the charge. "Has advice from a victor ever helped someone win before?"

At that, Quill's eyebrows rose high on his head and he sat back, thinking it through before haltingly answering him. "Well, when you put it like that…"

"And what damn business do _you_ of all people have talkin' to _me_ about green girls chasin' after 'em?" Logan asked. "The way the crowd around here talks, you're off limits to everyone but _the_ green girl."

"Alright that … no," Quill said, shaking his head and holding both hands out in front of himself. "Let's clear that up right now - no. And even if that rumor was true? I am _not_ a healthy role model for relationships, okay? Let's get that straight right now."

The two of them glared at each other for a few moments before they both cracked open their water bottles and settled in to watch more of the Games. At the moment, none of their tributes were doing anything particularly newsworthy, so at least the subject fell into silence for a while.

"I don't know what happened with you and the crazy ladies earlier, but … we still need to go back out there, you know that, right?" Quill said suddenly, his tone a lot more quiet and reasonable. "And that's a lot easier to do for your kids if you're not looking like someone socked you in the gut or if you're all… _growly_. I've seen you work the crowd. You can do it if you want to. And there's no reason to give up just because they're trying to screw your district over."

Logan glanced up at him sideways and nodded. It was actually what he needed to hear. "So why are we drinking water then?" Logan asked - which only prompted a smile from Quill as he got up.

"Don't go anywhere. I'll bring the fun to you," Quill said, both hands outstretched before he turned on his heel and tipped his chin toward one of the other victors in acknowledgement. Logan had to shake his head. He was pretty sure Quill didn't know what was going on beyond the horrible crap that was happening in the Games … and somehow, Star Lord was grounding him a little.

"Hey! Look who I found at the bar all alone and away from the green-obsessed psycho," Quill called out - one arm around Jessica, who was laughing and holding two drinks. She was still laughing when she set one down in front of Logan, though he paused before he picked it up to touch glasses with Quill. It only took the three of them a few minutes to finish up and head back out into the gathered group of excited Capitolites.

As predicted, he had barely gotten into the crowd before the first of the sponsors made their way over to the trio to peel Quill away from his little safeguard group. Jessica and Logan shared a glance and quickly split up - it was easier to drum up interest when they were alone, and the last thing Logan wanted was for rumors to start buzzing about him and Jessica. Especially since even _he'd_ already heard some preliminary buzz about his time spent with Viper.

Besides, for some reason, the Capitolites were more at ease approaching victors one at a time rather than while they were in pairs or more, and when they did, they usually opened with a drink, though Logan walked in as a pro at ditching the offered drinks and redirecting the interested party to a more private feeling spot that still allowed them to be seen by the reporters and the general public.

He was sure to keep a bottle of water with him too- particularly since after the one scotch on the rocks he had with Quill and Jess, he found that he had to concentrate to focus on what he was doing. _Especially_ with Selene and Luthor making the rounds. The two of them were working in tandem, and he could see it clearly enough, and all things considered, he knew he was going to have to deal with them sooner or later.

Logan paused for a moment, leaning against the railing that separated the Capitol elite from the more middle class Capitolites street level as he considered his options. The name of the game had been securing people to donate to the Waynes should they get in a bind, and the display that Grayson was putting on was only making it clearer that he was going to need to play ball.

For as much help that the violet haired Miss Braddock was able to give, he knew that it would amount to being a drop in the bucket after Thanos' announcement, so even though he was feeling a little dizzy, he steeled himself for dealing with Selene and Luthor and simply waited for them to approach. He knew he wasn't going to be able to get out of it anyhow, but he'd be damned if he was going to go to them.

When Selene finally reached him, he forced a smirk onto his face as she took his arm and sidled up with a smile. "You're so hard to find," she told him with a predatory smile.

"Whoever told you I was easy lied to you, darlin'," Logan replied, smoothly playing along, and getting a broad grin out of her.

She leaned in to whisper. "Be that as it may, you're the one who needs my help," Selene replied.

"I don't have anything to offer in return," Logan answered, determined to find a way to keep it as on the level as possible.

She looked entirely too self satisfied for a long moment. "I'm sure we can hammer out the details later. In a more private setting."

It was clear she was sure she'd finally managed to get him into a corner. But like Quill had said. Logan already knew how to play the game. He tipped his chin up and leaned forward a hair. "I'll keep that in mind." With that, he took a step back from her, disentangling her arm from him in a smooth, practiced move. "If you'll excuse me - I have other places to be."

She looked as if he'd thrown water in her face as he headed off looking totally unconcerned at her shock. He could practically countdown from five before Luthor swept up to him looking furious. "If you keep this up, there's no way she'll come to an agreement with you," Luthor hissed, and all at once, Logan had enough.

He grabbed a hold of Luthor's shirt and dragged him to the nearest solid wall before he pushed him up against it. "I'm workin' here," Logan growled out. "And you're wastin' my time. If and when I come to any kind of a deal with her or anyone else- it's not your damn business. At all." He sneered up at the bald socialite. "I'm not makin' any deals with anyone before I know what the goal is. Basic business, cueball."

He let go of Luthor's shirt, but didn't drop his gaze until the man looked away. He wasn't stupid. He knew Selene was after him, and that he'd probably have to go through with _something_ \- but he wasn't gonna be cheap either. If she wanted him for … whatever … he was going to make sure she paid through the nose.

Logan barely stepped away from Luthor before another Capitolite stepped up to him. It was hard to keep from manhandling most of them. Particularly since all the sleaziest sponsors were perfectly _giddy_ about the prospect of getting their hooks into Dick if he managed to 'kiss his way to the winner's circle'. He tried to take it in stride, especially since he knew that if Fury _wasn't_ lying, the Capitol would never get that shot at Dick anyhow. But that didn't make it any easier to cope with the leering looks and suggestive commentary directed his way about the young men in Seven.

As Logan wove through the crowd, he found himself getting dizzier and less focused. He frowned at the water bottle in his hand. His head should be _clearing_ … not … whatever the hell this was. He'd only had _one_ scotch, yet he was having serious trouble focusing on anything. He _had_ to be clear headed enough to deal with Viper without letting anything slip. He closed his eyes and gently shook his head as he set the water down, then excused himself from the woman he'd been talking to and headed for the exit. He didn't make it through the lounge area before Viper caught his arm and pulled him around to her.

"You look like you need a quiet seat," she said, already guiding him over to a corner table. He was dizzy enough that he didn't fight her on it, instead letting her move him where she wanted.

"Thanks," Logan breathed out as Viper positively grinned, and after that - everything got very, very fuzzy for a long while.

"You'll want to be clear headed," Viper said, though her voice sounded far away and he couldn't make out anything else she said.

* * *

When Logan finally blinked himself out of whatever it was that was clouding him, everything came back in a rush, and he realized it wasn't just him and Viper sitting together. Jessica had joined them as well, and the two women looked as though they'd been arguing quietly about something.

Jessica rearranged her expression quickly when she saw Logan was focusing on her. "Welcome back. You _really_ need to take it easy on the booze."

He looked around himself - just then realizing that he had no idea where he was, but it sure wasn't the victor's lounge. "Where the hell are we?" Logan asked, though his question was answered quickly enough after Viper snapped her fingers, and two lines of what could almost pass as soldiers came into the room in pairs.

But he wasn't interested in the soldiers once he saw the young woman in a green cloak sweep in. He couldn't stop himself from sitting up straighter, and he had no means to control the expression on his face when her hood fell back to reveal that Viper hadn't lied to him. Silver Fox was alive.

She no longer wore the beaded bag that he knew was destroyed by Creed last year, but the profile, her honeyed skin, and her sharp, dark gaze was oh, so familiar. "You're really alive?" Logan asked, rising to his feet in spite of himself.

"Alive and kicking," Fox answered, then held up a hand when Logan started to approach her. "Stay right where you are. Not a step closer."

The sound of rifles cocking all around him made the message that much clearer. Logan glanced around himself and glared at the nearest soldier enough to get him to waver, but not enough to get him to step back. This … wasn't at all what Logan had hoped for. And he sure as hell wasn't going to just take it.

He locked his jaw and looked between several of the men for a moment before he narrowed his eyes and went ahead to take a few steps closer regardless. "I don't-"

"Don't wander too far off into fond old memories," Fox said at a hiss. "All you need to know is that SHIELD has lied to you and will continue to do so." With that, she turned in a whirl of green fabric and managed to take three whole steps before Logan's patience snapped.

He darted forward as the soldiers moved to stop him - not that it did them any good. The first one in his path ended up laid out with a broken jaw about half a second before Logan reached out to take hold of Fox's arm. "Hey, _you_ , wait up!" Logan half barked. "I want an explanation right now."

"You want an explanation?" she echoed, turning to face him with such a look of loathing, it set him back. But he didn't let go.

"We gotta have a little talk," Logan replied, not losing the edge in his voice any more than she did.

"Take your filthy _claws_ off of me," Fox sneered, finally yanking her arm back from him.

"I have a right to know-"

"You don't have a _right_ to anything." Fox tipped her chin up specifically to look down her nose at him. "You gave that up when you won. You're just another little plaything for the Capitol, and the _only_ interest I have in you at all has _nothing_ to do with you and I."

Logan's fire dropped several notches as Fox glared at him hard. "What happened to you?" he managed to breathe out.

"I died," Fox replied as she pulled out a gun. She smirked wickedly before she pulled the trigger. He didn't have time to react before the prongs sunk into his chest and electrified. All he saw was black as all of his muscles locked up, and a few moments later, even the pain disappeared into nothing.

When he opened his eyes again, he was in the middle of a Capitolite party again - with a sleaze on either side of him. Viper and Jessica Drew were nowhere in sight, and it seemed like the woman to his left was under the impression that they were working out a deal of sorts. As the woman talked, Logan absently rubbed at a spot on his chest that was incredibly tender - though as soon as he touched it, the pain shot through him as if he'd hit a raw nerve. Whatever Fox had hit him with was potent. But there was no reason to allow an opportunity to go to waste, so he forced an interested look on his face and tried to listen to what this Capitolite had to say.

* * *

The elevator chimed as it reached Seven's floor and Logan stepped out, not bothering to look back as he headed down to the suite's door. He slammed it behind him as he stepped inside, not surprised at all to find Victor Creed sprawled out on the couch with a drink in his hand, enjoying the coverage.

"C'mon, Runt, grab a glass and have a seat. You look like you could use a drink," Victor said with a flash in his eyes that meant all kinds of trouble.

"Right. So you can get me drunk and sucker punch me again," Logan said, shaking his head. "Forget it."

"Awww, come on, kid. You want a good brawl every bit as much as I do." He tipped his glass at him. "Look at you. You _need_ it. Where ya been all night? You find out ol' Vic was right about your gal, Viper?"

Logan glared at him hard then spun on his heel, pissed off that he didn't know who to trust; that he wasn't sure what had happened for Fox to hate him; that he didn't know if Fury was someone to follow or not ; or- if Fox had changed because of that program of his ... "Go to hell, Vic."

"Already there, boy," Creed called back with a chuckle before Logan slammed the door on his way back out again.

Logan was livid. It was a lot to process, and he didn't have anyone unbiased to bounce it off of, and if he did - well. It was awfully damned late to be running around knocking on suite doors.

He made his way downstairs, and then through the crowd in front of the training center, though they did slow his escape with their enthusiasm - even this late into the night. He allowed them to take their pictures on his way out into the street. One thing about being in his position was that he was expected to go mingle with people at all hours of the day and night, so it wouldn't seem too far out of line if he went to one of the many gatherings and had a few drinks. He didn't have to look hard, either. It seemed that just about every establishment and banquet hall in the capitol was doing the same thing - hosting a Games party.

When Logan found a place that he thought wasn't too uppity or overly done, he slipped inside, trying and failing to blend into the crowd. He'd barely gotten through two drinks at the bar and was lifting his third when an all too familiar sensation hit him as a woman's hand lightly danced across his shoulders.

"Viper," Logan said without looking up at her as she slid onto the barstool, leaning against the bar backward so she could face him.

"I didn't think you were going out again tonight or I would have asked you to join me much earlier," she said with a smile.

"Just looking for some time to myself."

"That's no fun," she replied, smirking crookedly as the bartender slid her drink into her hand, catching Logan's attention. Obviously she was a regular when she was in town.

Logan looked at the drink, then around the bar around him, truly taking it in for the first time and frowned to himself. "They know what you like here?"

"Of course they do," she laughed. "I bought into the Princess Bar years ago." Viper flashed him a genuine smile and slid off the barstool again. "You've shown good taste coming to my place. Show _better_ taste by keeping me company in my private booth." Her smile was friendly enough, and she certainly was entertained.

"Why would I do that?" he countered, still trying to hold on to his foul mood from earlier. But he was uneasy with the idea that _Viper_ of all people was coming off as the most honest person in the Capitol.

She slowly shrugged her shoulders up as she set her drink back down on the bar then leaned in to give him a long kiss that he didn't fight her over, even returning it after a moment. When it ended, she looked more pleased than he'd seen her before. "You don't need a motive. Just have a little fun with me. I know you had a hard night. Harder than it should have been. For that I am sorry. I won't pressure you to relax. Just … join me for a drink."

He swallowed hard and watched her as she arched an eyebrow at him and tipped her head toward the stairs. It only took him a moment before he let out all his breath at once then grabbed his drink to follow her. "What the hell. You're gonna have to answer a few questions for me," he warned, but Viper didn't seem the least bit put out by that as she simply nodded and took his hand to pull him along.

"I'll tell you anything you need to hear," she promised as Logan went with her up to her private table overlooking the bar below.

* * *

The next morning, Logan was feeling like absolute human garbage after waking up at Viper's place. He'd screwed up the night before - drinking all that he did, and the worst part was that he couldn't even remember much at all after the second drink at Viper's booth. She was _supposed_ to have answered his questions, but there hadn't been much talking going on.

The walk to the elevator was quick in daylight, _very bright_ daylight, and no one from Two was in sight as he made his way out of their suite toward the elevator. He needed a _shower_ and a change of clothes. Fast.

He didn't have long to wait before the elevator doors opened, to reveal Peter Quill, who at first looked a little confused, but happy to see him, until then his entire expression shifted as he simply stepped further back into the elevator. He stared openly at Logan as he joined him and leaned against the railing.

"Why were you on Two's floor? Why do you look like _that_?" Quill asked, looking horrified as he gave Logan a once over, moreso when he saw the shade of lipstick on his collar. " _What did you do_?" His eyes were wide and one hand was halfway covering his mouth and the other pointing at him " _Viper?! You stayed out with Viper?!"_ He gestured wildly around the elevator, looking more horrified as Logan kept his cool composure. "Have you _lost your mind?"_

"Lay off," Logan grumbled, though he was pointedly trying not to look directly at Quill.

"Dude."

"Quill …"

"No, really. _Dude_. Out of all the 'very bad choices' you could be making? That is like … right up at the top."

The elevator came to a stop on Seven's floor and Logan stepped out past Quill, but the Five victor followed him a pace or two behind. "Hey. _Hey_ , you can't … that's just … _no. Bad Wolverine! No._ I'd hit you with a rolled up newspaper if I had one."

Logan let out a sigh as he stepped inside his suite, but Quill kept on his tail, repeating how _bad_ this was.

"What the hell are you doing in here, Quill?" Creed growled out from across the suite.

"Trying to figure out why he was out all night with _Viper_!" Quill spit out.

"He did _what_?" Creed growled out, rising to his feet as Groot dropped his coffee mug and stared in horror at Logan, who looked between the three of them and let out a growl of frustration then tried to make a rush for his room. "What did I tell you, boy?" Creed was livid.

"See? How bad is it when _I'm agreeing with Victor Creed?_ " Quill said loudly, both arms outstretched. "Even _Sabretooth_ knows to keep away from Viper! _Logan_! What's the deal? You got a death wish or something?"

Logan slipped into his room and closed the door behind him, leaning on it and feeling the weight of the world as the men outside were all, amazingly, in agreement. Which was that much of a marker of how big of a mistake drinking with Viper was. He took a moment to listen to them go from agreement - to Creed and Quill arguing. Then Quill leaving with Groot stomping behind him, clearly in agreement with his friend … all of that before Logan started to take off the remnants of the night before and head to the shower to try to scrub his skin raw.

But even with the searing hot water washing over him, he couldn't shake the feeling that whatever had happened to change Fox could easily have changed anyone else that Fury had brought back. Alive or dead, she was gone to him. He had no guarantee that anyone that had come back was still _them._ And somehow, that thought seemed worse than the idea of losing them all together.


	59. Chapter 58: A Plague on Your House

**(A/N): Here we are with our Tuesday update! This time, we're taking you back to the Justice League, with a chapter written by the ever-so-talented BstnStrng13 for John Constantine.**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed for your consistent support. We love it when we can surprise you too! Thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for your review (we think Jack is creepy too) and to GeekyComicBookGuy for all of your reviews as you're catching up on this story. We love seeing a carryover from the previous story, and we're so glad to see that you're still enjoying things. Please, keep telling us what you like and what sticks out to you!**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifty Eight - "A Plague on Your House"**

 **Day Two**

 **John Constantine of District Twelve**

 **Written by BstnStrng13**

* * *

" _Better to have one woman on your side than ten men."_ Robert Jordan, _The Great Hunt_

* * *

John Constantine couldn't remember ever being afraid of the dark, even when he was a little boy. Given that his father had been angry and unloving as soon as John was born, darkness had been a friend almost from his first moments of consciousness. After all, it was easier to pretend the loathing didn't exist when he couldn't see it on his father's face. As he'd grown older, he'd found the darkness of the mines to be especially peaceful. There was a stillness about it; a gentle silence that was interrupted only by the occasional drip of water or groan of the earth as it settled. It felt safe.

But a mine and a bayou have little in common. And for the first time in John's life, the darkness of night had not felt benign. The mosquitos had droned incessantly, the moss hanging from the cypress trees had looked like ghostly fingers stretching down to grab him, and there was water everywhere. For most of the first night of the Games, John had lain awake, terrified that every creak of a branch or gurgle of water had signalled a tribute coming to take his head off. He'd almost envied Clark his befuddled state as a result of the tracker jackers; at least the guy could forget about imminent death for a while. It was only when dawn was nearly upon them that John had been able to drift off and find oblivion for an hour or two.

When he'd awoken, he'd almost been sorry that he'd slept. He was disoriented, and he'd felt a moment of panic as he tried to get his bearings in the alien environment. Clark and Kara were still asleep, not far away, but Diana was nowhere to be seen. He'd wondered if she'd regretted her choice of alliance partners and decided to leave while she still had the opportunity. He wasn't sure he could blame her if she had.

And then he'd seen her approaching. She'd been half-carrying, half-dragging Kaldur. It had been instantly clear that something was very wrong. John had hung back as Diana and Clark had examined her district partner, pulling aside Kaldur's jacket and shirt to reveal horrible burns on his arms and torso. John had seen men similarly burned in mine explosions and couldn't recall any of them surviving. Still, Diana had seemed to think that Kaldur had a chance. She'd treated his wounds and then told the alliance that she would be keeping her district partner with them. John had agreed; torn between admiring Diana for her loyalty and doubting the wisdom of expending energy on a youth who was very likely to die.

Which brought them to this moment; trying to move through the swamp on spongy, uncooperative soil with a tribute who could barely walk. They were taking turns holding Kaldur up, all four of them, with Diana doing more than her share of the work. Progress was slow, and John watched Kaldur as he grimaced but didn't complain, even though the pain must have been unbearable. John started to say something to Diana several times — to question whether they were really doing Kaldur a favor — but then stopped. He was afraid he might sound selfish, and he didn't like the idea of Diana seeing him that way. She was so damn noble that it made him want to be noble too — which really wasn't like him. Back in District Twelve, he'd been more likely to either disappear or joke his way out of difficult situations. Was nobility contagious, he wondered, like the flu? He almost laughed at the thought. Maybe the tracker jackers had messed with his mind more than he'd realized.

* * *

 _John's heart was pounding as he stepped into the tube_ — _really pounding. Looking down, he could see the left side of his chest moving in and out in a rapid rhythm as the door slid shut, blocking out all sounds except the whoosh of blood his ears. He hadn't realized it, but until now, he'd always felt there was a possibility_ — _however faint_ — _that he wouldn't have to go into the arena. Maybe someone else from District Twelve would step forward. Or maybe the powers-that-be would decide that a mistake had been made with the skinny, blonde boy whose chief talents were digging coal and misdirection._

 _But being in the tube made everything real and final. In a minute, he was going to emerge into a world where everyone_ — _with the possible exception of his alliance mates_ — _was going to try to kill him. In fact, for all he knew, this might be the last sixty seconds of his life._

 _And that was why he couldn't believe it when he heard the riddle._ You have _got_ to be kidding me _, he thought._ You expect me to answer some trick poem while I might be taking my final breaths? This just confirms that there's a special place in hell reserved for Gamemakers.

 _And then he thought about the words to the riddle_ — _because it was better than thinking about dying. The last part was easy; the beanstalk had to refer to Jack. He and his sister, Cheryl, had loved that tale when they were kids. He wasn't as certain about the first part of the riddle. Whatever it was, it was supposed to rhyme. Something Jack. Black Jack? Pack Jack? Cracker Jack?_

 _Oh bloody hell._

 _Tracker jackers._

 _He said the words out loud, and his platform moved up as the tube dropped away. A quick glance revealed that at least a third of the tributes had figured it out before him. They were on their platforms too, eyeing the contents of the Tesseract and no doubt prioritizing what they wanted to take. John's attention, on the other hand, was drawn toward the tracker jacker nests. He'd learned about jackers in theory but had never seen them for real. They looked every bit as nasty as their reputations, and their nests were liberally distributed around the Tesseract._

 _His next thought was to look for Diana. He was certain she would know what to do. Before he could locate her, however, the cannon fired, and tributes were leaping into the arena._

 _And all hell broke loose._

 _Some tributes ran toward the Tesseract, others ran away, with the tracker jackers honing in on both alike. John could see many of the Careers darting back and forth to the Tesseract, grabbing weapons and then leaping away as they were stung. They looked like a group of frantic squirrels, and he might have found it funny if he hadn't been in the middle of it. Instead, he froze in fear; paralyzed by the noise of the jackers and the frenzied movements of his fellow tributes. He knew Diana, Clark, and Kara had to be somewhere among them, but for the life of him he couldn't find them in the chaos._

C'mon, Johnny-boy _, he thought._ It's time to grow a pair. There's all kinds of stuff in that Tesseract that you need. You know how to take things without being seen. Think of it as picking a pocket, only the pocket is really big and guarded by angry needles. And then, get the hell out of here. Now, move!

 _He ran low to the ground with his arms tucked in, trying to stay as compact and invisible as possible. Nevertheless, he was barely three strides into the arena when the first jacker got him. After that, it was like being in a mine blast_ — _only instead of small shards of stone whistling by and occasionally hitting him, it was tracker jackers._

 _He reached the Tesseract and started grabbing things: an axe, a small shovel, a flashlight. Then, he turned and sprinted to a spot where he could still see the platforms but was no longer a target for the tracker jackers._

 _He made a quick assessment of the damage. His left thigh was on fire, and the back of his neck felt stiff and swollen. The good news was that the pain seemed confined to those two areas of his body. The bad news was that it felt like it had to be more than two stings, and the venom was already making him feel dizzy. He picked a tree out in the distance and focused on it, willing his vision to remain steady. Then, he watched the Tesseract until he could sort out who was who. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Diana, and despite the risk of more stings, crept forward to join her as she rounded up the team._

* * *

"Let us rest here," Diana said.

It was a good spot. There was shade under a huge cypress tree, and the ground was fairly dry. John was grateful to sit. They'd been walking for several hours, and his feet were sore, unaccustomed to the stiffness of the new, high-technology boots. He was also thirsty, and his back was chafing under the scratchy material of his tee shirt. The clothing they'd been given was both a blessing and a curse; it was waterproof, but it was also itchy, and it made his skin feel clammy and hot. Thank goodness Clark had managed to grab water purification tablets from the Tesseract. It was a relief to be able to drink deeply without worrying about parasites, even if the water was lukewarm and tasted like rotting vegetables.

John glanced at his District Five ally. Clark seemed to have recovered fully from his tracker jacker stings. He certainly was strong. There had been a few times this morning when he'd lifted Kaldur completely off the ground and carried him over difficult terrain. And he'd done it with surprising gentleness, even though the wounded tribute had been dead weight. John wondered what Clark had done in Five to build up such strength and was a little embarrassed that he hadn't asked him about his home yet.

Unlike Clark, Kaldur appeared to be getting worse instead of better. His breathing was slow and labored, and he struggled to swallow the water he'd been given. Diana seemed unaware of his decline and fussed over him like a mother hen, arranging a comfortable spot for him to lie on and making sure his face was shielded from the sun. Only when Kaldur waved her off did she finally sit. John doubted she'd taken any time for herself since they'd stepped out of those blasted tubes yesterday. She'd stood watch for most of the night, and he guessed by her vigilance now that she was assessing the land and evaluating next moves.

"Diana," he said quietly, "why don't you close your eyes for five minutes? You're the only one of us who hasn't slept at all."

Clark and Kara looked at Diana and nodded in support of John's suggestion.

Diana regarded him steadily. "I am well," she said. "And we should not stay too long in this place. We'll be safer when we get to higher ground."

John thought about the terrain they had covered as they'd put miles between themselves and the Tesseract. He couldn't recall seeing any ground that he would have exactly considered high. Not like the hills beyond the boundary fence in District Twelve, anyway. And this spot felt as safe as anything else in the damn arena — they hadn't seen any other tributes. Still, he wasn't going to argue the point with their leader. As it was, he was amazed that Diana appeared to accept the burden of leadership the same way pretty girls accepted flowers or jewellery — as if it were her due. It was strange and amazing, even if it didn't entirely make sense.

He took a sip of water and studied her. There were circles under her eyes, but her posture was erect and strong. "Why are you doing this?" he asked her.

She raised an eyebrow and gave him a puzzled look. Clearly, she didn't understand his question.

He did his best to clarify. "Why are you working so hard to protect us?" he asked again. "I can understand doing it for family or even for your district partner, but Clark, Kara, and I — we're strangers."

She stared at him for a long moment and then shrugged. "I am a daughter of Hippolyta," she said simply, as if that explained everything.

John shook his head. "I'm sorry. I don't understand."

There was a tired chuckle followed by a cough. He was surprised to realize that it had come from Kaldur. "Do not question the duty that follows being a member of our leading families," Kaldur said weakly, "unless you are prepared to hear how respect is her due and responsibility her byword."

John looked at Diana thoughtfully and said nothing.

Diana frowned. "Would you _not_ want to live up to your mother's expectations?" she asked the group in general. "Would you not want to make her proud?"

Clark and Kara nodded, but it was John's turn to shrug. "I never knew my mother," he said. "She died giving birth to me."

The group fell silent. John could hear the buzzing of some kind of insect but thankfully didn't see anything hovering around his body. His neck and leg were still burning from the tracker jackers.

"Your father?" Kara asked him.

John shook his head. "The only thing my father has ever wished for me," he said flatly, "was to disappear…maybe even go to hell. He blames me for my mother's death."

Diana, Clark, and Kara looked at each other. John could see that the notion of having no loving parent was as foreign to them as Diana's leadership was to him. He regretted saying anything. He didn't want their pity.

The buzzing was growing louder.

"Do you hear that?" he asked.

Everyone nodded.

"Another tracker jacker nest?" Clark suggested.

Kara shook her head. "If we were near a nest, they would have been all over us by now."

"Then what is it?" Clark asked.

John looked around. He couldn't see anything that accounted for the sound. He slowly got to his feet and stepped to the base of the cypress tree. He reached for the lowest limb, hauled his body up, and then extended his arms to the next branch. It wasn't a difficult tree to climb. Soon, he was fifteen feet above the ground. He scanned the distance.

"There's a cloud of some kind of bugs over that way." He pointed in the direction they had come from earlier. "I can't tell what they are, but I think they're headed toward us."

The buzzing grew louder.

"Mosquitos?" Kara said doubtfully, getting to her feet.

From his spot in the tree, John shook his head. "I don't think so," he called down. "They're too big." He kept watching.

The hum was getting really loud now, and the cloud was moving fast. His eyes grew wide. "Holy hell," he exclaimed and hurriedly slid down the tree.

"What—" Clark began.

"They're huge," John interrupted. "I don't know what they are, but they must be over a foot long. They look like giant dragonflies." He picked up the jacket he had pulled off earlier and put it on, anxious to cover his bare arms.

They were all standing now, except Kaldur. Kaldur coughed and closed his eyes. "Do you believe they're venomous?" he asked. He almost sounded hopeful.

"I don't want to find out," Kara replied, reaching for her sword.

"Me either," Clark agreed.

The hum was becoming deafening. The cloud of insects was close enough now that they could distinguish individual bugs. It turned out John's estimate of their size was off — about two feet too _small_. They indeed looked like some form of dragonfly, but they were closer to three feet in length, and their tails were sharp and pointed.

"Mutts," Diana muttered. "The Capitol has gifted us with yet another of their experiments." She lifted her sword and held it in both hands. "Let us form a circle around Kaldur," she ordered.

"It will not be necessary, Diana," her district partner replied. He sat up, drew his legs under him and tried to stand…only to fail utterly. He collapsed back onto the ground with a groan.

Diana moved closer to him, and Kara joined her, their swords glinting in the sun.

John grabbed the axe he had pulled from the Tesseract. It wasn't a sword, but he at least felt like he knew how to use it. He glanced at Clark and noticed the tribute's hands were empty.

"There's a shovel," he suggested, pointing at their pile of gear.

Clark nodded and picked it up. The four of them formed a loose circle around Kaldur, with their backs to the wounded tribute and their weapons facing the insects.

The dragonfly mutts descended upon them.

John watched dumbly as a mutt hovered in the air in front of him. It smelled foul, and he noticed that there were barbs along the side of its scaly tail in addition to the sharp point at the end. He swung his axe at its head but missed, and the creature retaliated by slashing its tail along his forearm, tearing his jacket and leaving a six-inch wound. He cried out and swung the axe wildly again, less worried about the head and more concerned about simply making contact this time. It wasn't easy. The mutts were nimble for their size, darting in to strike and then backing swiftly out of range. From the corner of his eye, he could see Kara on his right. She was wielding her sword with amazing speed, and she managed to sever the dagger-like tail from the mutt closest to her. Without its rudder, the insect crashed to the ground and flopped around, an ugly green ooze leaking out of its body.

 _That's one_ , he thought.

And then he swung his axe again, because the mutt hovering in front of him dove once more, clearly aiming for John's torso. This time John's blade connected, biting deeply into the mutt's body. The huge dragonfly wobbled in the air before dropping to the ground. John grinned briefly, but there was no time to celebrate; another mutt was in front of his face…and then another.

He fought frantically, as did his allies. If he'd ever wondered about their determination, he had no doubts now. They were all warriors; Kara and Diana swung their swords with speed and skill, and what Clark might have lacked in training, he more than made up for in strength and courage.

The problem was that they were outnumbered. As one mutt went down, it felt like two others came to take its place. John's hand grew slick with sweat and blood, and he struggled to hold onto his axe. Their circle around Kaldur gradually broke apart as each tribute continued to swing his or her weapon. Only Diana remained at Kaldur's side, doing her best to keep the creatures away from her partner's body as well as her own.

After fifteen very long minutes, the mutts that were still airborne abruptly stopped their attack and then fled. Looking down, John counted over twenty dragonfly bodies on the ground. He, Clark, Kara and Diana were still standing, but the victory had come at a cost. They were all wounded. He had deep gashes in his arm and chest, and his allies had similar injuries. Despite Diana's efforts, Kaldur had been slashed several times on his legs, adding mutt-wounds to his extensive burns. John wondered if he even felt them. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be hovering in and out of consciousness.

Diana stared down at Kaldur but didn't say anything. After a moment, she crouched in front of their pile of gear and began sifting through it.

"We do not have much that will suffice for bandages," she said tiredly.

Kara brushed her hair out of her eyes and looked at Clark. The movement left a small smear of blood on her forehead. "Do you remember what Ka-Zar told us in training?" she asked him.

He shook his head.

"I know he mostly talked about edible plants," Kara continued, "but he mentioned a couple of plants that help with cleansing and clotting wounds."

Clark stared at his cousin. "That's right," he said slowly. "Lamb-something and marsh-something."

Kara nodded. "Lamb's ear and marsh woundwort."

John looked at her — impressed with her memory. He wished he had spent more time with Ka-Zar. "You think you would recognize those plants if you saw them?" he asked Kara.

She gazed down at the wound on her hip and grimaced. "I think so. Ka-Zar said they're plentiful in swamps. And we're certainly in the middle of a swamp." She gestured at the large pools of stagnant water, not far away.

"Then I suggest you and Clark see if you can find any," Diana said. "John and I can attend to Kaldur." After a pause, she added, "And I believe it would be best if we all remained within sight of one another. Please return if you are not successful in locating any of the plants nearby. "

Clark and Kara nodded and began walking cautiously toward the nearest pool. John joined Diana as she knelt next to Kaldur and examined his leg.

The mutt wounds were long and bleeding, but John doubted they were making Kaldur's situation any worse. The burns had done the damage hours ago; Kaldur was feverish, and John suspected his organs were beginning to shut down. He might not make it through the night, and he certainly wasn't going to be able to travel. John watched Diana as she examined Kaldur gently and saw her shoulders slump, just a little.

 _She knows_ , he thought, _she knows it in her head, but isn't ready to accept it in her heart_.

It was a horribly unfair position for a leader to be in. She had to think of the welfare of her entire alliance, and caring for a dying tribute put everyone at risk. On the other hand, abandoning Kaldur probably went against her deepest principles. There was no easy choice for her to make.

 _Maybe I can help_ , John thought. _Maybe I can convince her_ — _let her see that there is no shame in thinking_ _of the greater good_.

He opened his mouth to say something and then stopped. Diana was murmuring quietly to Kaldur and arranging her jacket under his head to serve as a pillow. _She isn't ready to hear it_ , he thought, _not yet_. _But soon_ — _soon there will be no choice._

He glanced at the sky. Nightfall would come in a few hours. He was going to have to face his fear of the dark once again.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane


	60. Chapter 59: Mad Love

**(A/N): And here we are, back with our Friday update! This time, we take you to the ever-wonderful Harley Quinn and Canucklehead Cowgirl.**

 **Thanks as always to all the writers who reviewed. It's fun to see lesser-known characters especially get some love!**

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 **Chapter Fifty-Nine -Mad Love**

 **Day Two**

 **Harleen Quinzel of District Eight**

 **Written By Canucklehead Cowgirl**

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" _Don't play his game. Play yours."_ — _Rachel Caine_

" _When people treat you like they don't care, believe them." - Oprah Winfrey_

* * *

This had to be the worst alliance in the history of ever. No one was gettin' along. No one was havin' any fun. And the buzz from the little guys was gone _completely_. But Harley was still tryin' to make the best of a lousy situation.

What was left of the self-named Injustice League had been wandering the swamp since the end of the bloodbath, and as they did so, Harley had been making a point to stop every now and again with whatever little treasures she'd found along the way and work up a trap or two, even going so far as to cut off the legs of her pants so that she could use the material to build new traps if she didn't have enough rope or vine handy.

Angela had stopped following her so close after Harley had made a point to carefully work around what she recognized as a deep spot … and didn't warn Angela. She'd laughed so hard when Angela slipped underwater — arms out as if she could catch herself. But that, honestly, was the last funny thing that'd happened.

Most of Harley's traps hadn't been too elaborate. Just a little somethin' that'd snag someone by the foot or hand or neck and then snap it. Yank 'em upside down cartoon style — that kind of thing. They were supposed to be _fun._

But between the heat, and the wet, and the painful stings that they _all_ had gotten — not to mention the bad attitude from their self-proclaimed leader … Harley just wasn't feelin' much like herself.

And Mistah J was startin' ta get on her very last nerve. He'd been short with her, even when she tried to help him keep that stupid lookin' cut from gettin' infected. In fact, when she thought about it, she realized that he hadn't appreciated one thing she'd done for him. _Not a one_!

" _Sweetums,_ " Jack called out in an irritated tone. "You're wasting our precious, precious time _again_." He glared at her with real heat, the crooked cut-in smile oozing blood as he allowed the scabs to crack and bleed again. As she stared up at him, the red mark over her cheekbone showed clearly the spot where he'd struck her in a fit of rage.

"You're not gonna be sayin' that when they work, _Puddin',_ " Harley shot back, putting on a snarl of a smile in return as she took Pamela's hand to pull herself up from a particularly twisted trap she'd just rigged up.

As Jack glared at her, completely losing his smile, she pointedly pulled her lipstick out of the zippered pocket at her hip and applied a fresh coat carefully, never once dropping her gaze. Not until she'd finished and popped her lips dramatically. "At least I'm doin' somethin' other than playin' with redundant weaponry. Nothin' says scary like usin' the same thing as a weapon as what's flyin' around on its own in force. Not nearly as effective as what nature intended, either."

* * *

" _Looks like they put all the pretty girls in one place," Harley called out to Kory and Pammy_ — _her nearest neighbors on either side. She'd gotten a moment to look at the arena, and if she'd said she'd prepared for a swampy hell hole, she'd have been lyin' through her teeth. But there was no way she was going to let it shake her. She could handle a lil' bit of moisture._

 _As the final ten seconds counted down, Harley took a moment to carefully reapply her lipstick, even though Honey had made sure she looked perfect before she'd stepped into the tube. She had just finished up with a giggle before she called out in a loud sing-song voice, "A whole lotta people are gonna di-i-ie!" She struck a pose, one foot popped up behind her, and her hands clasped under her chin before she stretched her arms out_ — _one high, one low_ — _and pointed her toe out. She wasn't stupid enough to jump like she wanted to, but she'd push the envelope a bit._

 _She cackled with a broad smile as she looked around the arena at her competition's reactions. They ranged from outright horror at her glee to disbelief._ Whatta buncha mooks, _she thought to herself._

 _When the klaxon rang out, Harley threw up both hands in triumph and positively somersaulted off of her platform, laughing and grinning the whole way. She hit the ground_ — _or the water_ — _in a crouch and a splash before she darted in toward the Tesseract, running for all she was worth, and getting there before most of the others around her_ —

 _She dodged and twirled around a few of the other tributes, ignoring the highly-fought-for swords and bow. She drew herself tight to the wall of the thing as Mr. Cute Butt from Seven snatched a pair of bags, though he missed her friendly wave and little 'hiya;' he was clearly distracted and focused on other things. She had her hands near her shoulders, her eyes wide, as one tribute after another seemed to flat ignore her presence._

 _She tipped her head forward and checked both ways as if she was crossing the street before she primly made her way over to the pile of weapons and supplies._

 _They were all fightin' already. Each other_ — _the water_ — _the bugs_ — _you name it, they was fightin' it. Singing to herself, Harley kicked over a few odd weapons and tossed some out of her way into the water, on the lookout for the one she wanted._

" _Sickle? Scythe? That's a stupid name either way." She scrunched her nose up and pulled a face, tongue out for a moment. "What is this even_ for _?" she asked, more to herself than anyone else before she tossed it over her shoulder. She heard a splash but didn't bother with worrying about it, as she had so many more important things to attend to._

 _The wind rustled her hair as something whipped over her head, but she straightened up and tipped her head to the side a bit, then looked around at the large, angry tracker jackers before she picked up a baseball bat and held it protectively to her chest. Her eyes were wide as she watched the tracker jackers fly past. "I don't want no trouble, little buzzy guys."_

" _Harley," Jack called as he swung close enough to the Tesseract to snag a little something. "Stop messing around. I'm going to need your assistance with a little green annoyance!"_

" _On the way, Puddin'!" Harley called back, taking a moment to blow a kiss his way, fully posing for him until a tracker jacker stung her on the backside. With a little yelp, she whipped around, her bat at full extension_ — _only to hit open air. She kept swinging, occasionally hearing a tiny_ thunk _! She glanced around, wondering who saw her fighting air, her smile gone as she watched her fellow tributes fight. They were all so tied up in what they were doing, they totally missed the obvious little blonde in the middle of them. Her smile slowly reappeared, and she cartwheeled out of the Tesseract with a laugh._

 _When her feet hit the water again, she started to run toward Jack. She'd only made it a handful of steps when she let out a little 'eep!' and stepped into a deep hole hidden in the murky water. She ended up going entirely underwater, and when she popped back up, her hair was plastered to her head, her makeup was running, and she simply couldn't believe what had just happened. At first, she started to laugh, seeing the humor in it … a giggle turned into a chuckle and then an outright laugh._

 _But that was destroyed when Jack barked at her to get moving. He was in a tiff with one o' the birdboys. "Did no one see that?" Harley said, looking around herself in disappointment. "Of all the lousy, no good, rotten luck," she grumbled as she swam over to shallower water, her sights on Jack. She was furious. She'd had to look utterly ridiculous, and no one had even seen what had happened. "I took hours gettin' my look_ just so!"

 _By the time she'd gotten out of the deep spot in the middle of the circle, most of the action was already over with, and people were leaving. The party had started without her, and she didn't even have much to show for it. As she rose up out of the water, her shoulders automatically curled in, and she held her bat that much closer. It was unlikely that she would be attacked when they were all trying to get away from the place. She felt incredibly let down by the whole affair, and she knew she looked ridiculous with her sad two-toned ponytails._

 _As Jack went on and on, she dragged her feet through the foot-deep water until she noticed a shock of red hair peeking out from around one of the trees. "Hiya, Red," Harley said in a sad tone. "You make it out alright?"_

 _She wasn't surprised in the least when the stunning beauty stepped out from around the tree_ — _every curl still in place as her hair cascaded over her shoulders. "You look a little over-watered," Pamela said with a smirk that simply got Harley giggling._

* * *

"Come on, Harley," Pamela said quietly as she glanced toward Jack, who was still glaring at the pair of them. "Our company may not be the best, but we have this intriguing swamp full of life to enjoy." She picked up a floating bulb with a stunningly beautiful purple flower on it to lift it to her nose and then smile at the intoxicating scent.

Harley glanced up at Pam, then over to where Jack and Angela were grumbling about something. "Yeah, nuthin' more romantical that a slip and slide fulla buzzy stingy little guys and skeeters." She slapped a mosquito off of her neck, a grimace on her face when she saw the smear of blood and bug guts. "But you're right. The flowers sure are pretty."

A rustle of water and a cry of surprise caught her attention, and Harley whipped her head toward the noise before a triumphant "HA!" escaped her. "Worthless, huh?" she challenged Jack's way, already skipping toward the sound.

She hadn't gone far before she found her quarry, strung up in a series of vines and rope, upside down and swinging still. "Lookit that! A bird in the hand is worth two in the swamp, I say!" She tipped her head to the side until she had to turn sideways to look at him upside down. "It's the little red bird! Too bad; I was hopin' to see the one with the cute money maker hangin' like a bat!" She leaned toward Jason with wide eyes. "Not that you ain't kinda cute in your own sweet way, though."

He frowned at her and tried to worm his way out of the vines around his middle as he reached for his ankles. "You gonna get me down — seeing as you're the brains of this operation?"

She giggled and took another step forward to do just that but was interrupted by a whoop from her district partner.

"Ooooh, what do we have here?" Jack said as he came up behind her, quick to rest his hand at her waist and pull her closer for a quick kiss, not bothering to wipe away the bright red from his own mouth once he was done. "My punkin' got me a little present."

With a gleeful cackle, Jack abandoned Harley, pushing past her hard enough to spin her as he rushed forward, and Jason simply glared at him with all the venom he could muster. "This is gonna hurt you a whole lot more than it's gonna hurt me!" Jack shouted. He backhanded Jason before Harley could even cut him down. "That looked like it _really_ hurt," Jack giggled. "Which is too bad for you, since I'm just getting started."

"Is he always this much of a tool, or does he save it for when there's a crowd?" Jason asked, and while it got a smirk out of Pamela, Jack took none too kindly to it and simply started beating on him.

"Hey, take it easy, puddin', he ain't a pinata," Harley shouted as she rushed to cut the boy down so he at least wasn't swinging. As soon as he hit the muck, Jason struggled to get to his feet, but he didn't get far.

Jack hauled back and kicked him in the face before he could get all the way up — not that he had much of a chance to get upright with the ropes and vines still half tangling his limbs. "Oooh, but that looked like it hurt more. I think we need to compare and contrast, Tweedle Dee. What do you think?" As Jack loomed over him, cackling and preening, Angela rushed forward to bind Jason's hands behind his back with the remaining vines while he was still stunned from the kick.

Jason was struggling to catch his breath, working into as much of an upright position as he could, but when Jack crouched to get a little more up close and personal, Jason very suddenly — and accurately — spit in his face with a disturbing mixture of spittle, blood, and swamp water.

From there, it was just an act of sheer brutality on Jack's part — hitting and kicking him so hard that with every grunt, groan and _oof_ that he pulled from Jason, the girls around him all flinched. "I'm sure the other bird has much better manners than you do," Jack bellowed. "Can't fake class!"

All at once, as Jack raised his knife high to jam it down into the lesser bird's chest, Harley rushed forward and grabbed his wrist, stopping all further motion. "Please don't do that, Mistah J," she said clearly, and the whole swamp seemed to go silent. "He didn't do nothin' to deserve gettin' beat to death."

"What was that, dumplin'?," Jack replied low, his eyes flashing dangerously and his tone somewhere between a purr and a growl as his smile cracked the scabs on either side of his mouth further, allowing fresh blood to slide down the smeared greasepaint and off of his chin. "I thought I heard a squeak."

She blinked a few times, her hard line already starting to waver, but she pushed her way through it. "Y-yeah, I said don't hurt the bird brain. He's one of my _friends_."

"Awwww," Jack said, smiling maliciously as he made a grand, false gesture. "But he's not your _best_ friend. That spot's taken — and no one can mess with that, right?" For the first time, she heard the uncertainty in his voice, and it very nearly derailed her. " _Right_ , Harley?" He spat her name out from between clenched teeth, mere inches from her face — she was nose to nose with the clown prince of crime at the height of his madness.

Jason's gaze flitted between the two clowns, and all at once, he started to wriggle, trying to break free of the ropes and vines that bound him while he knew the wicked little alliance was distracted. Even Angela had stopped paying attention to Jason, slavering at the show going on with the two District Eight tributes.

Harley let go of Jack's knife hand, but he barely lowered it, fury and madness swirling behind his eyes, focused on her for the simple act of defiant _kindness_. Her heart was pounding, and her breaths were coming in shallower as Jack's smile became more smug. And just like a snap, she let out a roar of frustration that had been building practically since the day they met as she balled up her fists together and swung for a backhanded crack that knocked him clean off his feet. "Wrong, _Puddin'_!" she shouted at the stunned and prone Joker, though her lip was quivering and her bright blue eyes were wide.

Before Jack could recover, she rushed to untie Jason, who had somehow managed to bring his hands from behind his back to in front of himself. As she cut the ropes loose, she was already urging him to run. " _Go!_ Get outta here, _shoo!_ " she said, pushing him to go after she pressed the knife that had fallen out of his pocket back into his hands and helped him to his feet. "Run free, be safe!" She turned toward where Jack was getting up out of the murky water, soaked from head to toe. The string of algae half draped over his face would have been funny if not for the expression he wore. "Be sure to write, red bird," she called out before she squared up to face Jack if she had to.

Pamela had made a move to block Angela's way, a dangerous glint of steel in her eyes. "You won't be sneaking up on that little flower," Pamela warned.

"Girls," Jack said with growing amusement in his voice as he slowly approached Harley, his hands clenching and unclenching. "I'm lookin' for a new sidekick. Preferably one who's psychopathic and willing to work with the whole _clown theme._ Just form a line, and I'll be right with you."

But if he actually expected the others to fall into line that easily, he was sorely mistaken. There was a delicate splashing as Pamela made sure to block Angela from Harley, looking just as furious as the little blonde.

Harley's usual line of witty banter dried up quickly when facing Jack down. He was so angry, he didn't even notice that the battered bird boy was retreating into the swamp.

Jack pointed his knife Harley's way, almost beyond words. "Maybe I underestimated you, Harl," Jack said slowly. "We should talk about it privately." He rushed her and punched her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her, but to Harley's utter shock and relief, the blade that had been in his hand wasn't touching her.

Harley was crumpled over and more than ready for a good, long cry. She looked up at him, her pigtails stringy and half wet and her makeup running down her cheeks giving her the impression of a melting doll, but she was furious about everything.

"It's sad, really," Jack said as he walked around her where she was crouched in the water. "So much mindless, _creative violence_ at your fingertips. You even give me a run for my money sometimes, lambchop." He cradled her chin in his hand, tipping her head up to face him. "I'm not mad, mind you. Just disappointed."

He drew his hand back, the blade shining in the light, and she was sure that was the end of it for her, but at the last second, he met her gaze and grinned wider, turning slightly to bring his wrath down on Pamela instead, and Harley … snapped.

Her own well-being simply didn't occur to her as she rushed him, tackling him around the middle with a sneer and knocking him into the shallow water. "I don't care what you do to me!" she shouted as she simply started pounding on him. "But tryin' ta hurt my _friends?_ The _only people that ever stuck up for me?_ "

She was hitting him with everything she had, and for a moment, no one moved until, suddenly, she caught sight of the pained, almost blank expression on his face. She climbed off of him and got to her feet quickly, then started to back away — all the way up until she bumped into Pamela — who handed her the waterlogged baseball bat she'd been holding for her while she was setting a trap earlier. As she closed her fingers around the bat, she just then realized the amount of greasepaint and blood smeared across her knuckles.

Jack sat up shakily, blood trickling from his nose and mouth, one eye swelling as she stared at him. "Come now, snookums. Beg for forgiveness, and I'll forget this little outburst." The rage hadn't died down in his eyes, though, and she felt stronger the further she got from him.

"No," Harley said, every inch of her trembling as she tried to stand up straighter, though her shoulders were pulled almost to her ears, as if she was waiting for a strike.

" _What_ did you say?" Jack said, rising to his feet like some monster from the sickly green water, already trying to loom over her.

But it was too late for that. The simple act of telling him 'no', even if it took her some time, had sparked up a new fire in Harley's heart. And she wasn't going to take his crap anymore. " _NO!"_ Harley shouted as he staggered closer, the smile twisting into a snarl the closer he got to her and the deeper that it sunk in that she wasn't coming back with him. "No more! No more, Mistah J — no more you an' me — just … _no."_ She jutted her chin out, and as soon as he made a move for her, she drew back and hit him with everything she had, cracking him in the jaw and knocking him backward into the shallow water.

"C'mon, Red," Harley said, glancing back at Jack's still form, then locking gazes with Angela — her threat clear, though Angela was already backing away from the scene entirely toward the open swamp. "I'm _done_ with these losers."

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane


	61. Chapter 60: Siren Song

**(A/N): Here we are with our Tuesday update! To those that celebrate it, we hope you had a Merry Christmas. (And happy Boxing Day!) Now, we're taking you to Abby Well's brilliant Pamela Isley. :)**

 **Thanks as always to all of the writers who reviewed. Your continued support is a boon to the rest of us as we write, and we love you for it!**

* * *

 **Chapter Sixty - Siren Song**

 **Evening Two**

 **Pamela Isley of District Eleven**

 **Written by Abby Well**

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 _"Collaboration has no hierarchy. The Sun collaborates with soil to bring the flowers on the earth."_ \- Amit Ray

 _"If you are causing trouble, look for allies, always."_ -Justine Larbalestier

* * *

Pamela did not fear snakes, frogs, or even gators; what she was afraid of most as Harley and she made their way through the swamp was how impossible it was to move silently. The water was everywhere, deceptively shallow, and they had to go slowly so they weren't caught by sudden sinkholes, which made her feel even more exposed. The clothes they had been given were all waterproofed, but the plasticky fabric offered little protection when you sank into waist-deep water and had to hold your supplies above your head to keep them dry, exposing the bare skin of your midriff. In her case, her stomach was bandaged after Harvey Dent had attacked her in a fit of anger, and any movements that involved lifting her arms pulled painfully at the damaged skin. She was glad Harley had leapt to her defense and stopped it from being any worse.

She scratched absently at the welts on her left arm and the back of her right hand. The swelling of the tracker-jacker stings from the Tesseract had gone down considerably in the last day, but the lingering presence of the venom meant that she couldn't tell if the swampy air was really that hazy, or if her vision was still blurry around the edges. The skin surrounding the stings was stained a vivid green, which hadn't yet been washed away by sweat, from the mashed-up leaves she'd used as a poultice to soothe the pain, and the rest of her exposed skin was coated in crushed plant seeds to act as an insect repellent. This had actually saved her from the second tracker jacker attack, as well as the other bugs lurking in the swamp. With previously perfect curls of red hair now surrounding her head in a cloud of frizz, and her skin decorated in shades of green, she looked like some sort of wild woman.

This was more like what she normally looked like back in Eleven, however, and she found it somewhat reassuring, embracing the familiar feel of the earth's bounty on her skin. While the swamp was filled with dangerous animals and even more dangerous people, it was also filled with plants and majestic trees of which she could appreciate the beauty — it was almost like being surrounded by friends. They were a good, reliable resource for her, too. She felt more at home here than she had at any moment over the past few days in the Capitol. _This_ was her world, not a glittering city of glass and chrome that choked out every living thing that didn't fit the aesthetic.

They had been on the move for what she thought was a couple of hours, maybe longer. Harley had been uncharacteristically subdued as they walked, not keeping up her usual bubbly stream of chatter. Pamela assumed — correctly — that this had something to do with turning on Jack, and the two of them running away together.

She didn't understand their relationship at all. Jack's abuse of Harley was obvious to everyone, not like Jason's clever manipulations disguised as love and admiration, and yet she wouldn't hear a bad word against him — or at least, she hadn't before. Peppered among the name-calling and viciously sharp insults and _physical injuries_ had been tiny bread crumbs of affection, just enough to make Harley follow the trail all the way to the witch's gingerbread house so she could be thrown in the fire like in those fairytales Pamela's mother used to tell her. That's what it was: a fairytale. It wasn't real love, because you didn't hurt people if you loved them, and _dammit,_ Harley was the first friend she'd made in years, and she didn't want to see her hurt.

Even if they did end up having to try and kill each other.

As she watched Harley slosh dejectedly through the murky water, trailing her trusty baseball bat behind her, she had a sneaking suspicion that the blonde was already beginning to regret what she'd done. "We're not going back to them," she said in a low but determined voice. _No way am I running back to those two creeps with my tail between my legs. Ugh._

Harley jumped and spun around, then a big fake smile stretched across her face. "Nah, no way! I was just… well… I never..."

"You've never gone against him before," Pamela finished for her, and Harley quailed slightly under the redhead's cold gaze. "Have you?"

"I..." Harley's bottom lip quivered a little, and she glanced down at her feet. "No."

Pamela pushed her sweat-soaked hair off her forehead and wiped her brow. "Listen to me. We left them behind so we could make it on our own. Now, you can go running back into Hamill's arms if you want, but don't expect me to come with you, and don't expect him to greet you like you're a soldier coming home from war. He'll probably kill you as soon as he sees you. I don't know how you can stand to be around him. He uses you like… like you're nothing, and you're not. I won't let you go back to being trodden into the dirt like that. I won't." She crossed her arms and stood her ground, her eyes flashing fiercely.

Harley stared at her for a moment. "What the hell's got into ya, Red? I never heard ya say so much at once."

Pamela flushed, rose-petal pink blooming in her pale cheeks. "I just… I get it, okay? I get how blinded you can be to someone's faults because you can't believe they want to be with you, because you think you aren't worth anything. I didn't recognize it when it was… happening to me, but I've watched you these last few days. You're clever, and you can fight, you can do _so much more_ than I can, and..." She trailed off, suddenly realizing how much noise she was making, shouting at this girl. She walked forward, splashing through the swamp towards an astonished Harley, who was staring at her like she had no idea who she was, and lowered her voice. "I don't want to see it happen again, because you deserve more than what that creep was giving you." She smiled a little, but it disappeared just as quickly.

Harley seemed confused and touched. She looked like she was slowly processing everything she'd just heard, and Pamela wondered if any of it had got through. "Wow," she exclaimed, her lipsticked mouth leaping into a sudden grin. "Y'know, ya shouldn't put yourself down like that, Red. I betcha can do a lot more than you think."

"The world has yet to learn what I'm capable of, I suppose," Pamela admitted, then sighed. She suddenly felt a bit awkward, as she'd just remembered that there weren't just deadly animals, poisonous plants, deep waters, and armed humans out in the trees — there were cameras, too. Her impassioned speech could have been broadcast all over Marvel. She wondered if her parents had seen it.

She wondered if Jason had.

Seeing that Pamela had lapsed into silence, lost in her thoughts, Harley linked her arm through hers and gave it a tug so they started moving again. "C'mon, Red. We gotta get goin'."

* * *

 _There was the Tesseract._

 _She didn't look at it for long — she wanted to take in her surroundings, see what the Gamemakers had come up with this time. Harley was on her right, and when their eyes met, the blonde gave her a wide smile. She said something, but Pamela wasn't really listening. Kara, the District Five girl, was standing on the podium to her left._

 _Pamela was actually grateful to see the swamp surrounding them, knowing immediately that she would need to look for doc leaves, and it was quite likely that she'd find some close by. Doc leaves were an excellent remedy for insect stings._

 _She'd worked out the riddle probably a bit slower than the others, but she doubted any of them would actually know what to do if they were stung, and that was where she held her advantage. The tracker jacker nests were everywhere — in a strange way, it reminded her of home — and the air was filled with an ominous buzzing. Even if she tried to get away from it all, she wouldn't be able to avoid getting stung at least once. She'd built up a small tolerance to certain venoms over time spent in her garden, but she would still need to be careful._

 _She bit her lip thoughtfully. Her first instinct was to run straight away from the fighting; it was her best chance of surviving and being able to meet up with the rest of the pack later. This was the beginning of the Games, arguably the moment when the winner was decided. She didn't really stand a chance of escaping the bloodbath alive unless she did her own thing for a little while. She wanted at least some of the others to survive, and seeking out doc leaves for the stings would help._

 _That and, well, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if some of them owed her a favor, even if she never got the chance to call them up on it._

 _She would need to stay relatively close to the Tesseract so she didn't get completely lost on her own. Perhaps running in the opposite direction to everyone else wasn't the best idea; it might be better to stick to the tree line while still avoiding the fight._

 _There was a lump fighting for space in her throat, and she quickly swallowed it down, clenching her fists so her nails dug into her palms. She wasn't going to die here. She was going to put up a fight, for herself, for her family, for Starling, for her district. It probably wouldn't keep her alive until the end, but she wasn't going to go down easily. She would be in her element in this arena; it couldn't have been better._

 _Well, it could have been, but in order for it to be better, she wouldn't have had to fight to the death at all._

 _The final ten seconds had passed in a blur, and as soon as the klaxon sounded, Pamela leapt off her podium and ran for the trees, her heavy brown boots splashing water in high glistening arcs. Someone might have called her name, but she didn't stop running to check._

 _Something went whizzing over her head — a rock? An arrow? A knife? She didn't know, but she could hear someone splashing through the swamp toward her. She stumbled twice, once when her foot hit a large stone and the second time when she trod in a hole and sank into the water up to her chest. The water was warm, so not that much of a shock to the system, but now her skin and clothes were covered in algae._

 _As she scrambled to her feet, she felt a sharp and agonizing pain in her left arm._ Don't antagonise it, you idiot, _she told herself,_ just run. _Then, another pain on the back of her right hand. Every instinct was screaming at her to swat the insects away, but she kept her eyes on the denser trees and didn't stop moving until she was absolutely, definitely alone._

 _It was quieter here, the sounds of the bloodbath fading away more than she'd expected. It was more like being on the other side of the arena. Her gaze roved the ground as she tried to move through the now ankle-deep water as quietly as possible, but her vision was starting to become blurry, and all the shades of green were blending together. She didn't want to get too far away in case she never found the rest of the pack again, so she stayed by the edge of the water, poised just behind the tree line, her gaze darting around as she searched for doc leaves and checked that she hadn't been followed. It would be just like her to get stabbed in the back while focusing all her attention on the plants._

 _She stumbled and stuck out her hand to balance against a tree. The effects of the venom were getting worse. "Smooth, oval leaves; veins; narrow, brown seed pods," she muttered to herself, and grinned when she spotted exactly what she was looking for a few feet ahead. All she had to do was pluck a handful of the egg-shaped leaves, mash them up, and use them as a poultice to cover the wounds. She gathered the leaves as quickly as she could, picking several of the seed pods for later use, and filled almost every pocket in her pants._

 _Someone screamed, very close by, and in her shock, Pamela almost dropped some of her harvest into the water. She scrambled to hide, then peered out from behind a tree trunk to see what was going on._

 _Poor Garfield Logan, one of the younger tributes, had been caught by none other than Jack. The Roth girl… what was her name… Rachel, was being held down nearby by Angela and forced to watch as her friend was mercilessly killed. Through the haze of Pamela's hallucination, Jack looked monstrous — his eyes were black, and his smile was completely out of proportion with his face, showing rows of too many yellow teeth._

 _She was shocked by how downright cruel they were being, and she didn't keep watching, especially as she could tell that the tracker jacker venom had well and truly kicked in, and she needed to make sure she didn't pass out. Resting against the safe and solid tree, she gritted her teeth and pulled out each of the stings, dropping them into the water around her feet. A fresh wave of sharp pain flooded her limbs, but she didn't dare cry out with those two maniacs so close by, even if they had decided to form an alliance. Her fingers fumbled as she tore some of the doc leaves into shreds and squeezed them together so their juices began to flow, then pressed the makeshift poultices against her skin. They stuck to her easily and immediately soothed the pain._

 _Pamela stayed where she was, her eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the bloodbath that slowly receded as alliances met up and the remaining tributes headed off into the swamp, none of them wanting to stick around the Tesseract for long with so many tracker jackers around. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the gentlest of breezes on her face that did nothing to help with the overwhelming humidity of her surroundings, the dampness seeping up her legs as the fabric of her pants absorbed the swamp water. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes again._

 _Jack was standing in front of her, eyes black and cold as a shark's, the knife in his hand sharp and wicked. His features were still distorted, the chin and nose too long, the smile too wide. Pamela pushed herself to her feet, heart in her mouth, but before she could even face him, he changed; suddenly, a black-haired young man in a lab coat was standing in front of her, smiling, reaching out his hands toward her._

 _"Pamela," Jason said, but his voice didn't sound like she remembered. It was distorted, harsh, and whatever platitudes he'd been going to say were soon lost to a frenzy of angered buzzing._

Holy…

 _A giant tracker jacker, bigger than herself, was hanging in the air in front of her, its wings stirring up a breeze. Its sting glinted menacingly, and even though part of her venom-addled brain knew it wasn't real, even though the poultices were helping her cut through the haze of pain and see the world clearly again, she ran._

 _She ran as fast as she could, still cradling lumps of mashed-up doc leaves in her hands, splashing through the swampy waters, not caring how much noise she made and not daring to look behind her. When she felt like she'd gotten far enough away, that the beating of giant insect wings wasn't getting any closer, she slowed down and took a deep breath, resting her balled-up hands on her thighs and staring fixedly at the ground until she could no longer feel her pulse throbbing in her head. If she was going to find the others, she needed to calm herself down. A cool and composed Pamela Isley would make a much better impression… and if she was honest, she didn't want Harley to see her freaking out._

 _With her heartbeat no longer banging out reveille in her ears, she could hear voices somewhere ahead. Stuffing the leaves in her pockets so she had her hands free, she crept forward cautiously and realized as she got closer to the sound that the voice belonged to Jack._

 _Setting her jaw, she stepped up to the border of a small clearing, where it turned out the rest of her pack had congregated to gather their thoughts and supplies before moving on. Jack looked like he was holding a press conference, with everybody watching his every move — except Harley, who was looking right at her with a sad expression. Her once-perfect makeup was streaked and smudged, and her hair was plastered to her head. She must have taken a dunking in the swamp. "Hiya, Red. You make it out alright?"_

 _Pamela stepped between two trees so she was completely visible to everyone and smiled at her. "You look a little over-watered," she said, hoping it would make the blonde girl smile back._

 _It did._

 _"Isley," growled Dent, the boy with two faces, who was looking decidedly worse for the wear already. In fact, as Pamela glanced around, she saw that most of them were sporting small injuries and varying numbers of stings. "Care to explain why you ditched us in the middle of the bloodbath?"_

 _He was clearly trying to intimidate her, but she wouldn't stand for that. "I told you, I know plants," she said, walking right up to Dent and looking him in his horribly mismatched eyes. They'd never really been this close to each other before, and it was difficult to pick a spot to focus on when half his face was a No-Man's Land. Perhaps, if the wound had been fresher and she'd been so inclined, she might have tried to heal it for him. "While you were getting yourselves torn to pieces by tracker jackers, I was actually looking for a way for us to carry on as a group without turning into a bunch of babbling, hallucinating idiots." She held up her right arm to show him the dark green poultice on the back of her hand. "I picked lots of these; they'll take the pain away. Who's first?" She looked around at them all and noticed that everyone except Harley and possibly Jonathan seemed unhappy to see her. Maybe they'd actually hoped she'd die straight away so they wouldn't have to carry someone through the Games who they clearly believed to be useless._

Useless. I'll show them.

 _"Ooh, me, me!" Harley cried, running up to Pamela and bouncing in place on the balls of her feet. If she had indeed been stung, it didn't seem to be having much of an effect on her. "Fix me up, Doctor Isley."_

* * *

Pamela suddenly grabbed Harley's arm and jerked her backwards. The log that Harley had apparently been about to step on turned its head and snapped its jaws — it was a gator, but only a very small one, and after narrowing its yellow eyes, it reluctantly swam away from them when Harley brandished her baseball bat. Pamela watched it sink out of sight, unsmiling. True, she wasn't afraid of it, but she didn't particularly want to be on the receiving end of its bite.

"Watch where you're going, Harley," she hissed.

Harley giggled, looking curious. "D'you ever swear, Red? Even when ya lose your temper, you don't let anythin' slip." She shouldered her bat and trudged onward through the swamp. "Gotta say, though, it wouldn't suit your pretty face."

"My mom would have smacked me if I tried to use language like that," Pamela said, chuckling, but then she stopped abruptly. Such a thing held no importance anymore — if she somehow made it out of this and got home, she doubted her mother would ever strike her again. She would know what her daughter was capable of, the same as any parent whose child came from the Games; parents that were only too happy to beg tributes to be safe and come home when they were leaving, but upon their unlikely return suddenly became acutely aware of what their child had actually done to get back to them. Beloved sons and daughters left, and cold-blooded murderers came home in their place.

Pamela had noticed, even in the short time since the Games had begun, that she was beginning to feel like a different person. She was talking back when people put her down, taking action without waiting for someone else to go first, learning to look out for herself. The men of their old pack, Harvey, Jonathan, and Jervis, didn't really scare her anymore — after what had happened between them, she was more angry with Jonathan than anything else. The only one who still did was Jack, and he was nothing but a monster. Not being afraid of him would be stupid.

Plus, now she had Harley, and together, they were beginning to make a dangerous duo. Harley had shown her how to properly swing the baseball bat so she could hit something without injuring her shoulder, in case for some reason Harley couldn't use it, and how to punch effectively in a way that didn't break her fingers. In return, she'd taught the blonde girl how to identify which of the berries growing in their new surroundings were safe to eat and which should be avoided, how to rig a snare from a plant (something she'd once used to keep rabbits from soiling the Poison Patch), and how to clot a wound with leaves. Under the bandages, her stomach was actually plastered with them. She wondered if the skin there was now stained green too. Maybe she should do her face as well, go full 'queen of the jungle'. It would probably look quite good against her red hair.

Harley bent down suddenly, then straightened up and stuck something behind Pamela's ear. Curious, she reached up gently, and felt the soft petals of a water lily under her fingertips. She could smell its delicate fragrance — lemony, sweet and light, and reminiscently fresh, like the water that was its namesake. "What's the occasion?"

"We got cameras on us twenty-four-seven out here," Harley said. "A girl's gotta look good! Pout." She brandished her lipstick.

"No, Harley, come on. We have to keep moving..." Pamela's protests trailed off quickly, and she stood in dutiful silence, allowing her lips to be coated in bright scarlet. She was almost used to the feeling of wearing lipstick by now, but she still didn't like the sickly-sweet yet somehow chalky taste. Regardless, Harley needed to be entertained, to stop her from thinking about turning her back on Jack, and Pamela would much rather be made to wear makeup than be made to stop her running back to the clown.

"That's a good color on you," Harley said at last, tilting her head to one side critically.

"Thank you. Can we keep moving?"

"Sure, sure. Lead the way, Red. Whadda we lookin' for, anyway?"

"Food, shelter, weapons that won't rust in the humidity. The bat was a good choice." Pamela sloshed through the swamp, feeling around with her feet, then shifting to the left. "Careful there; the ground dips down."

"We gotta find you somethin' else too," Harley was saying, and Pamela nodded noncommittally. She now carried a small blade with her, but she had to admit, it would be nice to have something a bit more reassuring to defend herself.

As they kept walking, she kept her eyes peeled for any of the plants she knew so well from her garden back home. Nightlock berries, maybe, or milkweed. The latter wouldn't kill, but a weaponized laxative would definitely incapacitate an unfortunate tribute for a while.

They kept on, making slow progress through the water. The only sounds were the splashing that followed their footsteps, the repeated _buzz-smack_ of mosquitoes meeting a sticky end, and warnings of uneven ground. Pamela noticed that they hadn't heard the boom of a cannon for a long time — that meant that out there, somewhere, Jonathan and that little one, Jervis Tetch, the one whose mind was stuck firmly down the rabbit hole, were still alive. _Good._ She wasn't happy with what they'd done with their tracker jacker bomb, even if she hadn't been stung again, and she really wanted to hurt them back.

 _Whoosh._

 _Thud._

 _Splash._

A flock of ducks, their green feathers gleaming in the fractured sunlight, took to the air in a flurry of sudden movement, wings flapping, quacking loudly. Pamela and Harley shielded their eyes from the blur of feathers and beaks, but the ducks quickly disappeared and left nothing but eerie silence in their wake.

"What happened?" Harley whispered, wide-eyed. She looked like she didn't know whether to laugh or not.

Pamela held up a finger to shush her, peering into the trees. She wiped her forehead absently with the back of her hand, leaving another streak of green across her face. She could see a single duck in the water up ahead, unfortunate enough to have been caught on the business end of a crossbow bolt. It had landed on its back, its legs splayed and sticking out at strange angles. Harley made a sympathetic cooing sound when she spotted it, but Pamela wasn't paying attention to that — she narrowed her eyes and looked around, sure that the bolt must have come from somewhere close by. If someone had shot it, then that someone would be looking to retrieve it, and they wouldn't be far away.

Sounds began to creep back into the swamp now that the danger had passed; cicadas were chirping, branches swayed and rustled in the breeze, a frog somewhere close by croaked occasionally. Pamela stood perfectly still, her green-tinged skin and the flower in her hair making her seem like an extension of the swamp itself, some strange plant that had grown into the shape of a young woman. If she concentrated, as she was doing now, she could almost piece together the flow of the swamp, the underlying rhythm in how everything worked collectively to form a single functioning ecosystem — she'd used the same technique before, when trying to work out why only the plants in one particular part of Eleven's gardens had been dying. She had been the only one to figure out that their proximity to the equipment sheds on a nearby hill, where some of the harvesters were kept, meant they were constantly exposed to the fuel vapors, the clouds of which shielded them from the sun. When there had been a leak in one of the fuel lines and it had run down the hillside without anyone realizing, they had been the first ones to come into contact with it, the poor babies. That equipment shed had been shut down after that, and all the harvesters divided amongst the other sheds in the district.

Behind her, Harley was beginning to fidget impatiently, twirling one of her pigtails in her fingers. "C'mon, Red, whaddaya lookin' for?"

"There." Pamela pointed towards a nearby cypress tree, where the branches weren't quite lying the way they should have been, even with the breeze shifting them around.

Someone cursed, and a dark shape dropped out of the tree, landing on the ground with a splash. It was Helena Wayne, her sleek hair swept up in a practical ponytail, clutching a crossbow and looking somewhere between annoyed and pleased to see them. "How did you spot me?" she grumbled, more out of curiosity than frustration. She shouldered the crossbow in a clearly practiced move.

The two of them took it as a signal to relax — she wasn't going to shoot. "The leaves looked wrong," Pamela explained, as if that made sense to anyone but her. She nodded toward the unfortunate dead duck. "Quite the huntress, aren't you?"

"You have no idea," Helena said in a low voice. She walked closer, that familiar poise and elegance oozing from her every stride. She managed to make cargo pants and a t-shirt look like haute couture. "You ladies on your own?"

"We ditched the men."

"Men? Please." She smirked, and Pamela returned it in kind.

 _'Men', indeed. They're boys at best._ "What about you? Why are you alone?"

"I got knocked out," Helena said shortly and didn't offer any more of an explanation. "I was hoping I'd run into you two, actually; figured if we could get together in here as soon as possible, the rest won't know what hit them." She smiled, but then a tiny flash of pain shone through her carefully sculpted facade before she could pull it back into place. Pamela's lips pressed together in a thin red line.

"Come here," she commanded suddenly, already rummaging in her pockets. She wasn't about to let another ally suffer, particularly as this one actually wanted to work with her instead of dismissing her because she didn't automatically want to butt heads with every other member of the team.

Helena must have opened her mouth to protest, because Harley interjected with something about 'not arguing with the doctor'.

Pamela worked quickly and quietly to soothe the stings — at least, the ones she could see — muttering to herself in a voice just below hearing volume. The doc leaves weren't as fresh as they had been after a day of traveling in her pockets, but they would still do a reasonable job. She noted gladly that Helena had removed the tracker jacker stings herself — not something everyone would think of doing, believe it or not. Those people tended to be the ones who only knew about tracker-jackers and what they were used for from hushed word-of-mouth. In Eleven, children grew up with the knowledge of how to handle nests and treat stings from all sorts of insects; if you didn't know, you could die.

When Pamela was done, Helena breathed a sigh of relief. She was looking at Pamela with something akin to newfound respect, and somehow even covered in poultices, she was gorgeous.

"So, what's the plan now?" Harley piped up, resting her baseball bat across her shoulders and hooking her elbows over each end. All that was missing was a pink bubble of gum.

Something dark suddenly shadowed Pamela's face, and her green-stained forehead became furrowed with a scowl. She had been thinking while she worked, and she had realized that Helena was right; the other tributes wouldn't know what hit them. They were three formidable girls, herself especially, as almost every one of the others continued to underestimate her. This arena was a playground; she had acclimatized easily, while everyone else had been literally floundering, and now that she had good fighters on her side too, there was nothing to stop them. Plus, she and Harley had a score to settle after the attack on their old alliance's camp. "Find Crane and Tetch. Unleash hell," she said at last, with a smile twisting her scarlet-painted lips.

Helena looked pleased. "Any idea where they might be?" She walked carefully over to where her duck had landed. She removed the crossbow bolt from its chest and wiped the blood on her pants, then pocketed it before methodically plucking out the best feathers from the unfortunate duck's wings. Pamela watched her curiously, wondering what the feathers might be for. When she'd finished, Helena stuffed the dead bird into a makeshift pouch she had made by slinging her jacket around her middle and moved off, the other two following close behind.

They spoke in low voices as they made their way through the water. Now that the prospect of a fight was on the horizon, Harley seemed to have cheered up significantly, for which Pamela was grateful. She was growing fonder of Harley with each passing hour, but she had to admit, it was exhausting trying to keep up with her quick-changing moods. At least for now, the Harley's mind was off of Jack and onto easier prey.

It was quite peaceful, somehow, as they walked through the swamp, each of them keeping an eye out on a different side. Pamela continued to collect things as she walked: more doc leaves for poultices, wild raisins, blackberries, cattails, and reed grass for their edible roots. It might not be the fancy stuff Helena was used to back in Seven, but it would keep them from starving. Each time she found something different, Harley would ask her what it was, and she took great pleasure in explaining each plant's uses — though she had to wonder if Harley had learned _anything_ from the plant station back in the Capitol.

It didn't occur to her that perhaps Harley was trying to keep her entertained too.

Helena soon became interested in the discussion, and they began to debate the possibility of using some of the more dangerous plants to amplify the effects of her crossbow. Pamela had to admit, getting shot with a bolt of poison-coated metal was a much quicker way to die than ingesting the right berries. Logistically easier, too, as it didn't involve having to get too close to the victim. She liked the way Helena's mind worked — she wasn't cruel, like Jack and Angela, but she was most definitely ruthless. That would work to their advantage.

Sooner than expected, they heard voices, and all three of them immediately stopped walking. Helena made a series of silent hand gestures that roughly translated to 'climb up here so we can hide', and they headed up into the branches of a large willow tree. She went first, climbing the trunk in a series of elegant movements that showed how often she'd done this in the past.

Pamela followed her more carefully — she could climb trees, but she wasn't as good as the Eleven orchardists, so she had to pause and test her weight on her footholds a few times. Once she had settled in a good spot for scouting, she couldn't resist stroking the nearest thin willow branches, letting them slide between her outstretched fingers. Her heart was beginning to pound hard in her chest, and the touch of the leaves helped to soothe her a little.

Last but not least, Harley hopped up into the tree like a squirrel with pigtails, smiling all the while. She swung her legs from her chosen branch, reminding Pamela of when she'd been a little girl sitting on a chair that was too high.

From their chosen vantage point, they were entirely surrounded by green; it was a comforting and familiar reprieve from being constantly exposed down in the water. If they squinted their eyes and tilted their heads slightly to the left, all three of them could see Jervis and Jonathan. They were sitting together on either side of a small sort of hill that stood above the waterline, various objects spread out between them. Plotting and scheming, no doubt, high on the success of their first attack and planning another.

The girls exchanged glances. "Whaddaya wanna do?" Harley whispered.

Pamela looked back towards Jonathan, not taking her eyes off him, feeling the rage bubbling inside her. She'd been angry more than once since the Games had begun; angry with Jack and Angela's merciless attack on the young Garfield Logan, angry at Jack again for his treatment of Harley, angry at the two boys below her for what they'd done to their alliance… but this was different now. This was righteous anger, the dry, sharp, vicious kind you felt when you were about to bring down someone who'd wronged you and bury them beneath the earth with your rage. This would be vindication, revenge, sweet and cold as Capitol ice cream and just as bad for the one who tasted it.

She knew it had been rather naive to think that because Jonathan had acted like her friend in training, she could rely on him in the arena. That had been a mistake. He had betrayed her trust, attacked their alliance after being the one to insist she was included in the first place, left her to die. She wouldn't give him a chance to play her like that ever again.

Without her realizing, her hand curled around the willow twigs and clenched so tight the branches almost became an extension of her fingers.

"Crane likes to play with poison," she murmured, half to herself. "I'm very good with poison."

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane


	62. Chapter 61: You've Got a Friend in Me

**(A/N): Welcome back to our Friday update! This chapter leads right on from the previous one, from NicKenny's Jervis Tetch's point of view, so hopefully we'll sat your appetites :P**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed not only this last chapter but the previous ones. We cant say enough how much we appreciate those reviews. Thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for your reviews. We tend to think Quill is hilarious too - and hopefully, this chapter will be the action you're asking for!**

* * *

 **Chapter Sixty-One - You've Got a Friend in Me**

 **Day Two**

 **Jervis Tetch of District Nine**

 **Written by NicKenny and InDeepDarkWood**

* * *

" _Stories never really end...even if the books like to pretend they do. Stories always go on. They don't end on the last page, any more than they begin on the first page."_ ― Cornelia Funke, Inkspell

* * *

Jervis wasn't entirely sure how he had managed to do it, but somehow, despite all his years of failing at such a task, Jervis had found himself a friend. He hadn't realized how much he had been missing out on such a thing until it had struck him in the head and dragged him from the mayhem of the pack.

Jack Hamill had gathered some around him that he presumed would be disposable enough to feed to the wolves should a need arise. Jervis wasn't quite so detached from reality that he was unable to see his true purpose in the Careers, nor was he blind to the benefit of an alliance with an actual friend. Crane saw him as a potential assistant, someone with similar interests but less ability, and Jervis saw Crane as a lifeline.

Crane was good with people. That was a skill Jervis didn't have ― and desperately needed.

"All our lives have been building up to this moment, Jervis," Crane told him, the dappled treelight casting a shadow over his face. "This is what gives us the edge over the other tributes here. Like animals, they see brute force as the only strength worth having. But we… we see clearer. Brains will see you further than brawn ever could."

"And eyes will see you even further."

"What?" Crane asked impatiently.

"Eyes. Eyes will see further than brains. And brawn. Brains don't see, Jonath-"

"Yes, I'm aware," Crane replied dryly, rolling his eyes. "I think you're missing my point, Jervis."

"That is entirely possible," Jervis agreed, nodding. "I've been known to miss things from time to time. I hope you'll forgive me ― it's hardly a crime."

"And the rhyming again," Crane muttered under his breath, but Jervis was just about able to pick up his words. The older boy rallied, forcing a smile onto his face. "What I meant, Jervis, is that the things we know make us a real threat. The others look at us, and they don't see our true potential."

"They saw our handiwork during the interviews," Jervis countered. The use of his experiments on Tivan had troubled him, but he had kept it to himself, to avoid conflict with Jonathan, because Jonathan was now his friend, and he didn't think friends were supposed to argue.

"Yes, in part," Crane conceded, looking troubled. "Some, I think, saw more than I expected them to. But the others… they just see two boys; one short, one tall, both frail. Because they can't see what we have in our heads."

"Are we back on brains again?"

"No. Not brains. Except in the figurative sense. I'm talking about knowledge."

Jervis looked troubled. "So you still want to stick with the plan."

"Of course I do. It's the one we agreed on. Just me and you. Our brains against their brawn." Jonathan was watching him, a small smile on his face. It made Jervis feel like _he_ was the experiment, and not what they had before them.

"I just…"

"Jervis," Crane said softly. "Tell me you're not starting to doubt the plan." The other boy had stopped what he was doing, which was mashing up leaves to release the poison they held within their pores, and seemed to have placed his entire attention on Jervis. Jervis sat up a little straighter, willing the hat on his head to grow another couple of inches, so that he might be level with Jonathan.

"It's… What's the goal, Crane? What are we trying to achieve?" Jervis gestured down to the array that lay before them. They had been busy since leaving the pack at dawn, and though they had no method of boiling some of their materials for hours and hours, the pair still seemed to be making decent headway on a few of the more hallucinogenic concoctions they had created. Most of the containers they rested in were rotting logs they picked up from the more swampy areas of the arena. Jervis was curious as to whether the exposure would enhance or deplete the effects of each.

"Why, fear, of course," Crane replied to his question eventually, looking puzzled, as if the answer should be obvious. "Fear itself, for its own end."

"I… don't understand," Jervis confessed, after spending a moment turning the other boy's words over in his mind.

"You just don't see it, Jervis," Crane replied, pityingly. "People are afraid of… well, oh so many things. Of spiders, insects, fire, water, clowns… even of other people. But like you, they don't understand. They don't see it either. They're… limited." Crane stood over Jervis and met his gaze. "The only thing to fear is fear itself."

They returned to work and continued in silence until Jervis turned back to his ally. "You know, I've been working on something that might help us. I think we've been looking at this the wrong way the whole time. Plant toxins just aren't going to do the job here."

"So, what are you thinking?" Crane asked, and Jervis silently gestured toward the creation in front of him. He spent a few moments taking in the mixture. "Is that tracker jacker venom mixed in?" he continued, feeling it in his hands, leaning over to give it a small sniff. "How did you find baneberry out here?" He whistled and stared at Jervis appreciatively, clapping him on the back.

"You know, maybe you're not as stupid as I thought."

"I told you I was mad, not stupid," Jervis replied, looking puzzled.

Crane regarded him for a second ― thrown off, perhaps, by the confusion in Jervis's voice. "Yes," he said at last. "Yes, you did. It's one of the things I like about you ― no matter what, you're always consistent."

"What shall we do with it, then?" Jervis asked, watching Crane's eyes gleam at the question. The other mixtures he had created were different to this one; most of them would just make the ingestor wish they had the privacy of a toilet in the arena. It made him wander away from the conversation briefly and wonder if there had ever been a death in the Games as humiliating as bowel issues.

"A good chemist is one who attempts to solve life's problems himself," Jonathan responded, reaching over to take a small handful of Jervis' hallucinogen and swallow it whole.

"I'm not sure that was quite a good idea," Jervis said quietly, leaning back a little as Jonathan's eyes dilated almost immediately. He hadn't really expected it to work so fast. "Why would you do that?"

"The only thing to fear is –"

* * *

 _They had been left off the leash to examine the training areas, and Jervis had wandered around aimlessly before finding himself in front of the edible plants post. A red-headed girl, objectively beautiful even to Jervis' uninterested libido, had taken up the trainer's full attention_ ― _a tall, muscle-bound, golden-haired man. Jervis' polar opposite, in other words._

 _He was surprised to see another boy standing by the post, examining the plants on display with obvious interest, plucking one of them from its spot and holding it up to the light. The boy_ ― _tall and scrawny, but more approachable than the muscle-bound Adonis_ ― _was so intent on his examination that he didn't notice Jervis approaching._

" _Digitalis," Jervis said, looking at the plant in the boy's hands, surprising him. "Also known as foxglove."_

 _The scrawny boy turned and looked at Jervis, sizing him up with a practiced eye. "Do you know what happens when you eat it?" he asked, and while his tone was nonchalant, Jervis could see the glint in his eye, the sudden interest in this new development._

" _Well, it_ can _kill, but it's rare," Jervis recited confidently, the words floating across his vision as if the book he originally read them on had been right in front of him. "It causes nausea, vomiting, weakness, tremors, seizures, wild hallucinations, delirium… do you need me to go on?"_

 _The boy stared at Jervis for a moment. "You're from Nine, right?" he asked, sounding curious. "I always thought all you people cared about was wheat?"_

" _Well, I made hats," Jervis replied, frowning. "Never did much work on the fields. But I've always been interested in the effects plant and animal toxins can have on the human body. That we have such a tenuous grasp of control over our bodies, and with a few small chemical changes that balance can be overthrown… it's fascinating." Jervis found himself smiling, and glanced back over at the other boy, aware that he had said far too much. His surroundings were beginning to get to him, he guessed. "I may have gone on a little bit too much there," he said, but the boy didn't seem to be listening._

" _A brother in chemistry," the other boy mused to himself. "I never expected to find one_ ― _and certainly not among the tributes here."_

" _The Capitol truly does have everything," Jervis replied with a small smile, and the boy grinned back._

" _I guess it does," he said, laughing, and made space for Jervis at the workbench. "I'm Jonathan Crane. District Eleven."_

" _Jervis Tetch. The Mad Hatter," Jervis replied. "I guess you already know I'm from Nine."_

" _The Mad Hatter."_

" _I make hats," Jervis said helpfully. "Well, made hats."_

 _Crane nodded cautiously but decided to let the matter drop and then gestured pointedly at another one of the plants, clearly looking for Jervis to continue with this little game._

" _Belladonna," Jervis replied swiftly. "Deadly nightshade. Lethal in high doses, although that goes for all poisons, I suppose."_

" _Causes sensitivity to light, blurred vision, loss of balance, confusion, hallucinations and delirium," Crane continued._

" _And constipation and urinary retention," Jervis added, and Crane turned to him, looking confused._

" _Constipation and urinary retention won't exactly help us, out in the arena."_

You never know, _Jervis thought, but he kept silent, merely shrugging in response. Crane snorted and shook his head but seemed amused despite himself, and Jervis relaxed a little._

" _Where did you learn about this?" Crane asked._

" _I like to read," Jervis replied after a moment's consideration. What harm could it do to share some of his history, really? "What about you?"_

" _I… ah… Well, I was more into practical study."_

* * *

"Jonathan?"

Jervis waved a hand in front of his friend's face and winced as Crane's pupils dilated further with the sudden movement. He could hear his breathing speed up and grow shallower, but that was the only thing that was currently moving. Everything else seemed to have become more rigid with every passing second. Jervis's mind went through the ingredients he had mixed together. _Perhaps it was not such a good idea to mix so many delirium-inducing items,_ he thought.

He had brought this on himself, and yet Jervis somehow felt responsible for being passive in allowing Crane to eat his recipe. They could have at least tested it out on someone _else_. This was not a way he wanted to lose his first true friend; at home, in Nine, so many people just thought he was weird, and sure, they spoke to him on occasion, and most of them weren't as unkind as the twins, but he didn't consider them _friends,_ and he suspected the feeling was mutual. He was just the weird, strange little boy that mended hats and sometimes other bits and pieces of clothes.

"Hello? Oh dear," Jervis said aloud, as he realized the sounds of Jonathan's breathing had stopped, and he was staring out past Jervis with abject terror in his eyes and nothing in his lungs. "This won't do," he continued, holding his hand up again in front of Jonathan's eyes, aware the other's lips had taken on a bluish tinge.

"Listen, Jonathan. Tick, tick, tick, tick," he said, speaking smoothly, his hand swaying back and forth before the other's unseeing gaze. "I know the thing that scares you most; fear not, I'll lead you from this ghost. No need to freeze; fear does not matter; just listen and follow this mad hatter." There was the briefest hint of a breath from his lanky companion, and Jervis continued to sway his hand.

"Tick, tick, tick," he murmured, as he did with his hare, and in his hand was his father's watch. He had kept it hidden from sight all the while with his stylist on the way to the arena; his team thought a hat was a much less subtle token, and while he agreed with the fashion choice, it had been an easy decision to make when they said his watch would be left behind. It was all he had left from his family in the arena, after all. The only thing left, aside from Alice.

* * *

 _The first time he saw her was at the chariot rides, as they rode into the heart of the Capitol. She was three chariots ahead of him, so he didn't see her until they had reached the platform at the end of the road. When he did see her, though, the wind itself was knocked out of his lungs._

Alice? _he thought, and as the thought settled, it grew roots and sank its hooks into his brain._ It _was_ her, it really was.

 _The rational side of his mind was telling him that this wasn't possible_ ― _not only was Alice dead but Kara Danvers was older than Alice would have been. Kara Danvers was older than_ him, _for crying out loud! Beyond the hair color and complexion, there wasn't even a passing resemblance between the two._

 _But Jervis hadn't been entirely rational for a long, long time by now, and he barely had to brush those niggling doubts aside. Somehow, someway, Alice had survived._

 _Days had passed before he finally plucked up the courage to talk to her, but during lunch on the third day of training, he forced himself to walk across the room to her table and cleared his throat._

" _Do you mind if I sit here?" he asked, trying to fight back against the tremors that were beginning to run through his body._

 _Kara glanced up, looking puzzled, but smiled over at him. For a moment, her face shone like sunfire, and Jervis' obsession sank an even deeper hold into him._

" _Feel free," she replied._

" _Thanks," Jervis said before sitting down. "You're… Kara, right?" The name felt wrong in his mouth, and he fought to keep the distaste off his face._

" _And you're Jervis Tetch, from District Nine."_

 _Jervis nodded. "Victors are putting you to work, then."_

" _Well, it's hardly brain surgery."_

" _I've got a terrible head for names," Jervis confessed, resting his elbows on the table. "I kind of just make up names in my head."_

" _Must be hard to keep them straight."_

" _You know, I think we may have met somewhere before," Jervis said slowly, completely ignoring her response, looking confused. "That's not possible, is it? You don't… recognize me?"_

 _Kara raised an eyebrow. "I don't see how we could have_ ― _I've lived in Five all my life, and you in Nine. Maybe I just have that kind of face."_

No, _he thought._ No one could forget that face.

 _He cocked his head, sizing the girl up for a moment. "None of this is real, you know… not… not_ really _."_

" _What do you mean?"_

 _Jervis grinned. "Isn't it obvious? We're living out a story here. All of this… this is all a show… a tale they weave for their own amusement."_

 _The girl was starting to look a little uneasy and glanced up behind Jervis, clearly hoping to catch sight of her cousin. "Well, this_ is _the Games," she murmured. "Everyone in Marvel is going to be watching us."_

" _It's more than that, though," Jervis argued, frustrated. "It's like we're all living out a different version of a story I've already read before. Sometimes it's so close, I feel like I could reach out and touch it."_

" _I don't know_ ―"

" _Look, just here me out," Jervis pleaded, and her gaze snapped back to him. His expression must have come across as genuine, because the girl's gaze softened, and she nodded for him to continue._

" _You need to look hard at everything around you," Jervis told her earnestly. "Everywhere I go, I see it. How neatly things fall into place. There goes the Cheshire Cat," he said, nodding towards the girl from District Ten as she walked past them, making her way to a free table._

" _The Queen of Hearts." Pamela Isley._

" _Or, then again, that could be her. I dither from one to the other." Kory Anders._

" _The March Hare and the Dormouse."_

 _His gaze drifted toward one of the sparring arenas._

" _And, of course, the Queen of Clubs."_

" _I've read that book, and I don't remember there being a Queen of Clubs," Kara replied, sounding confused._

 _Jervis nodded slowly, looking on as Harley slammed the oversized mallet into the trainer's stomach, causing him to double over, winded, and then slammed the mallet down onto the trainer's exposed back, knocking him to the mat._

" _I thought she was the Queen of Hearts for a while," he admitted, looking away. "After all, she already had her Jack."_

" _What changed your mind about her?"_

" _Her? Nothing. The Jack just didn't seem to be the right card for him, despite the name he goes by," Jervis remarked, a sour note creeping into his voice. "But in_ this _version, there's definitely a Queen of Clubs."_

" _Worried, are you?"_

" _Oh, I'm not worried yet. The way I see it, we're still pretty early on_ ― _not all that far from the beginning. It's the ending that worries me."_

" _I think we're all worried about that," Alic–Kara replied, looking firm for a moment._

" _Well,_ you _certainly should be."_

" _Why would you say that?"_

" _Well… the Gamemakers…" Jervis began, gesturing aimlessly with his hands. "You must see what they're doing. They're painting you and your cousin out to be… heroes. To be the embodiment of… of truth, and justice, and the Marvellian way. They're turning you into… shows."_

" _And is that such a bad thing?" she asked, looking skeptical._

 _Jervis stared back at her, his mouth hanging open, thrown by the question. "Of course it's bad, even if they're not lies," he replied. "That kind of person doesn't win. That person dies."_

" _I don't think_ ―"

" _Then you shouldn't talk," Jervis snapped, his frustration rising. If he couldn't make_ her _see, if he couldn't make her understand, what use was even being alive anymore? "You need to_ listen _to me, Al–"_

" _Look, Jervis, it's been nice talking to you," the girl said, interrupting him, and Jervis couldn't help but note the trace of pity in her voice. "But I really need to catch up with my cousin. Thanks for the advice and everything, but I can look after myself."_

" _Of course," Jervis replied quietly and smiled weakly at her. She smiled back, a little hesitant, and waved a goodbye before turning away and making her way toward her cousin._

" _Oh Alice," he whispered to himself. "If only you would listen to me. If only you could see what I see."_

* * *

Crane's breathing was normal now, the color back in his pale complexion, and a dream-like look in his eyes as he watched Jervis' hand move back down to his side. Jervis wondered how long the effects of his drug would last in Crane's system. _Hours, maybe?_ He hoped it wasn't days. He had no desire to see Crane wake up from the trance and have missed _days_ of the last days of his life. That wasn't a very friendly thing to do, after all.

"Crane, look at me," Jervis ordered, a small smile forming on his face as Crane, after a moment of hesitation, did so. He kept the watch out, its _tick_ , _tick_ maintaining the trance. His secret was out now anyway; there was nothing he could do about it, and he had no doubt he would be in trouble with the Gamemakers for violating the rules.

"Go get some water." With less hesitation, as though the trance had settled nicely onto his shoulders, Jonathan uncrossed his legs and headed down to the waterline just below their camp.

Jervis was rummaging through their piles of mixes, sniffing an occasional pile, when Crane returned. They had made so many, it was hard to recall what was actually _in_ some of them, but he clapped his hands lightly with delight as one aroma became distinguishable. "Found it! Give me the water."

Without a word, Crane passed it to him, the liquid splashing in its container. For a hypnotized individual, Crane had managed surprising grace and balance in his walk and sitting position. Jervis was ecstatic as he trickled the mixture into the water.

"What a success," he muttered, shaking the container as the mix slowly infused. "Who would have thought I'd get to appreciate my human experiments. Much better than the hare." Sure, he'd been able to appreciate the effects of his jacker venom on Tanaleer during the interviews; his heart became giddy just thinking about his amber vials, the liquid smeared on the sleeves of his interview outfit, a successful transmucosal test on the Collector's skin. When he had been heading to the Capitol, he'd wished for a way to use the one vial he had saved from Nine's water system. Crane had allowed him to see the potential for a trial. Even if he had been troubled by it, he appreciated the effects all the same. It had been the stage that bothered him, not the vials.

He passed the container toward Crane. "Would you like some tea to celebrate? What is it we're celebrating, Crane?"

"What is it we're celebrating, Jervis?" Crane asked, taking the container and holding it delicately, much better than the hare ever could achieve.

"I think today, we should celebrate our unbirthdays," Jervis answered happily. "After all, it is such a small world when two friends share an unbirthday. Do you agree?"

"Do I agree?"

"Yes, you agree."

"Yes, I agree."

"A very merry unbirthday to you!" Jervis proclaimed, holding his hand up with an imaginary cup. Crane did the same gestured with the container of cold brewed tea.

"A very merry unbirthday to you!" Crane repeated, and Jervis' heart soared with acceptance of a friend. They spent a long time passing the container back and forth, like he had done in the orphanage, and Jervis began to think that maybe he could just leave Crane like this, since he would always appreciate Jervis then.

The thought settled with him as the swampy sun began to dip a little in the sky, and the mosquitoes began to appear as though by magic in the air. _How strange,_ thought Jervis, as he got Crane to mash up another of their concoctions, _that I have found happiness in a place such as this. Curious._ It was almost like his tea parties with his family.

His brief illusion of happiness was shattered as from the trees behind them came a dull _twang_ , and an arrow fired past his line of vision and straight into the skin at Crane's shoulder. Crane staggered backward from the shot and then straightened up and resumed his mashing, as though nothing had happened to him. Jervis took a moment to stare, aghast at the stain that was appearing on Crane's jacket, and then whipped his head around, picking up the first mix by his side.

He scanned the trees, searching for the source of the arrow, and then he saw a flash of blonde hair between the green foliage. _Alice?_ he thought, his heart dropping to his stomach in dismay. _Why would Alice do such a thing?_

"Alice?" he called out. If he knew her ― which he thought he did ― he knew she wouldn't have listened to his advice about heroes. He knew she wouldn't have become a villain and attacked him, so that meant she was here to help _save_ him from whoever had fired the arrow.

"Crane, stop," he ordered. Crane looked up from his mashing, and Jervis noticed his eyes were no longer round as saucers but back to a normal size for the lighting. There was another _twang,_ and Jervis had time to appreciate the direction the arrow was coming from before it hooked into his hat and lodged into the ground behind him.

 _It helps to be small and frail with a big hat, it seems,_ he thought, then turned to his friend. "It's time to wake up now. _Tick, tock, tick, tock._ "

It took a few moments longer than it usually took the hare to revert back to normal, but then the dreamy look was replaced with an obvious grimace of pain as the arrow wound hit a non-hypnotised Crane.

"What the―"

"No time to talk, so don't just walk," Jervis said, clambering up and offering a hand. "Alice will save us; she has in the past. Right now we have to run; we have to be fast."

"Alice? Jervis, what the hell is going on?" Crane was standing too, the arrow embedded in his shoulder, reaching down to automatically pick up the toxins they'd been creating.

"No time!" Jervis insisted, gesturing backward to where Kara Danvers was. "Alice is going to..." He broke off as the blonde girl dropped down from the trees. "Oh dear."

It wasn't Alice.

It was the Queen of Clubs.

"Oh dear, oh dear." He could feel the blood draining from his face.

"Ohhh dear." The Queen of Hearts appeared beside her, and Jonathan swore loudly.

"Seems the devil's bitches have come to do his dirty work," Crane observed, his voice carrying across the wet grass.

"More like Cerberus, bastard." A third girl had dropped in, landing with a squelch, the crossbow in her hand and her raven hair swept back. "You'll see the devil soon enough."

 _Beware the jub-jub bird._

"He thinks we're workin' for someone! Ha! We ain't workin' for no one, ya lousy chump," Harley said, tilting her head to one side. "And before ya say _anything_ , Mister Crane, we _know_ it's a double negative, wise guy!"

"Why is it getting dark, Jervis?" Crane hissed at him, grunting heavily as he reached up and tried to pull the arrow out of his shoulder. When it wouldn't budge, he gritted his teeth and bent the end over, moving it out of his line of sight. The stain grew bigger on his jacket. "There's something in this arrow," he added, his eyes narrowing as he took in his district partner. "What an ungrateful little―"

"I put you in a trance," Jervis admitted, breaking into Crane's words before he could go on a tirade about Hearts. "You were paralyzed with...I don't know. The drugs? Fear?"

"I don't _fear_ anything," Crane said softly. "You...hypnotized me?" His voice had gotten quieter.

"...Only a little." Jervis gulped.

"I see." Crane cast his gaze toward the trio. "Well, are you just going to _stand_ there all day? Or are you too afraid to come face us?" Even from a distance, Jervis could see all three narrow their eyes.

"Why would you say that?" Jervis asked, as the girls closed in, the crossbow wielder notching another arrow.

"I have a plan," Crane replied, his fist twitching, one of the piles of toxin, neatly seated in a leaf, enclosed in his hand. Jervis gave his own hand a small sniff. He had at least not taken a pile that caused intestinal signs, and was fairly confident this one could be absorbed by the skin. _Jacker venom,_ he thought quickly, recalling the assorted goods. _Water hemlock. Good._

"I am going to kill you, Jonathan," Hearts announced, and Crane gave her a small little smile, as though it pleased him his partner had grown a backbone. _Off with his head,_ Jervis thought, his choice of the red Queen solidified as her fist opened and a trail of torn leaves spilled out onto the grass.

"On three." Jervis nodded as his friend counted up. Two of the girls had started to create a circle around him when the pair, with synchronicity on their side, both threw their toxic handfuls at the same time.

Jervis's landed on both Queens, getting onto their faces and momentarily blinding them. _Hogweed,_ he thought, delight briefly flashing through his thoughts as he wondered if it was in high enough quantities to cause burns on their skin. Jonathan's had scattered onto the raven's eyes, and she took a few steps back, out of range for a further shot. Clubs, on the other hand, took a step toward Jervis, the bat swinging wildly, and he managed to stagger backward and dodge.

"Sonofabitch!"

"Run, run as fast as you can!" he exclaimed, and turned straight into Crane's fist.

He landed on the ground with a soft splash, his pocket watch flying out to sink into the mud. Crane was already reaching down to pick up his hat with his good arm, the arrow still stuck in the felt. He lifted his foot to hover over the watch, and Jervis let out a low noise like a whimper.

"I don't like not being in control, Jervis," the boy said softly and kicked the watch toward him. Jervis scrambled over to snatch it off the ground, the trio forgotten, his hands caressing it gently. It was so precious to him. He held it up to his ear. _Tick, tick, tick._ He let out a small sigh of relief, and looked up.

Crane was gone.

"Ha! Looks like the joke's on you, Jervy! Spooky lil' scarecrow didn't wanna play with you after all," Clubs stated, and as Jervis righted himself and turned back to face the attackers, he could see the effects of the toxin on her eyes.

They weren't quite as wide as Crane's, but he hoped they were spaced enough that she would miss him on the swing. She glanced up past him. "Hey Red, just leave 'em, will ya? That arrow ya spiked is gonna make him wish he'd stuck around."

The redhead had made to go after his...friend. His heart plummeted at the word his mind had formed as he realized his one true friend had abandoned him, and he followed Clubs' gaze toward Crane's district partner. He didn't see the baseball bat coming until it had cracked him on the shoulder. He yelped as something in his arm snapped and dropped to the ground like a hot potato. _It's the ending that I worry about._

"This is for before," the red Queen said as she advanced, delivering a kick Jervis hadn't thought possible from her frame.

 _Are you ready to do something impossible?_

The toxin was not as successful as Crane's sample; instead of paralyzing them, it just seemed to make them more vicious, more vindictive. He blamed the hemlock. It was always such an unpredictable ingredient.

He curled like a turtle, his pocket watch in the center, trying to protect his vital organs and roll with the kicks, the rest of the piles just out of reach.

"Hey!" the raven yelled, and the redhead paused her kicks, her breathing heavy.

"Helena, he and Jonathan betrayed us with _tracker jackers_ ," she said. "He's just caught you with something too!"

Jervis peeked out from his shell. _I was never good with names,_ he thought, as Helena swayed on the wet ground, the effects of the toxin affecting her balance.

He cried out as the blonde caught him another blow of the bat, landing square on his back, and he fell forward onto his broken arm. He tried to right himself but only managed a slump.

"Harl!" Helena yelled again, drunkenly taking a step back, but shooting Clubs a look.

"What? I thought you was only tellin' Red to hold it," the blonde said sweetly, skipping cheerfully away from where Jervis sat, her baseball bat trailing across his shoulders as she went to where Helena stood. "Guess play time's over, Jervy!"

"I'd leave this bastard to you ladies," Helena said, aiming her crossbow carefully at Jervis as she fought to keep her footing. "But he's just the dog. And we don't kick dogs, do we?" She leaned against a tree to steady herself and closed one eye. "No. We just put them out of their misery."

 _How long is forever?_

There was a low _twang._

 _Sometimes just one sec –._

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne


	63. Chapter 62: Atlantis Calls

**(A/N): Hello and welcome to our first update in the new year! We're keeping up the action a bit with robbiepoo2341's Kaldur Ahm.**

 **Thank you as always to the writers who reviewed not only this most recent chapter but other ones as well. It's really fun to see all the reactions as the story develops, and we hope that we'll be able to continue to hook your interest! Thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for sticking with this story and reviewing!**

* * *

 **Chapter Sixty-Two - Atlantis Calls**

 **Evening Two**

 **Kaldur Ahm of District Four**

 **Written by robbiepoo2341**

* * *

" _The cure for anything is saltwater: sweat, tears, or the sea."_ \- Isak Dinesen

* * *

In this arena, Kaldur was never dry. It was the one comfort he had left to him.

And yet even the water in this place was foreign to him. It smelled nothing like the sea, which was salty, briney, harsh, unforgiving, welcoming, colorful, cool. This — this water was stale, the texture of sweat, and even before the insect mutts had attacked Diana's group, it tasted of blood from minor cuts, mosquito bites... Kaldur wouldn't be surprised if the Gamemakers themselves had left the water with such a lingering taste just to add to the misery in general.

He wondered if anyone else noticed it.

It hung over the group of them like a cloud, the slightly metallic scent in the air and the water. In his less lucid moments, Kaldur found himself panicking, half-asleep, tasting the blood in the water and knowing the sharks it would draw in — only to awaken again to see that the sharks were children and that he was safe from the teeth.

 _Safe._

It was a relative word, when Kaldur knew that he was slipping from his mortal coil. As soon as Harper's project had gone awry in his hands, he was dead — his body simply hadn't accepted its fate yet. He could feel it in the weight of his eyelids, in the visions he saw when that weight was too heavy and he closed his eyes — before Diana would bring him back again.

He appreciated what she was trying to do. He understood her desire to save who she could, but her stubborn refusal to accept reality had always been the sticking point between them, hadn't it? Even now, Kaldur felt the weight of the target he had placed on his own shoulders, the weight of his own body as it grew harder and harder to resist the pull of the visions behind his eyelids.

* * *

" _Kaldur."_

 _He turned his head away from the sea, where he had been watching the divers go out in their boats to where the nets had fallen the previous day, pulling his attention back to what he should have been doing_ — _paying attention to his queen, to Mera._

 _He_ did _feel bad when his attention would drift, for he had promised to study hard under her tutelage. He remembered very little of his own parents, and as Mera had no children of her own, they felt a kinship to each other that, at the time, Kaldur was too young to name. He would later come to tentatively call it familial_ — _though never to anyone but her. She was, after all, a queen._

 _Mera shook her head, her eyes sparkling with laughter as she looked beyond him to see what had captured his attention. "Would you like to go out there?" she asked him._

 _He spun quickly to face her, his eyes wide and nearly pleading. "May I?"_

 _Mera laughed, a light sound, before she offered her hand to him, and he took it, keeping up with her long strides with legs that were too short, too stubby still. He would hit his growth spurt later, but he had cursed his late blooming until the day his limbs lengthened and he could use them to power against the waves._

 _He could swim, of course. There was not a single Atlantean who could walk before they could swim. But he was not allowed too far, and his heart ached with the call he could hear beyond the waves, the unknown waters that beckoned him._

 _He burst into the waves as soon as his feet hit the water and swam out as far as he could before Mera caught up to him and laughed lightly as she guided him toward the calmer waters._

" _Be patient, little one," she teased him when she saw the longing looks that crossed both shoulders_ — _looks that he cared not to hide when Mera knew as well as he did that he was not meant for the sand or for books but for the open sea. "You'll find your way to the depths soon enough."_

* * *

"Kaldur."

The gentle voice stirred him, but in his current state, he could not identify in which direction he was being pulled — toward the sea or toward the swamp. He could no longer smell salt in the air, which led him to think it was the latter, but still, he whispered his response almost hopefully, "My queen."

The tired sigh his response elicited from Diana, more than her gentle call, roused him to consciousness, and he peered one eye open to see that she had leaned against the trunk of a tree close to him, hiding him in its roots in some semblance of shade where the water was shallow and the insects were not quite so burdensome.

"You return from Atlantis," Diana said with the barest hint of teasing to her tone.

"Sadly, it seems so," he agreed, his brows furrowed as he tried unsuccessfully to shift to see the others better, but he could not move well on his own.

He was getting worse, and he knew it. Just hours ago, he had better use of his own limbs, the very arms that until then had carried him through every wave and countless tides. Now, he could hardly lift them. He simply didn't have the strength. He was too tired.

So, he stayed where he was, too drained to waste the energy to move beyond where Diana had placed him and trusting in her judgment all the same, even if his shoulder had found a particularly unpleasant root. It seemed such a little thing, but he found it hard to drift into Atlantis when he was not comfortable enough to find unconsciousness.

Perhaps, he reasoned, Diana had done that on purpose.

He had observed her with her allies, how closely she guarded them, how fiercely she protected them. She took seriously her vow to keep them close to safety, as close as possible in the arena, and she _refused_ to see its futility. Perhaps it was simply because she was not Atlantean, had not been taught that there were powers in this world beyond their control — the tides, the winds, the creatures of the depths for whom man was naught but a curiosity and perhaps a meal if the fancy took them. She was like a child, beating herself against the waves and not understanding that they would keep coming against her no matter how she yelled, no matter how she fought.

Every one of them was marked for death, and still, she faced the tides like a lionfish baring her spines, a warning, a challenge. And he had found himself wondering all day, for the first time since the Reaping, if perhaps there was something to be said for her battle. She was brave — he had always known that; foolish, but brave — but there was a kind of nobility to it.

She set her sights too low — on the Games and not the Gamemakers — but now, when he had fulfilled his purpose in being reaped, perhaps it was time for him to set his sights lower as well, time for a little selfishness of his own.

She had gone by the time he came to his decision, dealing with her teammates, and he watched her for a moment, weighing out his words. The two cousins from Five had gathered food for their evening meal that day, and Diana rested her hands on both of their shoulders before she sat between them, smiling and laughing and praising what little they had found. They were injured from their earlier battle, and light words and warm smiles were just as much a balm as their own bindings — it was important to tend the soul as well as the body. Diana's encouragement rang with the same relief for their minds that the moss and cloth bindings held for their deep cuts.

Diana knew this, and she nourished in her allies both sides of their survival.

In a way, Diana was nothing like her mother. She was softer than Hippolyta was, though she would kill Kaldur if he were to suggest such a thing. But it was no weakness, and he meant no offense — she _was_ , in fact, kinder than he had seen from Hippolyta. The same strength lay in her shoulders, but grace lay in her words.

He closed his eyes again. The root pressing into his shoulder was an annoyance, but the light laughter of the group beyond him was calming. Kara, the girl from Five, was animatedly telling some story about her home, and though Kaldur was losing his grip on the words themselves, the tone was one he knew all too well, one of homesickness mixed perfectly with fondness.

Kara would likely never see District Five again, but she spoke of it with such love that he wished he could see it through her eyes, could see the sunsets she described as they touched the edges of her city and lit up the windows of the buildings around them.

She spoke about her home the way Kaldur felt about the sea.

* * *

" _Are you ever_ not _at sea?"_

 _Kaldur turned at the familiar, teasing voice to see his friend, Tula, swimming out to him. He stood out on the sandbar, which was only possible at low tide, and when she joined him, they were both able to see past the bar into the reef nearby, where fish swam fearlessly. No fishermen would pass this point, not that week, anyway. There had been an abnormally warm winter and an even warmer summer, and somehow, the conditions were right for the jellyfish to stage a population explosion._

 _He could see them not far from where he was, pink and yellow and purple reflected in the sun. They were far enough away that he did not fear them, but the fishermen who found their stingers in their nets loathed their unexpected spears._

" _And you are never far from danger," Tula observed with a laugh like the sound of rain._

" _The tide will take them east," Kaldur said, gesturing with an open hand as the jellyfish rose and fell with the waves around them. "They are no danger to me."_

" _So you stand as close to them as you dare," she teased him. "You have nothing to prove to anyone, Kaldur. We all know you are brave."_

" _I don't come here to prove anything to anyone," Kaldur said, shaking his head. "I come here because it is peaceful."_

 _Tula looked around the ocean and watched the fish in the reef nearby, watched the bobbing jellyfish, even looked down to her feet where a few of the smallest fish darted around her toes in the few inches of water creeping over the sandbar as the tide slowly came in. "It is," she agreed softly before she reached out to put a hand on Kaldur's shoulder. "Will you not join us? Garth and I have been enjoying the warm weather and plan to dive from the Cliffs of Tritonis."_

 _Kaldur grinned outright, thinking of the sleek black cliffs and the clear water below them. "And you accuse me of flirting with danger."_

" _I never said that it was a bad thing," she laughed. She ran her hands through her hair, red as the morning sun and shorter than Garth's, a source of endless teasing. She would always say that she hated when her hair got in the way of her work, and both Kaldur and Garth would insist that she was as beautiful as Mera_ — _she did not need to be her twin and match her length as well._

 _The Cliffs of Tritonis were close to Hippolyta's boundaries, not truly part of the beach and therefore not belonging to Atlantis, though this was in constant dispute. They had very little use except as a platform for those brave enough_ — _or foolish enough_ — _to dive into the murky depths below them anyway._

 _Tula flashed a warm smile his way and dove into the water, swimming for shore with long and powerful strokes. She was as at home in the water as he was, and there wasn't a moment that he didn't feel that the ocean itself drew them together, their shared passion, the belonging that was impossible to find with sand and not water between their fingers._

 _He dove in after her, matching her strides, and the leisurely swim became a race the instant he was within sight of her. She won_ — _she always won_ — _and when moments later, he reached the shore as well, she laughed and waved the tips of her fingers at him. "Too slow!" she called out, already running toward the cliffs._

 _Kaldur had always been slower on land, and he knew that Tula would win that race as well, but he ran it anyway, just to see the laughter in her eyes when he finally caught up to her where the cliffs met Hippolyta's territory and where divers had been known to barely escape her wrath with a well-timed jump into Atlantis, into the water's embrace, where they belonged._

* * *

"Hey."

This time, it was not Diana's voice calling him back from his home but that of the boy from Five, and Kaldur turned his head to see that he had taken up Diana's place against the tree, watching Kaldur with a frown that tugged insistently at the corners of his mouth.

He, unlike Diana, could see that Kaldur was dying. Kaldur knew that all of her allies could see the truth for themselves, and still she could not. He had long accused her of blindness, and here, when at last she might listen to him, this one thing remained between them — she could not see what she refused to see.

"I'm sorry," Kaldur said with a sigh. "I was home again."

Clark nodded lightly. "Yeah, I figured," he said, rubbing his finger absently against the bindings over his recently-acquired wounds. "Just thought I'd make sure it wasn't something worse, right?"

"Worse for who, exactly?" Kaldur asked, and Clark fell silent, the expression at the corner of his mouth overtaking the rest of his features as he pressed two clasped hands underneath his chin but said nothing — which Kaldur appreciated.

Kaldur allowed the silence to stretch on between them until the air rang with it, until it had clearly affected Clark to the point that he felt he had to move, shifting the way he was sitting as he cleared his throat. And only then did Kaldur speak again.

"Diana," he said, and Clark's head came up, the expression open. He wondered if Clark knew what he would ask her — certainly, the parted lips, the slight head shake indicated as much — but he repeated himself. "I need Diana. Please."

Perhaps it was the plea that did it. Kaldur wasn't sure. He only knew that after a long moment, Clark stood, and Kaldur watched him go to Diana and whisper something in her ear. Her expression hardened, but her shoulders fell — so she knew what he would ask of her as well.

And still she marched over to him, her every step sloshing in the constant wetness of the arena, and there was a splash when she sat beside him. "You asked for me," she said, the words not quite a question and ringing with finality.

He nodded. "I need your aid," he said. He spoke as gently as he could, but already, she had begun to shake her head.

"You are Four, Kaldur," she said softly.

"I am _dying_ , Diana," he replied, more strength to his tone than he realized that he had. He rested his hand on hers and closed his eyes, the smell of saltwater rising in his memory as, for the first time, he pushed back the memories of his home to focus on Diana, on what he needed her to do. "You kept me from an ignominious death at the hands of those mutts. Please, do not let me die this way." He shook his head lightly as she shook hers more strenuously 'no.' "Diana, I cannot move. I cannot do this without you."

Diana fell silent, her mouth a thin line. "There is deeper water further from our camp," she said at last, and he let out the breath that he had not realized he was holding in his lungs, the relief flooding through him like the first breath of air after he surfaced from a deep dive.

"Thank you," he said.

"The others will not understand your choice," Diana told him frankly, looking up from him to where the three allies were gathered. Kaldur turned slightly so that he could see them as well and recognized the vague shuffling that meant they were doing their utmost to pretend that they had not been caught in their attempts to eavesdrop.

Kaldur shook his head, a light smile touching his expression despite his best efforts. "They are not of Four," he said. It seemed to take far more strength than he had anticipated as he raised his hand, but he rested it on Diana's shoulder somehow, letting out his breath along with his words, "But you are."

Diana reached up with her hand to place it on top of his, the motion oddly like a salute before she nodded once. "I am," she said, and she did not have to say anything further. She was of Four, and she knew what Kaldur did — that a diver was meant to return to the sea, that even Atlanteans who died on land were returned to the ocean when they passed.

The silence was heavy between them, as was the understanding, before, at last, Diana bent down and pulled Kaldur into her arms. He was surprised — though he should not have been — by the grace with which she did so as well as by the final strength that he seemed to have to hold on to her shoulders. She had not carried him before, and he remembered her teasing earlier at what Arthur would think … but Kaldur was sure that his king would understand. This was the only way to return to the water.

Surely he would respect that.

 _Ah well. Queen Mera will tell him,_ Kaldur though, and the worry over Arthur was dismissed just that quickly.

He was out of even the inch of bloodied swamp water, the water dripping off his skin as the burns ached at being so uncovered, but he cared not. Nor did he care when Diana's allies rose, the cousins nearly in unison and John Constantine a beat later, more quietly and with his head tipped to the side.

"Where are you going?" Clark asked.

"To the water," Diana said simply.

Kaldur could almost hear the rush of water in his ears, a much more welcome sound than the buzzing of insects all around them, their constant presence in the arena. He could almost taste saltwater, though perhaps that was more a product of his own dying mind. There was no salt in the water here. And so he did not care that both Kara and Clark came to a stop in front of Diana, their arms crossed over their chests.

"That's murder," Kara said sharply.

He nearly laughed. Murder. No, there was no such thing in the arena except perhaps what was committed by the Careers he and Diana had left, the Careers Harper had chosen to follow the day before, leaving him to die slowly.

Here, there was only death, hands forced by the Gamemakers and the Capitol. The only choice was in how to die or how to kill, and weak as he was, Kaldur could only choose one. His choice in how to kill, in working with Harper and using the Capitol's only machinery against them, had ensured that much.

"He's dying already," John said suddenly, drawing their attention, a resigned sort of expression passing over his face and into his shoulders. "His organs are failing."

"That doesn't excuse murder," Kara argued.

But John shook his head, steadily walking toward the group. "That's not what this is," he said calmly.

"Then enlighten us," Clark said, matching his cousin with eyes narrowed.

John gestured toward Diana and Kaldur with one hand. "If it was you, wouldn't you want to have a say in it?"

Kara shook her head, and Clark looked like he was working a muscle in his jaw, but finally, they both moved back. Neither made a move to stop Diana as she slipped past, her feet finding the path to the deeper water until both Kaldur and Diana went suddenly several feet down, the water up to her shoulders when it had been at her knees only a moment before.

His ears were ringing with the call to go home, so much so that he almost missed it when Diana turned toward him. She had not yet let him go, not until she could say her farewell. "Go with the tides, Kaldur," she said, once more surprising him with her knowledge of the Atlantean phrase, the one that was spoken at every funeral in the waves.

He gripped her shoulder and rested his forehead against hers, the best farewell he could give her. "You are a queen, Diana," he whispered low enough that only she could hear it. "That is why Odin chose you."

Diana frowned at him. "You should not lie before you see your ancestors."

He shook his head against hers. "No," he said. "I was chosen to show that Four is united. You were chosen to show it is strong." He took a deep breath and let go of her shoulders. She was the only thing holding his head above the water now. "Win these Games, Diana," he told her softly. "Lead your people — lead _our_ people."

"I wasn't chosen because…" She trailed off, clearly realizing that this was not a time for petty arguments between them, not _now_. "I will…" She paused again, and he caught an audible swallow. "I will try — no, I _will_ unite Four, Kaldur Ahm, and you will see it from the drowned halls, and you _will_ smile."

She stepped back from him at last, lowering him into the deep water. Unable to stand and too weak to move much, he would not be able to escape its embrace if he wanted to, but despite what Kara had said, this was not death. Not to Kaldur.

The water was warm, but it rushed against his ears in _almost_ the same way that the ocean did. The steady, frantic beating of his heart as his body cried out for air was _almost_ like the beat of a current. And when his lungs could stand no more and he opened his mouth, his body desperate to breathe and taking in only water instead, it was _almost_ like a lungful of saltwater when the waves hit him upon surfacing.

It was _almost_ like Atlantis, and 'almost' was the only thing he had left as he sank into the mud at the bottom of the swamp and at last lay still.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince


	64. Chapter 63: Voices

**(A/N): Hello and welcome back to our Friday update! This time, we've got Harvey Dent, written as always by Seas and Shadows.**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed, and to Slim Summers2002. (We see your raised fist and salute you too.)**

* * *

 **Chapter Sixty-Three - Voices**

 **Nightfall, Day Two**

 **Harvey Dent of District Two**

 **Written by Seas and Shadows**

* * *

 _"When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on." – Franklin D. Roosevelt._

 _"And yet it was only while painting that I noticed how much light there still was in that darkness." – Vincent Van Gogh._

* * *

Harvey lifted his head for a moment, breathing in the peaceful, crisp atmosphere. The sun was completing its long journey across the sky. The long, glistening branches of the nearby trees swayed in the gentle breeze, caught between the transition from afternoon to evening.

 _ **I hate everything**_ , the voice groaned, for approximately the hundredth time.

 _I think_ — _Maybe we should get up, I can't stay here like this_ —

 _ **How was the Academy supposed to help train us for this?**_

 _We need to focus. C'mon, stand up, get up._

 _ **It hurts. Everything hurts. Why?**_

 _It doesn't matter. We're sixteen years old, I can handle a bit of pain._

 _ **Ow! OW! My arm**_ — _**I can't breathe, dammit, we can't breathe, oh God**_ —

 _We've got this! Here we go. One step at a time. Let's go to Harper._

 _ **Harper… Where's she hiding? Why isn't she here? Oh-my-God-I-can't-breathe-it-hurts-it-hurts-it-hurts-**_

 _Look, she's right there, she's not hiding. Ignore it. Come on. Step by step. There we go, see? I'm doing this! You can do this!_

Harvey weakly grimaced, feeling his throbbing forehead with his good arm. He had another migraine coming along. He sighed.

 _ **Everything about these Games is just**_ — _**just not fair. I hate it.**_

The other voice didn't have anything to say against that.

Harper looked up from the fire she was trying to start. "You're awake," she said. Harper stood up, abandoning her project. "How're you feeling?"

 _Not too bad_ —

 _ **I feel sick**_ —

Harvey didn't say anything. He numbly reached for the coin in his pocket, flicking it up into the air.

 _Plink._

Heads.

"Alright," Harvey mumbled. "Could be better, to be honest."

Harper glanced at his side sympathetically. "Yeah. I get that. I patched you up the best I could when you were sleeping off the stings, but, well…" She trailed off, and Harvey followed her gaze.

 _ **Look at this. She's useless. What's this supposed to be? How is this idiot still alive?**_

"Shut up," Harvey muttered tiredly. He saw Harper look up at his face, surprised, and he flushed, realizing that he'd said it out loud.

Harper had wrapped some of the local tree branches around his chest, binding his wound tightly. He could see that some of the leaves were stained red with dried blood that had seeped through his uniform. He winced, scratching at the branches with his good arm.

 _ **None of this is fair,**_ the voice grumbled pessimistically. _**None of it.**_

A part of Harvey had to agree. From the very start of the Games, things had gone badly for him. He'd wanted to take down that Six boy, back at the start, but the coin had told him to go after the one from Three instead. And the Games might not have been fair, but Harvey was, so he listened to it. He always listened to the coin. The coin was always right.

The Career Pack had gone even worse; those damned tracker jackers had stopped him from getting anything other than his set of knives from the Tesseract. And when he'd tried to go after the One girl… at this point, with all the tracker jacker venom that'd been pumped into him, and all the chaos, and all the blood, he wasn't sure anymore if it had him that took out Slade, or Jonathan.

 _Jonathan._ One of the voices hissed angrily. _Jonathan Crane._

Just the thought of that kid made Harvey's blood boil. First the rooftop, then Slade Wilson, and now he'd bombed what was left of the Career Pack with even more of those goddamned tracker jackers. Harvey wanted to kill that scrawny little bastard.

 _ **Rip his head off of his shoulders**_ —

 _Slit his throat_ —

 _ **Take him apart piece by piece**_ —

 _Smother him_ —

Something poked him in his good shoulder. Harvey blinked, startled from his reverie, and looked down to see Harper. "Earth to coin man? You okay?"

Harvey paused. "Uh. Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

Harper gestured to his ribs, and Harvey straightened, remembering. His side burned with pain, and he flinched, regretting the movement.

"Let's—" His ribs clawed at his nervous system again, and Harvey gritted his teeth, trying not to react. "Let's just sit down for a sec. I'll show you what you have to do."

Harper helped Harvey hobble over near her almost-fire pit. He collapsed on a fallen log, observing her work for a second. She'd done a good job keeping the dry(ish) wood above the muddy water that was the ground, and her structure seemed relatively stable. He didn't really have much to correct, there, so he did his best to turn on the little Taskmaster voice in the back of his head and concentrated on his arm.

"Alright," he said to Harper, getting a sense of déjà vu with an old, almost identical lesson with Tony Masters. "Biggest thing to remember about broken ribs — you don't just patch up the injury. My entire arm is gonna make it hurt, see?" He tried to move his left arm, not hiding his pain when his ribs began to throb. "Muscles are connected, tendons, science… I forgot the rest. Let's take these off; I'll show you what we need to do."

The two tributes worked in silence for a while in the setting sun, peeling off the branches that were Harvey's bandages and carefully placing them to the side. Thankfully, whatever it was that had demolished Harvey's ribs hadn't punctured his bloodstained tribute clothing. Harvey wasn't sure, but he thought that would mean that the wound underneath would at least be relatively clean.

Harvey took a shallow, painful breath after all the branches had been removed. He was making an extreme effort to try to stay calm and patient, blocking out the voices in his head. "Okay. You did a good job stopping me from bleeding out or anything. Good. Now." He prodded his side carefully, biting back a groan when his ribs inevitably screamed. "Good news: I haven't impaled myself yet on my ribs. And since we've been running and stuff and I haven't died, that means the bones aren't fully broken. They're loose, though. Bendy, sometimes. The Academy calls these a greenstick, I think."

Harper nodded, staring at the injury. From what could be perceived from the bloodstains, the wound was a bit larger than a fist, hovering between Harvey's armpit and his heart. "So what do we do?"

He stopped again, taking another shuddering breath. He winced as his side flared up. "I need you to get some more branches. Tough ones, but make sure they're really bendy. The more like rope, the better." He thought back to some of the lessons, trying to recall what had been said. Cushioning… He needed cushioning for broken ribs, didn't he? "Get some of that moss, too. The light green one. I'm pretty sure that one's good for injuries."

Harper blinked, counting off the materials on one hand. "Bendy branches, green moss. Okay. Anything else?"

 _ **Get her to grab a poisonous plant or something. We can feed it to her later, kill her in her sleep.**_

 _No! I won't let you. We need to focus on our ribs right now; we need her_ —

 _ **We need her for her stuff, you mean. We kill her, we have all that stuff she grabbed from Kaldur, we have one less tribute to worry about taking us out**_ —

 _If she wanted to kill me, she would have done it when she was patching me up, you idiot!_

"Stop it." Harvey said.

Harper frowned. "What?"

"Nothing," he said quickly.

 _ **The coin'll sort this out. It always does.**_

 _The coin, where's the coin, we'll show you_ —

 _Plink._

Heads.

Harvey let out a sigh of relief, ignoring Harper's confused gaze. "Um… If you see any decent wood that isn't soaked, grab it. And leaves. Any leaves that you know aren't poisonous. I can sort out the good ones when you come back, and we might be able to make a drink or salve or something."

Harper sent one last, concerned, lingering look over her shoulder before turning away. She didn't look back. "Got it. Just… stay here, okay, Harvey?" The girl started making her way off into the trees. After a while, she was out of sight, far out in the marsh.

 _Stay here. Like there's another place we need to go to right now._

 _ **This is pathetic.**_

Harvey squinted, looking up at the darkening evening sky. "What?"

 _What?_

 _ **Look at this!**_ one voice cried. _**Remember our Career Pack? Remember how well-planned we had it, with all the tributes and the alliances and the targeting? Look where it's gone!**_

 _It_ — _It's not that bad, we have Harper_ —

 _ **And look where that's gotten us,**_ the voice sneered. _**Look at her. She's lost without us. She's weak. She could have finished off Kaldur, she could have helped when Jonathan came, dammit! She could have even been there with us at the Tesseract! Harper's useless!**_

 _She… She tried to get Kaldur, though, didn't she? With the mine?_

 _ **Did she? Remember what happened to our face? Was that deliberate?**_

 _No…_

 _ **Then I bet she was helping him. She's a traitor. She was working with Kaldur. She doesn't care, she's trying to kill us, we need to go by ourselves**_ —

 _No! Shut up! It's not like that, we can still do this_ —

 _ **With broken ribs?**_

The other voice stopped for a moment, currently without a counterargument.

"It's really not that bad," Harvey repeated quietly, feeling his injury through his clothing. It hurt, it stung, it burned — but Harvey was still alive. He could still walk and talk, and maybe even fight, as long as nobody went for his side. He had to concentrate on what really mattered: living to the end of the Games.

Balancing on the same massive log as Harper's abandoned firepit, he carefully crouched down, taking out his knife set. It was a standard pack of throwing knives, with a Velcro patch he could use to attach to his upper thigh. Harvey hadn't quite trusted it, though, in the humid, wet environments, and so he'd been keeping them in one of his pockets, next to where he kept his coin safe and secure. He guessed that with his ribs being the way they were, it would probably be better if he started relying more on the Capitol's technology, and Harvey mentally promised to try to get into the habit of wearing his throwing knife set more often.

There had been six of the steel throwing knives, originally — two were a couple inches longer than the others. Everything else had shorter, stubbier blades. He'd lost one of those smaller silver knives back in the bloodbath, but the others were still in a relatively good condition.

Harvey was halfway through taking out his longer knives to try and start a fire when two things occurred to him: one, he needed flint, or at least some other fire starter if he wanted to at least make a spark; and two, the swamp was far too humid and damp for any of Harper's wood to be dry enough to catch on fire. Harvey let out a roar of frustration, kicking over Harper's stack of wood. The small pieces scattered, rolling off of the log into the bog underneath. Muddy water shot into the air, and a lukewarm tendril splashed onto Harvey's good side.

 _ **WHY?!**_ one of the voices howled in his head. _**WHY IS NONE OF THIS FAIR?!**_

Harvey angrily got to his feet, stomping through the swamp in a fit of resentment. He snatched up an unlucky wayward branch and tore it in two, ignoring how his side lit up with pain at the action.

 _It's all because of these damn Games,_ the other voice snapped, commiserating instead of arguing for once. _They rigged the Tesseract, they let the tracker jackers loose_ — At this, Harvey broke another branch rather fiercely — _this is all on them._

"You're right," Harvey growled, lashing out at a low-bending tree. "It's them — It's all them—"

 _ **Don't forget Jonathan,**_ the first voice pointed out, and Harvey snatched a branch of a tree that was just thinner than his fist, yanking at it to vent the fury that was building up inside of him. _**He's why we're stuck with Harper, he's why our ribs are like this, he's why the tracker jackers came**_ —

 _Why are we even here in the first place? Do you_ — _do we remember?_

 _ **That mutt**_ — _**he had some tracker jackers with him**_ — _**they got us**_ — _**I think we went**_ — _**it's all blurry, but I'm pretty sure they made us**_ — _**something with the Isley girl?**_

 _Tracker jackers,_ the other voice groaned. Harvey's head began to spin as the voices crowded his head. He tugged on the branch harder, trying to ignore the voices and focus on the way his ribs burned, the straining in his arms. He heard something in a tree audibly crack. _They're everywhere_ —

 _ **Bringing back those stupid memories**_ —

 _Getting us to be so unfair_ —

 _ **They stopped us from being fair. Back with Jonathan.**_ The voice hesitated, reaching a terrifying conclusion. _**We weren't fair, oh God, I wasn't fair**_ —

 _You're always fair_ — _I_ — _I'm fair, I'm fair, it wasn't us_ —

 _ **I can't not be fair, we**_ —

 _Not us, not me_ —

 _ **It's them**_ — _**I**_ —

 _You_ —

 _ **They**_ —

 _I_ —

 _ **We**_ —

"SHUT UP!" Harvey screeched. He clutched his head. "I'm fair," he told the marsh. "I'm fair, I'm fair — I — _I_ — I — I'm fair… We're fair…"

He took a deep, shuddering breath, leaning against the thin, brittle tree for support. He sunk to the ground. "I'm fair… Right? _Right?_ "

One of the voices made a swallowing noise. _Get the coin._ It whispered. _The coin. The coin can prove it. We're fair. I'm always going to be fair, I always have been._

 _ **Yes.**_ The other voice agreed. _**The coin. The coin can help. Use the coin.**_

With trembling fingers, Harvey picked up the little silver piece. He turned it over in his hands, staring at the good and the bad sides like he'd lose them if he looked away.

 _Heads, I'm fair._ He decided.

 _ **Tails, I'm not.**_

He flipped the coin.

 _Clink._

Tails.

His heart stopped.

 _"No,"_ Harvey said. He shot upwards. His entire body seized up, tensing like wires. "No. No, no, _no."_

 _Flip again!_ one voice demanded. _Do it! We have to be fair!_

 _ **That's cheating!**_ The second one argued. _**We're fair, we have to accept it, we can't**_ — _**We're unfair now, the coin said**_ — _**But**_ — The voice stopped as Harvey tried to process what was happening. _**I**_ — _**I**_ —

 _DO IT AGAIN!_

Harvey flipped the coin.

 _Plink._

Heads.

 _ **No, no, we're rigging it, you're not being fair**_ —

 _The coin says we're fair now, we're fair_ —

 _ **No we're not! We're not fair! The coin said so!**_

 _Best of three._ The voice compromised, panicky. _We're fair then, we're fair; we've got to be fair_ —

 _Clink._

Tails.

 _NO! AGAIN!_

 _Clink._

Tails.

 _ **WE'RE NOT FAIR**_ —

 _Plink._

Heads.

 _SHUT UP, I'M FAIR. I'M HARVEY DENT; I'M ALWAYS FAIR_ —

 _Clink._

Tails.

 _ **YOU'RE NOT HARVEY, I'M HARVEY, YOU'RE NOTHING**_ —

 _Plink._ Heads.

 _Clink._ Tails.

 _Clink._ Tails.

 _Plink._ Heads.

 _Clink._ Tails.

"NO!" Harvey roared. He kicked the thin, spidery tree as hard as he could. He felt furious, lost, _fair_ , _**unfair**_ , a boiling pot of hatred and confusion. The tree made a pathetic snapping noise, leaning the other way before breaking and collapsing on the swamp floor.

At first, there was no response. Everything was quiet. Harvey stared at his shaking hands.

And then a light, angry buzzing began to pierce the stillness, and an invisible fist of ice squeezed at Harvey's heart.

He'd been hit by them twice now, twice in two days; it couldn't be possible for them to come again.

 _ **Nobody is that unlucky.**_

 _Even the Gamemakers couldn't be this unfair…_

He looked around, searching for the source, trying to work out which way he had to run, and his gaze fell to the small, shattered remains of a tracker jacker nest, buried underneath the fallen tree he'd broken.

 _No._

Harvey struggled to his feet, trying to clamber away as quickly as he could, but the bog was pulling down at his feet, the roots were tripping him up, the tracker jackers he'd upset were soaring after him like jet planes in pursuit of a lost, helpless bird.

 _ **No.**_

He bent, trying to find a patch of water deep enough to hide in, ignoring the dull burn of his ribs as his fingers scraped over damp patches of wood, but a part of him knew it wasn't going to be enough.

 _No!_

The first of the stings that Harvey had become so accustomed to blossomed over the back of his neck. Harvey swatted at the bug frantically, stumbling through the marsh, but then a second tracker jacker got his calf, and then his back, and then—

And then—

And then—

* * *

"Harvey."

* * *

"Harvey!"

* * *

" _Harvey!"_

Harvey's eyes snapped open. He bolted upright and immediately conked heads with a kneeling, frantic Harper. His ribs twinged in complaint.

"I'm awake, I'm awake!" Harvey yelped, scuttling backward instinctively. "Don't splash m-"

He stopped. "You're not Taskmaster."

Harper frowned, mystified. "Tony Masters _splashes_ you? What _?"_

Harvey didn't meet her gaze. He wasn't in the mood to inform her of the many, many times Tony Masters had dunked his cot in freezing cold water to wake him up.

It occurred to Harvey that he was lying down, submerged in the swamp. If he'd sunken a few more inches, he would have likely drowned without even realizing it.

Memories of the last half hour slowly bubbled up to the forefront of Harvey's mind, along with something else. The beginnings of an idea, a compromise, started to form in the back of his mind.

He struggled upward, propping himself up on his elbows. Water spilled from his chest. "Let's… Let's not talk about that right now. You got the branches, yeah?"

Harper gestured to a bundle of sticks held in her arm. Harvey wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed it before. "Yep." She pulled him to his feet, dragging him out of the marsh. With her free hand, she flicked a stray tracker jacker stinger out of his arm. "What happened to you, anyway? I came back right in time to see you getting your sorry ass get handed to you _again_ by the 'jackers."

Harvey looked around, at the ripped up branches and the thin, sickly tree he'd broken. He winced, rubbing the newly forming sores. "Long story. C'mon, let's go back to that little island before a croc finds us or something."

"Or something," Harper agreed. He caught her giving him a strange look when she figured he wasn't paying any attention to her. It was a mix of concern and something else that Harvey couldn't quite place.

 _ **Fear,**_ one voice suggested.

 _Sorrow,_ the other one said.

He buried the feeling of shame and embarrassment welling up inside himself, trying to focus on moving without everything hurting.

He sat down, back on the giant log he'd been resting on an hour ago. Harvey's hand brushed against the rising tracker jacker lumps near his waist. He sulked, dipping his feet into a mixture of swamp water and self-pity.

Harper shot a glance at the bare log. "You knocked over my fire pit," she grumbled half-heartedly, trying to break the silence.

Harvey stared at the setting sun, ignoring the way his retinas began to flare alongside with the rest of his aching body. "Wasn't gonna work," he said. "Everything here's too wet."

His district partner swore, kicking at the water. Brown droplets flicked up into the air, catching the light. The duo stopped for a while again, caught between exhaustion and procrastination. Eventually, Harvey started to move on autopilot. He went through Harper's collection of greenery, picking out the cleaner leaves. She started to help him sort everything out, spreading the different groups into piles on the log.

For some reason Harvey couldn't quite place, he looked again at Harper. He didn't understand why. She looked nothing like Grace, but—

 _She almost looks kind of_ —

 _ **No. Just. No. C'mon, let's focus here… What are we doing again?**_

Harvey silently began to crush the cleaner leaves in his fist, squeezing the juice out. He dabbed the liquidy substance over his fresher stings, trying to block memories of the visions that had come alongside them.

 _Put the moss on top of the ribs, secure them._

 _ **See if we can find a meal.**_

He flicked the coin.

 _Plink._

Heads _._

Harper watched him meticulously secure the coin under his knee, so it wouldn't slip away. "Why do you use that thing?" she asked.

 _Lie to her._

 _ **Tell the truth.**_

 _Clink._

Tails.

"I use it to help me out," he told her.

Harper shifted uneasily, obviously uncomfortable with his answer. Harvey couldn't understand why. He was honest, wasn't he? Hadn't he done what the coin said?

He picked up a handful of soaked, bendy branches, looping them around his chest and over the spongy moss he'd put near his rib injury. He rubbed some residual mud on his thighs and set to work on trying to secure the branches to each other.

His district partner spoke up again. "Help you out with what?"

Harvey snorted. If only she knew. "Just… decisions, I guess. You know, like choosing between left and right?"

"So, you let it make your choices for you," Harper translated. She let that thought sink in. "That can't be healthy."

"What are you talking about?" Harvey asked. "It helps me. _With everything."_

 _ **No more arguing,**_ one of the voices said.

 _No more fights._ The second one agreed.

 _ **Just you, me and the coin.**_

 _No second chances. No take backs._

 _ **From now on, the coin's word is law, between us.**_ The voice told the other voice. _**And we won't do anything to change that. Never again. Deal?**_

 _Deal._

A little part of Harvey's mind, the No-Man's land between the two voices, wondered where Harvey fit into that rule.

Harper shivered, and he had a nagging feeling it had nothing to do with the humid environment. He pushed it aside, hauling himself to his feet. Snatching one of his throwing knives, he cut the thin branches on his chest in halves, tying them together in a shoddy braid. The branches were young, alive and wet, allowing them to bend relatively easily. Once they dried, they'd hopefully retain their shape.

It wasn't a cast, it wasn't a sling, but it secured his ribcage and dulled the pain. He could move his arms, and he wasn't bleeding to death. That was something. He'd have to move on.

He looked up. The very first stars were starting to shine in the reddening sky, illuminating the dark space where the faces of the fallen would soon be shown.

Harper followed his gaze. "I guess we should make a shelter?" she said after a moment.

"Don't tell me what to do," Harvey snapped. He froze, glancing at Harper worriedly before looking away.

Where had that come from?

 _ **Crane and Tetch. Hunt them down. Get revenge for making you like this.**_

 _The tracker jackers. Apologize. She hasn't done anything._

 _ **Yet.**_

 _Plink._

Heads.

"I'm sorry," Harvey said honestly. "I just — the 'jackers, my side, it's been a long day—"

Harper glared at him, her blue eyes narrowing down to thin slits. "Really?" she spat out. "Wow, Harvey, _I had no idea._ It's not like I've been _dragging your sorry ass_ out of everything so far, right?" She stopped, patronizingly lifting a hand to her chin. "Oh, _wait._ I _have._ I thought _you_ were the one that had all that Games training — has it helped yet?"

 _Breathe. Breathe_ —

 _ **She's asking for it, punch her, DO SOMETHING**_ —

Harvey's eye twitched. "Harper, I'm warning you, don't push me—"

"Push you?!" Harper snorted, her badly-dyed hair sweeping in front of her face. She shook it away, stepping closer to Harvey. "I thought you were meant to be _good_ at stuff like this. You have that Taskmaster guy, you have training, you have sponsors. For God's sake, I started with _nothing_ and I'm doing better than you!"

 _ **Grab her, hit her, use your knives**_ —

 _We can calm her down, right? Just ... we don't have to do that, we can reason with her_ —

Harvey ignored both of the voices. "Are you kidding me?!" he screeched, his voice reaching a crescendo. "Do you know how _unfair_ everything's been so far? I've been taking the hits _every single time_ while you're getting away _perfectly fine,_ and I still took out Slade, I still killed the Three boy—"

"Oh, so it's about _kills_ now?" Harper sneered. A wall was crumbling inside her even as Harvey watched, a build-up of bitterness and anger spilling out. "Was that why you started going after Pamela? _Kills?_ In the _Career Pack_ that _Jack_ had to build because you couldn't even keep _that_ together?!"

 _STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT_ —

 _ **Just kill her already.**_

Harvey was starting to find the second option dangerously ideal. He swallowed his rage, trying to control the voices.

"Harper," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "I'm warning you, stop it, _right now_ — _"_

"You know what?" Harper asked. "No. I need to get this out, you need to hear this, you've been no help at all since the Games started, and I'm _calling it._ And if you can't handle it, then it's _your_ problem, I—"

 _ **Kill her, kill her, kill her**_ —

 _I_ — _I shouldn't, it's bad_ —

" _My_ problem?!" Harvey snarled. "Is your brother _my problem?"_

Harper stiffened. "Don't you talk about Cullen."

 _ **Kill her, strangle her, slowly, watch the life drain from her eyes**_ —

 _No, just_ — _teach her a lesson, make her hurt, you can't kill her_ —

"Oh yeah?" Harvey asked. "I talked to Masters, you _told_ me what the victors were planning, how they wanted to use _your little brother_ for the Games, and I know that if it wasn't for me, your sweet, _innocent_ Cullen would be _lying in a Capitol coffin_ by now—"

And then Harper punched him in the face.

They both froze, standing there as the last of the day's light trickled away, stuck in place in the middle of nowhere.

Harvey wasn't sure if he should be angry or ashamed or regretful.

 _ **Kill her. Slowly. Painfully.**_

 _Hurt her. Snap her leg. Make her suffer._

The little bit of Harvey that wasn't good or bad or fair didn't want to follow either of those options.

 _ **We made a deal,**_ one voice growled.

 _The coin,_ the second one demanded. _Use the coin._

And Harvey flicked his coin.

 _Clink._

He stopped. Looked at Harper. Looked back down at the coin.

 _ **The coin said so.**_

 _Do it._

He couldn't do this. Not to Harper.

 _We're fair._

 _ **We're always fair.**_

Not after everything she'd done for him.

Not like this.

Harvey took a deep breath and met Harper's eyes.

"Run," he told her.

Her eyes widened. "No, wait, Harvey, I—"

He swallowed, doubling over, blocking out the pounding of the voices in his head. "Just. Go. Get out of here. Don't come back."

"Harvey—"

"GO!" he roared, and Harper gave him one last look and ran as hard as she could.

The voices in his head were screaming, shouting incoherently, battling for control over what to do in his head. Harvey dropped to the wet ground, his knees sinking deeper in the mud.

 _ **Never again,**_ the voice told him.

 _We are going to be fair._

 _ **Fair,**_ the voices said. _Fair,_ _ **fair,**_ _fair._

Harvey shut his eyes and gave in.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince


	65. Chapter 64: Second Chances

**(A/N): Hello, and welcome back to our Tuesday update! This time, we're taking a quick little peek at the behind the scenes. And we're thrilled to say this means Ophelia Claire is bringing back her Kurt Wagner.**

 **Thanks as always to all of the writers who reviewed both this and the previous chapter. It'll only get better as we go on!**

* * *

 **Chapter Sixty Four - Second Chances**

 **Deeply Hidden within SHIELD**

 **Kurt Wagner, formerly of District Nine**

 **Written by Ophelia Claire**

* * *

" _In life, there isn't always second chance for many things. If there is, then make the most of it." - Raja Shakeel Mushtaque_

* * *

"Drifting? What do you mean, he's _drifting_?"

Coulson placed a folder on his desk in front of Kurt. "I mean that he's spending an awful lot of time with some less-than-honorable victors and Capitolites, and I don't like where it's going."

Kurt flipped open the folder to reveal a stack of pictures. All of them were of Logan. "You've had him under surveillance?"

Coulson laced his fingers together. "We're worried about him." He pointed to a woman who was in many of the photos, often at Logan's side, an arm wound around his or snaked around his back possessively. "Recognize her?"

Kurt studied the woman. "Ophelia Sarkissian. Viper. Victor four years before Logan, right?"

Coulson nodded. "She owns the Princess Bar here in the Capitol, has connections to many of the locals — and we suspect she has ties to Hydra as well. If Logan's starting to throw his lot in with her, then he's on a very dangerous path, and Sarkissian is excellent at hurrying people down that path."

Kurt studied the photos. In most of them, Logan looked like his usual grumpy self. But something else was there, hidden behind the grumbly exterior.

Logan was suffering, and even his stubbornness wasn't going to hold out forever.

"I feel like I might know the answer to this already, but where do I come in?" Kurt asked.

"You are the one person Logan trusts more than anyone alive right now, to be quite frank. Meeting with him a few days ago seemed to get him going in the right direction, but Viper's influence has a tendency to run deep very quickly."

Kurt looked at the photos again. "You want me to meet with him again and… get a handle on where he's at? If he really is being swayed so dramatically?"

Coulson nodded. "And if he is… see what you can do to halt the sway."

Kurt agreed and soon found himself in a tucked-away office deep within SHIELD. He found himself unable to just sit and wait and paced around the small table and chairs that occupied the room.

He didn't have long to wait before he heard footsteps — accompanied by a fair bit of grumbling — approaching the room, followed by Logan entering.

If Logan was surprised, he hid it well. He frowned at him and closed the door gently behind him. "What's the story, Elf? Fury got you playin' clean up?"

Kurt leaned against the table. "So to speak. It might be safe to call this an intervention of sorts."

"Yeah, sure. Over what?"

"This might sound just a touch preachy, and I don't mean it that way at all — I really don't. I know that it's your job to spend time with the other victors, but I…" Kurt pressed his lips together, choosing his words carefully. "Some of them are more than just sleazy, Logan, and I'm worried that there are more than just… bad decisions happening here. There are _worse_ repercussions than a one-night stand. Connections run deep."

Logan narrowed his eyes at that and clearly wasn't entirely receptive to the message. "And what do you know about it, anyhow?"

Kurt hated to argue with his friend but pressed forward. "I know that Sarkissian has possible ties to Hydra, and that you could be a powerful asset to Hydra as well."

Logan very nearly laughed at that. "Right. Not sure how that would work … but it's not her I'm interested in anyhow." He crossed his arms and readjusted his stance to one that was a bit wider. "And it's not just a _possible_ thing."

Kurt tilted his head. "What does that mean? What … what do you know?"

Logan turned and looked around the room for a moment, obviously searching for cameras or microphones.

"It's just us. I promise," Kurt said.

"Who's in the program that you've seen?" Logan asked, though his tone was a lot less confrontational than before. "Have you seen Fox?"

Now Kurt was confused. "Fox? Like … Silver Fox?"

"Yeah, Silver Fox. Have you seen her?" Logan asked.

Kurt shook his head, bewildered. "Not a hair," he said. "And I've been here … almost a year."

But Logan narrowed his eyes further at that and shook his head. "That's … I _saw_ her. With Viper."

"You saw … are you sure?" This certainly was a development.

Logan rolled his eyes and opened up his flannel to show the pair of red, raised marks where he'd been tasered. "Yeah. Got shocked for it too."

" _Mein Gott…_ " Kurt murmured. "I take it ... it wasn't a good meeting?"

"She wasn't exactly happy to see me." Logan let out his breath and headed over to the chairs to sit down. He ran his hand over his face and then looked over to Kurt. "It was her, but she's not … she's screwed up."

Kurt was speechless for a moment, a new thought beginning to grow in his head. "Logan … what if there's another facility? Like this one?"

Logan watched him for a long moment before he nodded lightly. "The way Viper was preening …" Logan tipped his head and let his sentiment fall. "I didn't tell her about you. They wanted names."

Kurt straightened up. "They know about us?"

"But they don't know who," Logan said as he nodded his head. "And I'm not stupid enough to tell 'em."

Kurt chuckled. "Didn't think you were."

"No, but your bosses must if they sent you here to try and fix it."

"I don't think they think you'd do it willingly … but Coulson knows what Viper is capable of. You could end up in a stupor spilling everything you know."

Logan nodded at that. "She's been slipping me something," he said in a grumble. "Been knocking me out. Can't figure out how she's doing it yet."

"If you have the chance," Kurt mused, "talk to Coulson. He might be able to isolate the drug in your system and have some kind of antidote prepared."

"Kurt, if they sent you here, then they know damn well what's been goin' on," Logan pointed out. "It'll keep going on until they figure out who it is that's pullin' the strings. Or until she screws up the dose. Either way."

"You've got a point. I don't want to know what happens when she does that, though."

"I'm doin' what I can," Logan said. "Sealed bottles, no glasses — it'll probably still happen." He leaned forward and let his voice drop. "But since I have you here … the ones that _are_ down there? Are they right? Cause like I said — Fox wasn't. And I need to know which is the right side, Elf."

"They all seem to be fine. Steve, Ororo… kind-hearted as they ever were. And it'd be pretty easy to see that kind of personality shift with them."

Logan sat back and stared at his hands for a long moment, weighing his words. "Do you trust 'em?"

"As much as I can. With my life on missions."

Logan paused, one eyebrow arching a touch higher as he continued to watch Kurt. "I meant Coulson and the people pushing the buttons," Logan clarified. " _If_ the others are themselves … then maybe it's the ones running the show."

"Coulson is like a father to a lot of us here," Kurt said. "I think he's one of the people I trust most. I don't see as much of other agents."

Logan met his gaze and held it. "There weren't any SHIELD agents around when I saw Fox. It was Viper and Drew and a buncha armed guards. I have no idea where I was."

"Then she's under someone else's program. At least so far, we don't get to go anywhere without an agent escort. Ever."

"Well that's consistent," Logan deadpanned before he glared a little harder at nothing in particular.

Kurt chewed his lip for a moment or two. "Logan … if Fox is alive …"

"Who didn't they bring back?" Logan asked. "You have Petey, don't you?"

The name came from Kurt's mouth on a breath. "Kate."

"If she's alive," Logan said in a slow and metered pace. "And she's not with you ... I _will_ find her."

"What if she's like Fox?" Kurt's voice shook just a hair. "What if she doesn't even know me? If she is alive?"

Logan shook his head lightly. "Fox knew who I was. She remembered everything, by the way she talked. If she's like that, you don't want her back."

Kurt let out a sound that was a laugh, sigh, and something like a sob all rolled into one. "Logan, I want her back more than anything else."

Logan nodded. "And I'm telling you, Elf, I'd have died for Fox in a heartbeat. But that … that wasn't the same girl." He dropped the angry glare and gave Kurt an entirely open look. "We were _engaged,_ Kurt. And now? My breathing was an imposition."

Kurt closed his eyes and sighed, trying to stem the prickly feeling that signaled incoming tears. "Maybe it's better if she's dead, then."

"All I've seen is you and Fox. That's why I'm asking about the others," Logan said. "I don't want to be on the wrong side of this fight. If I'm worth anything at all to either of 'em."

"As long as you know what side you want to be on. That's all I needed to hear," Kurt said.

"Considering that they've got you, and the other guys have Viper and Fox — and Drew, who's nothing like I thought … I don't think there's much of a choice."

"Jessica Drew?" Kurt asked. "Hadn't pegged her for the wrong side…"

"Jessica Drew," Logan said, nodding. "I caught more than they thought I did while they had me drugged. Her alliance with Viper isn't an act."

"Good to know," Kurt said. "Are any other victors on her team? Or on ours?"

"Schmidt is obviously with her," Logan said dryly. "I think Quill's alright. What gets me is that it seems to irk all of 'em if I'm anywhere near Creed and not fighting him."

"Well, that does go against all known laws of the universe," Kurt said with a grin.

Logan had to chuckle at that and cracked a little smile. "Hard to avoid," he said. "But he's got no ties to Viper or anyone friendly with her."

"He's just nasty all by himself," Kurt agreed.

Logan nodded and tok a deep breath. "I don't know the older victors," he said. "So I can't help you there. Wouldn't be surprised in the least if half the Capitolites that won't let me breathe were in cahoots with her either."

"She's got a massive influence thanks to that bar,' Kurt said.

"It's a crap bar," Logan said flatly, and Kurt chuckled.

"Because she owns it, or just in general?"

"Yes."

Kurt tipped his head. "Fair enough."

Logan let out a breath and looked around the room again. "If it's bad enough that they pulled you in, then I can probably count on a little chat with Nick too, eh? Seein' as he's 'got plans' for me."

Kurt shrugged. "Can't say for sure. That time I surprised you in his office? First time in weeks — maybe months — that I'd seen him. Coulson is our handler for the most part. Fury's got a couple teeny little things to take up most of his time." He smirked.

"Nah, that stuff runs itself," Logan said with a wave. "I'm going to push, you know that, right? To see for myself."

"If Fury thinks it'll keep you on our side, I wouldn't be surprised. Or maybe if he's sure you're with us. But between you and me — I'd ask Coulson."

"Can't say I know the man," Logan said. "I've been dealing with a guy named Quartermain."

"Clay's a good man. He operates pretty close with Coulson, and Coulson trusts him."

"And you do too then, I'm guessing."

Kurt shrugged. "I don't deal with him as much as you do, probably — but from what I've seen, yeah."

Logan let out a breath and nodded. "I'm not real fond of a group that thinks I need poison to behave."

"Well, that's a point for us, then," Kurt said. "No poison in the drinks here."

Logan paused to consider him for some time. "Getting close, aren't we?" he asked. "If they're this antsy, we gotta be."

Kurt nodded, the humor vanishing from his face. "Yeah. We are. Something big is happening soon."

"Then I guess we're gettin' closer to that drink, Elf." Logan smirked crookedly. "I'll even buy."

"I'll hold you to that," Kurt said, returning the grin.

It wasn't long before Quartermain knocked gently and then opened the door, and Logan got to his feet. "I'm doing all I can to help my tributes, but if they come through — watch out for 'em, will ya?" Kurt nodded his silent agreement quickly before the agent in question escorted Logan out, leaving Kurt to think for a few moments.

After Logan had gone, Kurt made his way out of the bowels of the SHIELD facility, deep in thought.

 _Silver Fox…_ This went deeper than even Fury knew. And Viper knew exactly where to hit Logan's carefully constructed walls to send them cascading down.

Kurt racked his brains, trying to think if there was even one time he'd seen Silver Fox in the TAHITI wing. He'd said no, but maybe … nope. There was nothing.

Kurt knew now just how good Logan was at hiding his emotions. If he'd been engaged to Fox, to see her hate him that much and hardly react while talking about her? Kurt just had a sliver of hope about a girl he'd not seen in over a year and had nearly broken down crying in front of Logan.

Of course, he mused, absence does make the heart grow fonder. Might be a factor.

It was hard to believe that it had been more than a year since his Games, yet Kate's smiling face was still bright in his mind. Missions in TAHITI kept him very busy, but Kurt spent the bits of free time in his quarters with a tablet, watching old clips of the Team Awesome moments of the Games. It had been a bubble of happiness in a world of of sorrow, and if it had been anywhere else, Kurt would gladly go back and spend his life camping with Kate, Logan, and Peter.

One of his favorite pastimes was recalling memories that the cameras hadn't caught during the Games. He was not surprised to find that the Gamemakers had chosen to focus on other things during the quiet mornings where they had just spent time at the nest of the day.

They'd aired the fight with those nasty giant spiders — the first time they showed up — but the next morning, things had been focused on a more active pack of tributes. Logan had gone to dump the spider carcass, leaving Kate and Kurt alone….

* * *

" _How far from here is the river?" Kate asked, idly tapping the tip of her knife on the floor._

" _Maybe a twenty minute walk? Logan will probably go faster. Maybe fifteen each way?" Kurt replied._

 _Kate smiled at that. "So that means we have half an hour, right?"_

" _Half an hour to spend without Logan telling us what we can and can't do to avoid attracting any attention_ — _or how to better the campsite."_

" _Half an hour of quiet," she teased. "Which is just boring. We should do something."_

" _What did you have in mind?" Kurt asked. "Because it sure sounds like you have a premeditated idea."_

 _Kate grinned. "Well, Logan has been teasing us about the funtime campfire feeling. Know any campfire songs?"_

 _Kurt returned the grin. "Stefan and Amanda like this funny little one_ — _it's easy to pick up." With that, Kurt began to sing the silly ditty that Stefan and Amanda had once spent a solid thirty minutes dancing around the house singing in three-year-old voices._

" _There once was a farmer who took a young miss_

 _In back of a barn where he gave her a_ —"

 _Kurt took a comically large breath._

" _Lecture on horses and chickens and eggs_

 _And told her that she had such beautiful_ —"

 _Kate could see where this was going now as Kurt took another huge breath._

" _Manners that suited a girl of her charms_

 _And that he would like her to take in his_ —"

 _By that time, Kate was giggling madly, her hands clasped over her mouth._

" _Washing and ironing and so she did_

 _They could get married and raise lots of_ —"

 _Kurt was laughing now too_ — _Kate had an infection giggle_ — _and he had to fight to get the last verse out._

" _Sweet violets, sweeter than the roses._

 _Covered all over from head to toe in sweet violets."_

 _At this, the pair collapsed in a fit of laughter, hands plastered over their mouths to muffle the noise._

 _By the time they got a hold of themselves, they were still occasionally bursting into little snorts, setting each other off whenever one would break and laugh again._

 _Finally, Kate grinned over at Kurt. "I can't even decide what the best part is. The drama or the fact that you can_ sing." _She looked a bit embarrassed at that when she seemed to realize what she'd said. "I mean… you can sing. Obviously. I just… meant…" Kurt's ears turned a bright pink at her stammered words._

" _You should hear Mama sing. She's got the voice of an angel. She used to sing lullabies to Amanda and Stefan every night, and they'd be out like a light."_

 _Kate couldn't stop her smile. "I like that. I like the way you talk about your mom." She leaned back, propping herself up on her elbows as she scrunched up her nose to try and call to mind an old memory. "I think my mom used to sing too. I don't know if she was any good… it's just a vague idea of mine."_

" _I'm sorry you lost her," Kurt said quietly._

" _I was so little… I don't remember a lot anyways," replied Kate. "But thank you."_

 _They were silent, with only the occasional birdsong to fill the quiet. When they didn't hear anything but the ambient noises of the arena around them, they shared a look, waiting a bit longer until they heard some rushed, crunching footsteps. Both of them were up in a flash, creeping over to the window that looked down on the street. Logan was two blocks away, heading back towards the building, though he was staring off down one of the broken streets._

" _What do we tell him we did while he was gone?" Kurt asked._

" _Hair-braiding party," Kate replied immediately. "Classic slumber party activity."_

" _Well, if you want corroboration…" Kurt mused before scooting over behind Kate and getting up on his knees. He touched her headband. "May I?" Kate nodded, and he lifted it off her head. He combed his fingers through her hair, picking out bits of spider silk and leaves as Kate seemed to relax into him a bit. He gathered a few strands in his fingers and began a quick twist on the side of her head, braiding across the top and down the other side, ending in the back. He was glad to be behind her with a flush creeping up his face, but judging from the heat he could feel on her ears, she was just as pink as he._

 _He finished by pulling the remaining hair into a bun, and with no elastic to hold it, he just tucked the ends in as best he could._

" _It won't hold for very long, but now we can at least prove to Logan we had a hair-braiding party," he said with satisfaction._

 _Kate scrambled to her feet and went to study her reflection on what remained of a window's glass. "That's_ fantastic _! How did you learn to do that?"_

" _Again, it's thanks to one of the_ lieblings," _Kurt said. "Amanda loves having her hair braided, but Mama was so busy all the time that she didn't always have the chance. My friend Kitty taught me so that I could do it for Amanda."_

" _I was always the baby sister," said Kate, turning her head to admire the braid more. "Never got to take care of younger ones."_

 _They heard Logan whistle their signal from the stairway, and Kurt gave the answering call. "Do you know any good campfire songs?" he whispered. "It would really make Logan's day to come back to us singing."_

* * *

Kurt reached his room and sat down on his bed with a sigh. He picked up the tablet he'd been given to use and unlocked it. The background displayed a screen capture of Team Awesome gathered around one of their fires, in a rare moment where everyone had a smile on their face.

" _That wasn't the same girl."_ Logan's declaration echoed in his head.

 _If you're out there, Kate … I'll get you back. I promise._


	66. Chapter 65: Reflections

**(A/N): And we're back with our Friday update! This time, we're giving you Dick Grayson, written as ever by robbiepoo2341.**

 **Thanks to all of the writers who reviewed this and previous chapters. It's really fun to see the first book starting to overlap with this one, and we're glad that you're enjoying that too. And thanks to Slim Summers2002 for your review. Don't worry; we're sure this isn't the last you'll see of Kurt and Logan!**

* * *

 **Chapter Sixty-Five - Reflections**

 **Night Two**

 **Richard "Dick" Grayson of District Seven**

 **Written by robbiepoo2341**

* * *

" _The sounds of silence are a dim recollection now, like mystery, privacy and paying attention to one thing_ — _or one person_ — _at a time." -Maureen Dowd_

* * *

It was amazing how Kory could make even something as simple as eating dinner look like the most graceful thing anyone had done.

Dick didn't care if Kory caught him staring at this point; surely she knew how he felt by now anyway. He had his back against the bark of a tree, his head tipped to the side as he watched the girls he had promised to protect. The little group that Dick had allied with hadn't been able to figure out how to get a fire to take in the overly damp ground when everything was wet, so until they could find something dry, hunting wasn't going to help. But between the four of them, they had at least managed to come up with plenty of edible plants, and that was something at least.

The berries in particular… Dick shook his head to himself as he caught his gaze once again drifting to Kory as she popped another berry in her mouth. Her fingers were sticky red, as red as her lips, and when he finally decided enough was _enough_ with the watching and staring and kissed her, she still tasted like a weird mixture of berries and humidity.

She smiled at him, resting her forehead against his for a long moment before Thea pointedly cleared her throat, and Kory let out a light sort of laugh as they went back to dinner. "I did not realize you were so shy," she teased Thea.

"I'm not, but if you two are going to get lost in each other's eyes all the time, I can find something better to do with my time," Thea shot back, shaking her head at the pair of them. She'd seriously found her voice since Dick's alliance caught up with her — and he wasn't worried about how she was holding up overmuch once she and Raven started to get together with the sarcastic commentary. That had to mean she was at least past the shock stages of losing Slade.

He had been sorry to hear that she had seen him go. That had to be hard, especially because Dick had thought Slade would have made it further...

"I'll help," Raven said, cutting into his thoughts and giving Thea a small, muted smile.

Dick was glad to see it. He hoped Thea would be good for Raven after what had happened at the Tesseract… after he hadn't been able to get to them in time to stop Jack… He had promised to keep them safe, and he'd utterly failed from the very start — but now, maybe, he could keep them _sane_.

But that just got Thea to laugh. "You kidding? If we leave them alone, they'll just keep _going_. Probably forget all about the Games. You should've seen my big brother …" She trailed off and shook her head. "Well, let's just say I have experience with stupid guys."

"How is this _my_ fault?" Dick asked with a little laugh.

"It just is," Thea informed him, tossing her hair over her shoulder as he laughed all over again.

He was lucky to have the alliance that he had, and he knew it.

He was _beyond_ lucky that he had Kory in his alliance, that she was still willing to risk being in it with him with how close they'd gotten in the Capitol.

Helena had said she wanted to stay separate, so that they wouldn't have to face the prospect of having to kill each other for the final showdown — and he had readily agreed. He _knew_ that Helena could win the Games, and he knew that if they were together, it would come down to just the two of them. He didn't want to face that any more than she did. So they had separated — and consigned themselves to nights spent worrying about each other's fates, as Dick had quickly learned when the light show started up the previous night and he suddenly realized he was _terrified_ of seeing Helena projected in the water, because he didn't know where she was. It was bone-deep and breath-stealing, and he didn't know how Helena could _do_ this, sitting in the swamp not _knowing_...

But Kory….

Kory had done the opposite. Kory had only gotten closer, and he was grateful for it. He was grateful for the way she would pull on his arm to get him to turn so she could kiss him whenever she wanted. He was grateful for the way she curled up beside him during their first night and focused not just on gentle kisses but on asking him about Helena — she must have known why he was so tense after the lightshow, and not just because Gar had been in the water. He was grateful that the intimate familiarity that they had reached in the Capitol had carried over into the Games — so far, anyway.

He didn't have any fairy tale ideas about both of them making it out, or even about both of them sticking together until the end. He'd seen enough Games to know that alliances were split, people died… and that just made every single kiss she stole that much better.

There was a part of him that thought she was braver than Helena for staying, though then again, he was well-aware that it was an entirely different set of circumstances. And he knew Helena was brave as Hel for being strong enough to _not_ stick with him. Because it was only the second day and he already wished she was there, selfishly, even though he knew it wouldn't end well.

And beyond Kory, he was lucky to have Thea in the group. She was a lot like Helena at that age — that same confidence with the bow and the same glare if she thought someone wasn't taking her seriously.

He was lucky to have Raven, and that luck he knew intimately because he'd had to fight for it, had gone into the middle of Jack's nightmares to go and _get her out_. He didn't know if she would have had the wits about her to leave otherwise, and even though she'd fought him when he first picked her up, he didn't regret it.

He hadn't wanted to lose anyone else, and after Jack had gotten finished with Gar, well, he only had one ally left that he _could_ rescue.

He could still hardly believe that Gar was gone. The youngest member of their alliance had been so full of life that it was jarring to see him by the time Jack was done with him — lifeless and bloody and beaten. Dick had never considered murder before, but that — that had his blood boiling in a way that he hadn't thought possible. He'd wanted to repay Jack a hundred times over, to lay into the lanky tribute from Eight and make sure, once and for all, he could _never_ do that to anyone else again. And but for the fact that Raven had needed him, he absolutely would have.

Dick wasn't sure how he felt about that.

He was still reeling from the bloodbath, even two days into the Games. Gar had been the glue of their alliance in the Capitol. He was fun, and he was kind, and he was the only one who could get Raven to _really_ smile. And Dick still couldn't believe he was gone — couldn't believe that he was _too slow_ to get there in time.

He should have gotten there in time.

There should have been five Titans. Gar should have been there. He was the one who had insisted that they were "Titans' in the first place.

There was a lot that 'should have' been done.

Dick was brought out of his thoughts by a light hand resting on his shoulder, and he grinned when he looked up to see that Kory was sitting even closer to him, their knees touching, her bright green eyes watching him with sparkling curiosity. "What has you so preoccupied?" she asked in almost a whisper.

"Just thinking about the team," he said, gesturing with one hand to the other two members of their alliance. He pushed aside the thoughts of Gar to focus on the girls he was supposed to be protecting. "And how lucky I am."

"Lucky?" she repeated with a little teasing smile that he was coming to realize meant she was playing with him, and he grinned that much wider as he leaned in and decided to play the game with her.

"Well, yeah. I've got you, right?" he said in a low whisper before he very pointedly cupped her face in one hand, running the edge of his thumb over her berry-red bottom lip until he couldn't play anymore and had to kiss her. He wasn't nearly as good at waiting for the right moment as she was, always _moving_ , never holding anything back. It was probably going to get him in trouble, but seeing as he was either going to die or lose his sister, Kory, and all of the allies seated around him, he didn't think his inability to resist kissing Kory for even a few seconds was high on the list of priorities for him to worry about.

"Yes, you do," she agreed, and he grinned against her mouth before he kissed her all over again, the lingering mixture of sweat and berries the best thing he'd tasted all day.

"No, really. Don't mind us," Raven said sarcastically, though he didn't stop kissing Kory until Kory paused for breath, and then he decided it was probably better to pay attention to their alliance. He had promised to take care of these girls, and he was absolutely planning to hold to that promise, no matter how _badly_ he wanted to run away with Kory, forget the Games...

He cleared his throat to try and get his voice back, since he always seemed to lose it somewhere between his throat and his tongue whenever Kory kissed him, and the two youngest members of their alliance shared a smirk. He knew that he looked ridiculous, that he was so obviously flustered, but he also wasn't sorry about it in the least.

"Right," he said, clearing his throat one more time because, apparently, the first time hadn't been good enough to get his voice working again. "So, tomorrow, I'm thinking we should try to find some shelter."

"You mean beyond the gigantic trees everywhere," Thea said.

Dick nodded. "Yeah. Try and find somewhere dry so we can start a fire." He shook out his jacket, and the waterproof material splashed a few drops that had never made it to his skin. "I mean, I'm kind of tired of being wet all the time, aren't you?"

Kory laughed and leaned her head on his shoulder. "So, what is your plan to keep us warm and dry?" she teased him, tipping her head back so that her breath landed just below his ear and made it hard for him to focus.

 _Not fair, Kory,_ he thought. Not that it was a complaint.

"There's a few options," he admitted. "So far, there's been nothing but trees, but we can always go on the move and see if there's anything outside of the wetlands."

"Nope," Thea said, shaking her head. "I'm convinced it just goes on forever."

"Probably," he agreed with a little smirk before he took in a deep breath and glanced toward Raven. "We could try heading back to the Tesseract to get—"

"No." Raven cut him off sharply, shaking her head with a dangerous sort of gleam to her eyes.

"Right." He swallowed but held her gaze. He wasn't going to argue with Raven, not when he could still see Gar's face in the pattern of his eyelids when he closed his eyes and knew it had to be _so much worse_ for her when she had seen the whole thing up close and personal. "Well, we can't just keep surviving on the plants in this place and hoping we keep finding enough to feed all four of us."

"And if we can build a fire to cook some meat, I can definitely put my bow to good use," Thea said, sounding relieved to have something to do.

He grinned her way and nodded. "That's exactly what I was thinking."

"Then we shall go hunting tomorrow," Kory decided, nodding against his shoulder before she picked her head up to look around the group. "For both supplies and a better base of operations."

"Mom and Dad have spoken," Thea said in an undertone to Raven, who couldn't quite rein in the smirk, though Dick could see she was trying to.

He didn't even bother trying to tell Thea not to call them that, either, because hey, if it made her comfortable, he wasn't going to fight it. She was the youngest tribute in the entire arena anyway — now that Gar was gone — so yeah, they'd sort of adopted her. He was fine with that.

From there, the group of them packed up to find a good grouping of trees, close enough together that they could get to each other in an emergency but not so close that the branches were growing together — which would be the perfect environment for tracker jackers. And none of them wanted a repeat performance when it came to the jackers. At all.

The little alliance stayed as close together as they could while still covering all the ground they needed to. They were always within calling distance of one another — and Dick made sure that he had a line of sight to Raven the whole time as well. Kory watched out for Thea, but Dick had Raven's back. He was sure Raven wasn't doing as well as she tried to pretend, and he didn't want her to slip off because he wasn't paying enough attention.

He'd already lost one member of his alliance, and he was _not_ going to lose another, not if he could help it.

By the time they found the right setting — a grouping of trees with no tracker jacker nests and still enough cover that they could climb up to be dry and reach each other should the need arise — the sun was nearly gone, and they wouldn't have been able to look for much longer anyway. It wasn't perfect — some of the branches were more unstable than Dick was comfortable with — but they weren't going to risk giving up an _okay_ shelter in search of a better one and end up with nothing at all.

The first thing Dick did after that was to grab hold of one of the low-hanging branches of the nearest tree and start to climb up, not necessarily to get to someplace dry or even to show off — though admittedly, with as many trees as there were in the arena, he did _that_ often enough, knowing Kory was watching him.

But this wasn't about Kory or the constant dampness of the arena. The fact of the matter was that it was getting dark, which meant he had to get to high ground, someplace he could see the _whole_ of the water underneath them.

After all, as they'd learned just last night, the parade of the faces of the dead would reflect on the water all around them in addition to the sky.

It made sense, in a way, since there were so many trees that it would be hard to project the faces in the sky and be sure that everyone could see them. But there was something eerie about seeing those faces in the water instead of the pixelated sky. Almost ghostly.

* * *

 _They all knew it was coming. There had only been three cannon blasts that day, and they knew that one of them was for Gar. Everyone in the group had seen it, had tried to stop it. So they knew when the music started playing, loud and brash and breaking through their thoughts, that they were going to have to face their missing friend._

 _Still, when the parade of faces started, Dick had not expected at_ all _to see Slade's face, the first one reflected in the still water. The whole swamp looked green all around them, so the sharp blue of the images looked almost otherworldly._

 _He only had a moment to recover from the shock of seeing the guy he'd spent so much time with as the first of the faces of the dead, and then the kid from Three showed up, and then_ —

 _It was weird seeing Gar's face in the water, because he was smiling so widely and so carelessly, and the last time Dick had seen him… well… he… wasn't._

 _Gar's face was only reflected there for a moment before a strangled sort of sound escaped Raven an instant before a rock hit the water, bringing up ripples and disturbing the reflected image before the music died out and the water went still and dark again anyway._

 _Dick glanced up at Raven, whose face was chalky white and whose lips were parted, but no sound came out. "Raven…" he started to say, but she pulled back and away from him and Kory, her hand covering the bracelet that he knew Gar had given her._

 _Dick felt his heart drop into his stomach as he watched his friend retreat into the shadows underneath one of the willow trees. He had promised her and Gar that he would take care of them, that even though they were much younger, he'd protect them._

 _Some leader he'd turned out to be so far._

* * *

Dick rested his chin on his arms, lying on his stomach on a long tree branch and watching the water as much as he was watching his allies. Thea was chatting quietly with Kory — he was glad to see that — and Raven was pretending to stay busy by hanging their backpacks in the trees so that their supplies wouldn't get waterlogged, valiantly _not_ looking at the water like Dick was. Even Thea was distracted, though Dick was sure Kory was doing that on purpose, so she wouldn't see her former district partner's face in the water when the parade of the dead was repeated with two more names, two more cannon shots, from the day's events.

Dick didn't have the luxury of ignoring the parade, because the one person he cared about outside of this group, the one person he was _terrified_ to see in that water, was nowhere near them, and he had no way of knowing if she was alright _except_ to watch the water.

It was a kind of torture, waiting, watching, resting his chin on the branch. There had been two cannon blasts, and since Dick's group hadn't had to deal with anything more strenuous than a few emotional breakdowns and a little hunting for food, he was sure that the bulk of the Gamemakers' action must have fallen on the others. Diana and Clark were out there… Jason was probably taking down Careers… Hopefully, Jack and his band had run into trouble…

 _And Helena…_

He didn't want to think about what she could have run into, especially as the swamp's nightlife started to come alive. He could hear the crickets, the frogs — and the buzzing, the constant buzzing somewhere further out from not only jackers but mosquitoes and every other kind of insect he could think of ... though obviously, it was the tracker jackers he was most worried about.

Helena could hold her own in a _normal_ fight. This arena, though… it seemed like it was designed to take away any advantages. If she got stung and ran into trouble…

He shook his head. He couldn't afford to think like that. After all, he and his team had done just fine on their own for the past two days ... relatively speaking. Right? She was probably just fine. In fact, one of those cannon blasts was probably from a fight she _won_.

He hadn't even realized that he was tapping his own finger against the top of his wrist until he looked down to see it. _Hel, I know what we said about alliances, but this is so much harder without knowing you're alright_ , he thought to himself and then tried to force himself not to think about it any longer.

Dick was so busy convincing himself not to worry over his sister that he almost startled out of his perch when the music for the death recap started to play — a sure sign of how distracted he was, since he was a _Grayson_ , and Graysons didn't just let gravity win like that.

He had been surprised yesterday to see Slade's face in the recap — though now, with Thea on the team, he knew what had happened to Slade. He wasn't too surprised to hear that it had been in defense of Thea, if he was honest. Dick had known that the two of them were close, had seen the way Slade looked out for her… though he _was_ surprised that all that messing around in the Capitol had landed him, somehow, on Slade's "trusted" list to send Thea to him when it was all said and done.

So seeing Slade's face again this time was a little different — less of a shock and more of a question of trust. He couldn't save Gar, but this time… _She's safe with me,_ he thought, determinedly, as he glanced toward where Thea was watching the image of her old district partner, rubbing at her clothes absently. With how muggy the swamp was, Slade's blood just wasn't drying right on her shirt, and she couldn't quite get it all off. Dick couldn't imagine wearing that much of someone else's blood around this place. As if the bugs and the heat and the fight to the death weren't bad enough to drive a person insane — there was _that_ to consider too, even if Raven had tried to help her clean up.

Cisco Ramon's face appeared next, which meant both of the Twos had survived. Dick watched from high up in his tree branch as the young man's face flickered and shimmered in the pool of water. He'd already seen Cisco's face before, and he was more upset over the fact that he didn't feel much when he thought of the fact that the boy from Three was dead — he hadn't known Cisco well, after all — than he was over a dead tribute.

That was probably callous of him. And he'd never once been callous in his life if he could help it.

The next face in the water of the swamp surprised him. Another Career — Kaldur, from Four. Dick didn't know him well other than that he'd seen the guy arguing with Diana and watching out for the younger kids, but it was still a surprise to have two Career deaths this early on.

 _Too bad it couldn't have been from the other half of the Careers,_ Dick thought with a frown as Kaldur's face faded into Jervis Tetch's, and he let out a breath of relief.

That was the second name. Not Helena's.

He was glad to see that someone on Jack's team was gone — the guy had a small army, and that just wasn't good news for anyone involved. But maybe if one of his little minions was gone, that meant his alliance had been hit. Mutts, other tributes, each other — Dick didn't much care what it was that got them as long as it was something.

Jervis' face faded into Gar's, and Dick turned his attention to the girls underneath him. Raven didn't look nearly as pale as she had the night before — she had a better handle on it — but he could also tell that she was shaken with every reminder of what had happened.

He'd be shaken, too, if he'd been forced to watch…

Dick shook his head. He didn't like thinking about what had happened in the bloodbath, especially when the constant buzzing reminded him in the early morning when he was still half-asleep of the sound at the Tesseract that had surrounded him while he was desperately, _desperately_ trying to wade through the water to get to Gar, to get there in time.

Gar hadn't deserved any of what happened to him. And Dick knew — he just _knew_ — that Jack wouldn't have done half of it if he hadn't known that Dick was supposed to be protecting them.

If Dick ever got his hands on that clown, he was going to kill him.

It had always sort of bothered him, the idea of killing. He'd seen his own parents die in front of him, and he could have gone his whole life never seeing another dead body again. But in the Games, to protect his friends and his sister — if he ever found her again — sure, he could do it. He could take all that training and practice that Bruce had poured into him and Helena and turn it against a lunatic or two.

At least, he was pretty sure he could.

The leaves beside him stirred, and he glanced over to see that Kory had climbed up to join him. He pushed himself up and grinned her way, climbing back her direction so that they were sitting close enough to speak more or less face to face, with Kory standing on the limb just below the one that he was sitting on. She was tall enough that it evened out.

"Will you not join the rest of us?" Kory asked, brushing her hair behind her ear.

"Yeah, I'm coming," he promised with a nod. "Just wanted a good view. You know… to see clearly."

"To watch for your sister," Kory surmised, and he fell silent and nodded. He wasn't sure how she was able to see right through him so easily, and it just made the whole talking thing a lot harder when his jokes didn't quite hide it all. Not to mention it more or less made talking superfluous if she was just going to tell him what was in his head.

Not that he was complaining. It was nice to know that Kory knew what was up with him even though he couldn't seem to form coherent sentences around her half the time.

"I haven't seen her since we left the Capitol," he said as he followed her lead, climbing down through the branches.

"If you are that worried about her, we can go looking," Kory offered, dropping the last few feet into the water below with a little splash. She looked up at him as he did the same with a teasing grin. "The more girls the merrier."

"I swear, I didn't plan it that way," Dick said, shaking his head at her with a little laugh.

"I know, and that is what makes it so much more ridiculous," Kory said, shaking her head and her hair out as she peered around the tree to see that Raven and Thea were setting up for the night. There wasn't much in the way of dry ground to lie on, so last night, Raven had run with Dick's joking suggestion that they all sleep in a treehouse and had made use of the rope in the backpack he'd gotten from the Tesseract. So long as everyone had a lifeline tied to the tree so they wouldn't fall out of it while they were asleep, it was at least a semi-comfortable arrangement for the younger girls, while Dick and Kory slept on the ground together in whatever relatively dry space they could find, seeing as there was limited rope.

Dick and Kory watched as Raven explained the setup to Thea, and the younger girl nodded along to every word. "It is good for her to have someone to take care of," Kory said softly.

"What?"

"It's a good distraction — for Raven, I mean," Kory explained, gesturing to the two youngest members of their alliance. "She's not as composed as she pretends to be."

"I don't think anyone in these Games is doing as well as they pretend to be," Dick pointed out. "The only ones that are — are the psychopaths."

"And we have a few of those," Kory said, her mouth drawn into a frown as Dick knew exactly what she was thinking of. He was as well — it was hard not to. Jack had made sure there was no way any of them would forget what had happened to Gar, no matter how hard they _tried_.

"I'm not going to let that happen to anyone else on this team," Dick promised her when he saw the frown, his mouth moving faster than his brain because, well, he just _couldn't_ let her stand there looking upset. He just couldn't.

She turned to face him better with one eyebrow raised and a teasing smile, suddenly stepping in closer. He was absolutely convinced that she knew the best ways to get him to turn into a red-faced idiot, because she kept doing exactly that. "Neither will I," she promised in a gentle, soft tone until she'd stepped in one more time and her hands came up to rest on his shoulders.

He grinned as he rested his hands at her waist. This was different than those first stolen kisses in the Capitol, when he had been figuring her out, feeling out the situation. Now, she was familiar to him, the way she bit her lip in that single second before she leaned into him, sliding her hands past his shoulders to around his neck, one hand tugging at the edge of his shirt and the other sliding up his neck and into his hair.

Both of them were sticky with the heat and humidity after two days in the arena, but that made it more fun as he pushed some of the strands of hair stuck to her forehead back and away from her face when the first kiss broke, rubbing his dirty thumb over her sweaty cheek in the moment before she kissed him again, laughing into the kiss as she walked him back and he let her lead him until he nearly tripped on the roots of the tree they had just climbed, not paying enough attention to where he was going to know that they were there.

"You guys know there are other people that have to put up with you, right?" Thea called out when his stumbling had drawn her attention.

"They're just _like_ this," Raven told Thea with a distinctly unamused look.

Dick blushed brilliantly, and when he glanced at Kory, he was a little surprised to see that she did as well. Or maybe she was just flushed. He felt that way around her too.

"Well, _I_ shouldn't have to watch," Thea said, shaking her head as she rolled her eyes.

"Then don't," Kory said with a playful smile as Dick felt her hand tracing its way over the small of his back until it rested on his waist, her fingers finding bare skin where his shirt had been pushed up slightly on one side from climbing in the tree. He hadn't fixed it yet because ... well ... he'd been distracted.

She just… didn't play _fair_.

Dick could see Raven watching the two of them, watching their expressions, before she rolled her eyes and let out a noise that carried with her as much annoyance as she could possibly convey. He thought he should probably apologize. He was supposed to be looking out for his team, not …

But then Kory had slipped her arms around him, both arms, resting her chin on his shoulder so that she could kiss him, first on the cheek, and then at his jaw.

 _Seriously not fair._

"We'll take the first watch," Dick said over his shoulder to the other members of his alliance as he slid his hands back around Kory's waist, which just got a light laugh out of Thea.

"Sure you will. Don't go too far, or it doesn't really count as a watch, right?"

"As if we'd leave our friends like that," Kory said with a little laugh.

"Wish you would!" Thea called back teasingly.

Dick shook his head at that. "No you don't!" he called over his shoulder even as Kory took him by the hand and they ducked under the overly low-hanging willow tree for a little privacy — far enough away from Thea and Raven that it wouldn't be rude, but close enough to hear if there was any trouble. Besides, it was early enough that Dick doubted either of them would fall asleep for an hour or so. They could watch out for each other for a little while… Raven would take care of Thea… Thea would watch out for Raven...

Not that he was thinking too hard about that when he had his lips pressed to Kory's, one hand on the small of her back and the other tangled in her wet hair. Her hair was always wet in the swamp, and it tangled easily in his fingers. He could hear the sound of the water under their feet as Kory let out a girlish giggle that just wasn't _fair._

They were just starting to get more involved, one of her hands holding onto his shirt for purchase as he held her tighter, standing in the shade of the willow tree, her skin at his fingertips, when she paused — and then he heard it too. It was a slightly mechanical sound, just quiet enough that he wouldn't have noticed it for how loud his heart was in his ears if Kory hadn't picked up on it.

She was frowning, and he struggled to blink some semblance of thought back to his mind when everything had been _Kory_ only a second ago before he followed her gaze to see the slight reflection of a camera lens.

He wanted to tell her to forget it and pull her back into him. He wanted to kiss her and lose himself in her all over again, because that was the best part of this whole stupid fight to the death — but the mood was gone with that reminder of where they were, what they were supposed to be doing. And no matter how much he wanted to forget it, people were watching.

 _Bruce_ was watching. _Alfred_ was watching.

 _Alfred is going to kill me._

Yeah, _that_ was enough to put a damper on his mood, and he swallowed, letting go of Kory slightly as he cleared his throat. For a long moment, the two of them stared at each other before, at last, he tried to break the silence.

"So... I'll take the first watch," he said.

Her shoulders slumped slightly, but she nodded all the same and gently reached out to smooth the fabric of his shirt. "Our fearless leader," she teased him lightly before she stole a kiss. This one wasn't as involved as the last one had been, but it left him grinning all the same.

"That's the idea, yeah."

She kissed him again, a little longer this time, and then finally stepped back from him, holding him by the hand instead of by the back of his neck as they stepped through the willow branches and headed back to their alliance.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince


	67. Chapter 66: The Play's The Thing

**(A/N) - Welcome to our Tuesday update once again!**

 **As always, many thanks to our writers who reviewed - as you well know, a little nod in immensely important, and very deeply appreciated!**

 **This time, we're going to take a quick peek of the grammatical stylings of none other than our very own InDeepDarkWood. But instead of seeing what's happening with her tribute in the Quarter Quell, we're going to look on the other side of the curtain and check in on Ororo Munroe, best known as Storm! Please enjoy, and don't forget to support your fellow writers!**

* * *

 **Chapter Sixty-Six - The Play's The Thing**

 **Tahiti Underground**

 **Ororo Munroe, formerly of District Eleven**

 **Written by InDeepDarkWood**

* * *

"" _The dead are merely the countrymen of my future."  
_ ― Dean Koontz

" _It's not about the size of the dog in the fight, it's about the size of the fight in the dog."_ \- Mark Twain

* * *

Ororo had two things to be excited about currently, though she was trying to play it cool and confident, like she had everything under control, and the exciting things were just a 'by the way' sort of thing to her day. The first thing that made her heart do little leaps in her chest was the fact that not only was she sitting on a rather high chair, but she could put her feet _on the ground_ without needing to stretch. That in itself was enough to make the day better.

She crossed her arms as the second thing to be excited about was described. Beside her, Steve gave a low whistle.

"That's your plan?" he asked, his frame dwarfing that of the agent in front of him even while seated.

"Yeah, it is. It's a pretty good plan, even if I do say so myself."

"That is a terrible plan."

"No need to kick him while he's down, Steve," Ororo muttered, earning a look from both men. Ororo didn't think she had ever met the agent sitting in front of them before. She certainly didn't recognize his face, at least, though his entire demeanor and posturing did hold some familiarity that she just couldn't place a reason to.

"There will be no kicking," Agent Coulson declared. "This is not what I had planned to be a first field operation for you, Storm, so we'll be sending you to one of the smaller satellites. There will be no fighting. Probably. Most likely not."

"So I'm just supposed to let Ororo be used as bait on a 'probably'?" Steve asked, crossing his own arms with an incredulous look on his face. Ororo flashed him a look, her arms dropping to her sides.

"Listen here, Steve, you're not going to _let_ me do _anything_. We're partners, remember?"

"In this situation, Ro, the chain of command falls to me, which makes me the leader. And I don't like the idea of—"

"I can be just as much of a leader as you can, Steve," Ororo growled, cutting off his words. "And you don't have to _like_ the idea. I'm in."

"Well, I'm not."

"It's like herding cats with you two," Coulson said, though Ororo thought it was more to himself than expecting an actual response. "Captain, this is not open for discussion. I told you this so you'd understand why I'm doing it, not so you could have options. Wheels up in twenty; I'd bring a water bottle." He stood up and made a small gesture that indicated the conversation was finished. "Maybe some snacks too. It's a long way to Five."

For a moment, it looked as though Steve was going to argue with Coulson, until Ororo grasped his arm and slowly pulled him out of the room and into the corridors. Steve took a deep breath once they were alone, his brow furrowed into a disapproving scowl. Ororo let him fume silently for a few moments, scratching her head.

"Well, I think it's a good plan," she said eventually. Steve snapped his gaze back down to her, the look on his face enough to make her think she probably shouldn't continue that train of thought. _Remy would think it's a good plan too,_ she thought to herself. She waved her hands to shake off Steve's negative look and continued aloud. "Well, I _do_! They have a leak, Steve, and we're the potential straw for the bucket. It makes sense!"

"Alright, first off, it doesn't, and second off, I don't know what that means." Steve rubbed his forehead as though the plan mentally and physically pained him.

" _There's a hole in my bucket, dear 'Liza, dear 'Liz..._ " Ororo trailed off her attempt at singing the nursery rhyme Nanny had taught her when it became clear Steve really didn't know what was going on, and she heaved a sigh. "Nevermind that. Look, Coulson's told only one person where we're going, and I know he's sending others out to the districts at the same time, because I saw Eric leave with Bene...Berned...Winky. He's obviously told someone else about where _that_ team's going."

"If his mole is the person he told about us, it will be dangerous," Steve said, his hand moving to run through his hair.

Ororo shot him a pointed look. "Of course it's dangerous! We're heading for a _war_ , Steve, and I don't think you know what that means."

"No, Ro, I don't think _you_ know what it means. You could _die_ because this guy wants to use you for target practice for the maniac running around out there," Steve said firmly, his voice beginning to rise. His grip enclosed her wrist, pressing his beliefs toward her.

"I already have died," she said quietly, and his grip slackened slightly. "I don't plan on doing it again."

"I was there for the fallout in Three, Ro." His voice was softer this time. "We were too late for Mr. Stark."

"You won't be too late for me, though," she answered, patting his hand still grasping her arm. "Steve, this is _good_. We're going to Five; I'll finally be able to know if you were lying through your teeth about it during the Games." She smiled up at him, watching and waiting for a smile of his own, the faint red light pulsing ever so slightly within her left pupil.

* * *

 _Remy had decided that she had too much excess energy that she needed to blow off, and that was why she had killed Cletus. That's what he said he told the authorities, anyway._

" _But that's not true," Ororo said, ducking away as Remy's staff came toward her with intense force, sweat dripping off her brow. "He needed to die."_

" _Would y'stop sayin' tings like dat,_ cher _," he hissed as she struck back at him with a jab. "Sayin' dem tings's what gets a_ petit fille _into more trouble. 'Den dey gon' want to get your pretty lil head checked out. Den what you suppose ol' Remy gon do?" He sighed loudly as his staff connected with the backs of her legs, and she flew to the ground on her back. "You ever tink of ol' Remy when you talkin' like a_ couyon _?"_

" _You could take a vacation," Ororo grumbled, taking his offered hand and then swinging her staff around to clip him on the side. Remy danced away, twirling over to her left. His bo staff came toward her in a steep arc; she sidestepped what she thought was an appropriate distance and then yelped as she misjudged her depth perception, and the staff whacked her on the shoulder._

"Petit _, you done forgot ta dodge now, too?" he asked, leaning toward her._

" _It's this stupid eye," she complained, rubbing at the eyelids._

" _You can see,_ non _?" he asked, and Ororo thought she could hear a touch of concern in the accented voice._

" _It's just… it's not the same as my_ old _eye," she explained. "You know, before it went blind. It's just not as good at picking things up." To her surprise, Remy's gaze flickered around the training area, though they were alone for their session._

" _Dere you go again, sayin' stupid tings," he drawled, latching his staff onto his back. "We done fo' de day, petit. Now don'tchoo go talkin' t'strangers tonight, jes cuz you_ mal pris, _no?"_

 _Slightly puzzled, Ororo nodded in an appeasing way and put her own staff away. She had a few gulps of water, and then they said their goodbyes before she headed toward her room to get a towel and take a much-needed shower._

" _Ma'am?" Ororo turned to see a SHIELD officer standing behind her. "I'm afraid you have to come with me." Her heart froze a little, a wave of panic starting to rise up in her, and she frowned at the woman._

" _This is because of Cletus, right?" she asked with a heavy sigh._

" _I'm not supposed to say," the woman replied with a sympathetic smile._

That means it's to do with Cletus, _she thought, giving the officer a nod and following her down the corridors._

 _Then she woke up, with a_ tick-tick-tick _pulsing in her head, a fuzziness in her brain_ — _and the whole world looked different._

* * *

By the time Ororo boarded the helicarrier, Steve was already waiting, strapped in with the comfortable ease of someone familiar with the system. Ororo's heart was already pounding, and she jumped a little as the door into the carrier hissed and began to close. She cast one last look back at the hanger, giving a small wave to the SHIELD worker on the ground, and smiling as he gave a rather bemused wave back at her.

She dropped her bag opposite Steve, the drawstring tightly closed to prevent her precious cargo from escaping. Years in Nanny's had taught her to be prepared and to zealously guard her possessions; even the months in Tahiti, with her own room and relative privacy, had not changed that.

Then, she set about attempting to understand the seat belt mechanism in the seat. It wasn't like the ones they had used a year ago to get to the Games' arena, and Ororo felt her cheeks burn as she tried to wrestle the buckle into opening, tugging it this way and that.

Her attempts to remain calm over a stupid piece of safety equipment did not appear to work very well, and she froze in her actions at the throat clearing behind her. The noise sounded suspiciously like someone covering up a laugh.

"Do you have anything to add, Steve?" she asked through gritted teeth, shooting a murderous glare over her shoulder at her partner. At least he had the decency to look both surprised and bashful in the same expression.

"Me? I just… I mean, I know you can do it, I just..." Steve trailed off, his hands moving over his own seatbelt to unbuckle the harness in demonstration. Ororo blinked rapidly a few times, not quite fully comprehending it, and Steve repeated the motion. This time, she gave him a firm nod and successfully released the buckle from its clasp. She swung around to sit into it, and pulled the harness over her shoulders and stomach.

"How can it be a safety thing if I can't even get out of it?" she grumbled to herself, now fastened securely into the seat. "This is almost as stupid as death by wood in New York." Steve let out a loud chuckle at the words, leaning back into his seat, and Ororo narrowed her eyes. "You seem a bit more excited now," she noted as the engines whirred underneath them, and the carrier began to move.

"Role reversal," Steve answered. Ororo ignored the gesture he made toward her and followed his example, leaning back as the carrier picked up speed. "I can't do anything being angry at Coulson's decision, so I'm guessing I'll just have to make the most of it."

"Clear head," Ororo said, nodding in approval. "I like it, partner."

The two fell into silence, Steve closing his eyes and crossing his arms, Ororo swinging her legs back and forth, tapping her thighs in time to the quiet music that floated toward them from the cockpit. She wondered if the pilot knew who they were or was even able to see them from there. Tahiti was a close-kept secret, operating outside of SHIELD; it would make sense if there were unwitting participants in the game Nick Fury was playing.

 _Like chess,_ she thought, thinking of what Steve said about his fieldwork in Three. Her thoughts turned to Tony, and she wondered if he was still alive — and still playing chess. _Probably,_ she reasoned to herself, the hum of the engines agreeing with her. Tony was a genius, even though he was young. _And annoying._ It wouldn't make any sense to bring her back and not him.

Her heart caught a little as the thought surfaced, as it always did when that niggling wonder came to her mind. It didn't make any sense to bring her back at all, in her eyes. Remy was just as good at hiding as she was, and he was older and had more experience. He could do the same thing she could. She spied a glance at Steve and pursed her lips, debating whether he would get along with her supervisor.

 _Maybe_. Then, she remembered Steve hadn't been a huge fan of the staff-spear they had created while hunting and could picture the look on Remy's face. "Maybe not _,"_ she whispered aloud. Steve opened one eye to peer over at her.

"Hrmmm?"

"I...I'm just thinking how you're going to avoid people in the district that you know," she said after a few moments of desperate thinking, squashing her worries over being chosen down and away. _Nick has his reasons,_ she told herself, picturing the one-eyed man in her mind. "I mean, you do look a bit different since they last saw you. I don't think anyone would recognise you, but… I have my balaclava."

"Don't worry; I have something," Steve responded. "You're not the only one with a kitbag, you know." He was silent for a moment. "And I hope I won't be avoiding some of them. I hope we'll be talking to some of them..."

"Do you think they're part of the resistance?" she asked.

"I hope so," he said, a small smile dancing on his face.

"Peggy?" she asked, recalling their conversations late in the nighttime. Steve gave a short nod. "Bucky?" The smile faded from his face, and she watched his skin tighten up.

"He umm...He—" Steve broke off and coughed a few times. "He died last year, Ro. Saving people from a fire. A hero. I thought you knew."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Steve."

"It's alright," he said, waving it off. "I'll get to see Peggy at least. That's something."

* * *

Ororo jerked as something connected with her foot, and her eyes snapped open to find Steve watching her with an amused expression. The 'something' turned out to be his boot, tapping her awake. She hadn't even realized she'd fallen asleep. There was a faint ticking sound as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and a low pulse that indicated her eye had also woken up.

"Everything alright?" she asked, glancing around the carrier. They were alone, as they had been for the entirety of the journey. Steve pointed to the window beside her, unable to stop the smile from lighting up his face.

"We've arrived," he announced. Ororo followed his finger, craning her neck to stare out the window. The world of Five was still crawling like tiny ants, but the carrier was heading for a landing strip, and the people and buildings were quickly growing in size.

"It's all so close together," she breathed, trying to take it all in through the little portal, forgetting for the moment that she didn't _need_ a window anymore. She closed her eyes, and the world outside the plane wall lit up in murky colors, like a photographer's darkroom. She could make out the wall, but it was hazy, and the sky and the buildings outside were much clearer.

Glancing downward, the ground she stood on was see-through, and she quickly opened her eye again, the world resuming its normal color. _Vertigo is not fun,_ she thought. _Though at least no more small spaces to worry about._

"Well, we have some people on the outskirts, with farms," Steve put in immediately, and Ororo snorted at his words.

"They're gardens in comparison to the real farms," she countered. She pointed at the large stacks that loomed over the other buildings, casting shadows through the town. "What's that?" Steve straightened in his seat to peer at what she was looking at.

"Oh, that! That's the main power plant; there's a lot of smaller ones around, but that's the Capitol's power outlet," Steve explained, then made a circle with his hands. "They're the chimneys with the vibranium inside them, remember?"

Ororo nodded, feeling a stirring of homesickness for Eleven, but the memory seemed to have sparked something in Steve, and he began to point out other buildings, explaining its use as the ground seemed to rise up to meet them, and they landed in the main Sentinel barracks.

Her heart sped up a little as the wheels touched the ground, and she quickly reached into her bag, pulling out the balaclava Remy had given her; she had modified it a little so when she pulled it on, part of the mohawk poked through the middle, but it covered her face, and the gloves that followed covered her fingerprints. Aside from the oddity of a mask, there was nothing out of the ordinary to a citizen of Five. They already had a cover story for it anyway. Electrical burns to the face were not uncommon in the district; Ororo was just one of the many casualties of powering Marvel.

Glancing over at Steve, she saw he had already donned his own cap, the mask covering his face to the cheekbones. "Huh," she said, cocking her head to one side. Steve mirrored her look, and the mask raised in tandem with his eyebrow. "I didn't think that would make you unrecognizable, but… it does."

"This isn't my first dance, Ro," he pointed out, strapping his own bag onto his back as the back door began to open. Ororo followed suit with hers, clipping it around her middle. "Remember, this is a supply run, so we've got to be back by dusk." He gave a huge sigh of anticipation, his fists clenching and unclenching until Ororo gave him a swift punch on the shoulder and jerked him out of the cycle.

"Is that for me to not get distracted, or you?" she teased, smirking underneath the balaclava as the pair made their way off the carrier. Coulson had given them any documents they would need to explain themselves, assuring the pair that Ororo's height would not be an issue " _provided she doesn't open her mouth around the big guys."_

"I can't believe you get to be a Captain," she muttered as the Sentinel on the dirt waved them through, not even sparing a second glance at their attire, and they headed straight out of the barracks into the streets of Five. Steve was hardly listening to her, though, his gaze darting all around the town, and she staggered away from him as he clapped her on the shoulder, gesturing towards a random shop.

"That's the place me and Peg would meet up after work was done," he said, then pointed over to an alley on the other street, "and that's where I got my inhaler stolen." Ororo followed his finger as he traced his memories down the road to where it opened into a square, "And _that_ is where Bucky punched the guy's jaw nearly clean off."

"You had an inhaler?"

"Well, it was Ma's concoction, but it worked all the same," Steve answered. "Haven't needed it since coming back, mind you." Then, he was back to pointing things out and telling her little anecdotes about the streets he grew up on, and Ororo found herself smiling along with him, laughing at his demonstration of climbing on one of the street signs, the action bewildering in his current attire. She turned down a sidestreet every so often, usually sparking another memory from Steve's vault, meandering to the giant power plant that silently towered over the district's main town.

Ororo could feel the patriotism for his district oozing off Steve, and it felt like she was bursting a beautiful balloon when she grasped onto his arm and tugged at him to stop, tilting her head towards a derelict building and closing her eyes.

 _Tick, tick, tick, tick_. The whole world lit up in blacks and grays and whites, the obstacles to vision taking on a stormy appearance. Through the walls of the decaying place, Ororo could see paper cut-outs of people congregating at a metal table of some kind.

"I count five right here," she said, her voice falling to a whisper, aware of Steve shifting in an uncomfortable manner. "There's a way up to the side. I'll go that way—"

"That building doesn't look secure," Steve cut in, his whole body tense beside her.

"I'm small and light," Ororo said. "I thought that was the whole reason I was here. To be sneaky and hide."

"Alright, fine. You take the side of the building, and I'll go around. I know this place; there's a back entrance I can go through. We can prong them if they try to run." Ororo gave a nod of understanding, and then the pair split up.

" _If y'unsure 'bout t'integ'ty 'f t'ground,_ petit _, jus' stick t' walls. They'll tell y'what's what._ " Remy's words echoed in her head as she maneuvered up the building's side, keeping her feet light to avoid creaking. Steve was right; the building was _not_ secure. The charring on the walls showed the structure had been damaged by fire. Still, she didn't think it was any worse than the concrete jungle of New York, and she had coped alright then.

She was able to make out voices of the group they were following now and closed her eye briefly to confirm their location, altering her course slightly. She didn't want to spook them by dropping down miles away from their position. Coulson's information had been accurate, though. _He has good spies,_ she thought, her mind flickering back to the Sentinels in the barracks.

"Do you really think he can be trusted?" one of the people below was asking. Ororo watched another person throw his hands up in the air.

"Umm, I'm right here you know. Hello?"

"I'd trust him with my life," a third person said, crossing his arms firmly.

"But his father—"

"—Isn't standing here." It was a girl who spoke. "And I don't think you can say anything of family. That's a pot calling the kettle black." _Family stuff,_ Ororo thought, grasping onto a beam. _That's my cue._ She had already plotted the course down, and it was a simple matter of monkeying down each level to land on the ground with a low thud. Her head came up as the five people in the room turned to look at her almost in unison.

" _Scatter!_ " This was a new voice, that had been quiet during the argument, but the other four all listened to her and sprinted for the back entrance.

"Wait!" Ororo called out, holding her hands up as Steve appeared and completed the prong. The boy they had been talking about drew back his fist and swung toward Steve. Ororo hid a small smile under the balaclava as Steve whipped his head back and dodged the punch, and the boy staggered all by himself.

"We're not here to arrest you," Steve added to Ororo's call, his large frame taking up the exit. He paused as he took in the group, his gaze resting on the girl who had defended the boy, and Ororo heard a sharp intake of breath through her earpiece.

"Steve," she hissed quietly, knowing he would pick up her words. She followed his gaze to the pretty brunette who was watching him with a determined look on her face and then back as he shook his head, snapping himself out of the delayed pause.

"We just want to talk."

"That should not be included as part of my assessment," the first boy pointed out, taking a few steps back to rejoin his group. "I did not know fighting was going to be included, and I was not prepared for him dodging. I swear."

"How did you find us?" It was a copper-skinned, short girl who spoke, demanding and calm, her fists the only sign of nerves. "You have a funny way of wanting to talk, sneaking up on us."

"We've been keeping tabs on you and your… activities," Steve explained. Ororo kept quiet, like Coulson suggested, shooting any of the group a look when their gaze darted toward her, "so we know that this isn't the whole operation."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," the girl said firmly.

"Kamala Khan, sixteen, daughter of Yusuf and Muneeba Khan, daytime school-goer, nighttime savior of District Five." Kamala's shoulders tensed up, her fists rising up into a fighting stance. Steve pointed at the boy who'd taken a shot at him. "Winslow Schott, sixteen, son of Winslow Schott Senior, daytime school-goer, currently nighttime school-goer." Kamala's hands came down ever so slightly, and Steve smiled. "I'm Captain, and that's Storm. Daytime saviors of Marvel."

"We like what you're doing," Ororo pitched in, flashing the group a thumbs up.

"And we're here to help you, if you can help us in return."

"What do you think _you_ can offer us?" the brunette asked Steve, who looked briefly starstruck.

"Protection," Ororo said.

"Protection," Steve repeated, "for when the rev-"

The shot came out of nowhere, but Kamala seemed to hear it a millisecond before everyone else, since her body moved just enough that the bullet whizzed past her and embedded itself in the beam behind her. Time seemed to freeze, and Ororo caught the momentary panic on the brunette's face, replaced with outrage a heartbeat later, and shock on all the others' expressions. And then another shot came, and the world began to move again.

" _Out in de big ol' world, all you gon' get is hidin', and dem other ones? De ones you hidin'_ from _? Dey got more'n staffs."_ It took a moment for Ororo to realize where the shooter was coming from, since there was no glass for the bullet to shatter to announce the direction.

"I thought you said you wanted to _help_ us?!" Kamala yelled at Steve, sprinting toward him and the exit.

"This is _not_ us," Steve insisted loudly, his body blocking the two girls as they reached him. _Stay calm,_ Ororo told herself. Steve's words crackled in her earpiece. "Storm, come on!"

Keeping low, Ororo raced towards the exit on a wide swing, attempting to stay out of the line of sight. _Pop. Pop. Pop._ Wood that had survived the fire splintered from the bullets' impact, and she blocked her face as she neared the exit, pausing to grab one of the group by the shoulder and haul him towards safety. _Rookies,_ she thought, gulping slightly. The Games hadn't had guns. So maybe she was a rookie too.

"Thanks," the boy breathed.

"No problem," she shot back, gesturing for him to follow her through the back exit.

"I'm James," he offered, and Ororo gave a small groan. "Olsen."

"Not really the time, James," she said, casting a look back at him. "And there's too many Jameses. You'll probably want to change that. Maybe 'Jimmy'?" Ignoring his slightly perplexed look, they burst out into the open air. Kamala was already waiting for her group, Steve and the other girl with her, her partner still hovering protectively over the latter.

"Scatter," she ordered, her voice authoritative. "Meet at the usual. Oh, and Winn — welcome to the resistance." The boy who had taken the swing at Steve positively beamed at the words, then cringed as another shot rang out.

"There's a way to conta-" Steve tried to finish what he had been told to say, but the group had already split. If dust clouds existed in Five, Ororo could imagine them gathering at the heels of the runners.

"Come on, Steve. Five won't be abandoned when the revolution starts; we'll let them know another way," she said, closing her eyes and whipping her head around to where the gunman had to have been. She pointed through the derelict building. "Shooter is in the next building over, I think. Whoever is in there is moving fast." _Like we should be doing,_ she added in her head, hoping Steve would take the hint.

"Firing on civilians," Steve muttered, his fists clenching. "Firing on...on Peggy." _Oh_. It made a bit more sense now. Steve was already running towards the shooter while Ororo processed the information.

"Wait! Captain!" she called out, running after him, thinking that Coulson had made a grievous error letting Steve go to Five. She tried to think if it were the other way around, and Steve was trying to stop her from going after someone shooting at Forge, and her mouth set in a grim line. She closed her enhanced eye, seeing Steve through the building turning the corner.

It was almost a shock to catch a glimpse of the attacker ahead of Steve, and it was even more of a shock when Steve produced something from beneath his jacket and threw it at the retreating form. It hit the stranger, and he stopped running, turning.

Through the earpiece, Ororo heard Steve give another sharp intake of breath, and he had stopped too.

"Bucky," he whispered, and Ororo was close enough now to visualize them without the aid of her eye. Steve was frozen to the spot. Ororo could almost hear his pounding heart in her earpiece as the word _Bucky_ tore around her mind, bringing back all the stories Steve had told her in the arena. "You're alive."

The boy he called Bucky was raising his arm, and Steve was holding up his hands. "Bucky, it's me. It's Steve." He tore the cowl off his face and seemed mesmerized by the sniper's face.

"Captain, get down!" Ororo called, willing herself to go faster, because _she_ could see the gun in Bucky's hand, aiming at her friend, even if _Steve_ couldn't. " _Steve!_ "

She barrelled into him as the shot went off, and Steve let out a soft ' _oomph'_ before they hit the ground, Ororo's fall cushioned by her significantly larger partner. She rolled off him, already reaching for her staff to face the attacker.

Bucky took a couple of slow steps backward as she brandished the bo and then turned, rolling something back up over his face and racing away. In Eleven, a cloud of dust would have followed. In Five, she watched him turn down an alleyway toward the big power plant — and disappear.

"Bucky!" Steve was pushing himself off the ground, his face twisted up in confused anguish. " _Bucky!_ " He made to go after him, but Ororo blocked his way.

"Steve, you've been shot," she informed him, sidestepping in time as he attempted to go around her.

"Gotta get to Buck," he said, waving off the injury and causing a wave of scarlet to appear at his left shoulder. Ororo reached up and grabbed him by the jaw, forcing him to look away from the disappearing Bucky and meet her gaze.

"We have to tell Coulson we were set up, Steve. He has to know who his mole is," she said firmly, trying to make herself sound like a leader, since her partner was currently incapable of it. "This is bigger than us. He needs to know."

Steve's shoulders sagged, and he glanced away from her to where the bullet had entered him, seeming to only just become aware of it.

"He didn't… he didn't know who I was, Ro."

"I know, Steve."

"I… This isn't him, Ro, I swear."

"I know, Steve."

"We have to get him back." He returned her gaze, his eyes watery, and she knew hers were the same, because this was Steve, and this was Steve's friend.

"We will."


	68. Chapter 67: Fear and Wonder

**(A/N): Hello and welcome back! This is Deep week, apparently, because we're bringing you another chapter from InDeepDarkWood ;) This time, it's Jonathan Crane!**

 **Thanks as always to all of our writers for reviewing and chiming in as we build this story up. And thanks to Slim Summers2002 for your reviews - they always make us smile!**

* * *

 **Chapter Sixty-Seven - Fear and Wonder**

 **Day Three - Dawn**

 **Jonathan Crane of District Eleven**

 **Written by InDeepDarkWood.**

* * *

" _The enemy is fear. We think it is hate; but, it is fear." -_ Gandhi

* * *

Spanish moss burned.

He had learned this from Pamela, when Sam had thought it a good idea to share creative ideas during training. The symbiote grew in the orchards of Eleven, so he knew what it looked like, and knew of its traditional meaning, but he never needed the knowledge that it burned, so he hadn't bothered to file it away. When would he ever have needed a fire in an orchard?

"Madness, simply madness," Jonathan murmured to himself, as the smoke curled around in a lazy manner. Perhaps Pamela had been planning a rebellion at home, and was planning on burning the Capitol's stock to the ground; she seemed to have foolish notions on a normal day, so Jonathan had no reason to suspect that such a plan was out of the question.

He was aware, after a lot of thought, that it might have been better for him to have taken her with them when they left the Career's camp yesterday — _has it only been a day? Jervis' hallucinogen is aggravating my body clock._ A duo would have been far easier to take down than a trio, and even easier if she had fought with them.

Not that Jonathan had done much fighting.

"Serves him right," he continued aloud, moving the turtle shell around on the fire, causing a feeble crackle to emit from the flames. Jonathan prided himself on being in control the majority of the time. It made him cold right to his bones knowing that Jervis had been making him do things for hours without his knowledge.

Though he didn't know the real feeling of fear, he was well acquainted with the feelings of humility and embarrassment and could only imagine the idiotic things his self-confessed Mad Hatter had made him do.

* * *

 _Jonathan's grip on the crowbar tightened as he waited in the back alley behind the school. His nose still sat a wonky way on his face, and his left eye still looked like a raccoon with a motley black and blue discoloration, but beyond the superficial injuries lay a more primitive wound, one that festered and infected the rest of his body with each passing day._

 _He watched the rest of the children leave the school, fixing his glasses absentmindedly, his gaze intent on finding his target and his heart flipping his chest when he finally spotted who he was looking for. The bulky teenager was heading down the street away from the main town area, one arm draped languidly over the blonde girl that decided to be_ his _girlfriend instead of Jonathan's._ Not that I have _time_ for such foolishness, _he thought to himself, still not sure if he believed the words._

 _When enough space had passed between them, Jonathan fell out of the alley and into step with Bo, his injuries flaring up smartly, his knuckles still raw from their fight, skin chipped from both Bo and the girl he had hit. He hadn't seen the girl in the last couple of weeks. A small part of him hoped she was alright. It was a very small part, though, one that rarely surfaced, and when it did, the rest of him squashed it back down in its place._

 _Slowly, the foot traffic filtered out, until it was really just the pair ahead of him and Jonathan walking down the road to the local not-so-private private area. The crowbar felt light in his grip, ready to do what it had been selected for, burning with the heat of embarrassment he had felt getting into a fight in front of all those people. He sped up, closing the gap between him and the couple._

" _Hey, Bo," he announced as he came within striking distance. As the big teen turned, Jonathan swung the crowbar, aiming for his face. Unprepared, the bully was caught clean on the temple and staggered, his head no doubt spinning. Jonathan didn't give him a chance to recuperate, lifting the crowbar up and swinging again at Squires' head. He withdrew again and hit him once more. Beside them, Sherry screamed, and Jonathan paused, looking up. He gave her a withering sigh._

" _Oh, shut up, Squires," he growled, momentarily stopping his beating on Griggs and striding over to the blonde who had rejected him so dismissively. She seemed frozen to the spot and then, like a jackrabbit, tried to spring away. He caught her by the arm and yanked her back sharply, swinging the crowbar with his other arm and cracking her against her lower back. She twisted in an awkward way, and he released her to fall on her face in front of him._

 _He gave her a couple more cracks on the back with the sharp end of the bar and then let out a deep breath. "Much better," he said, as she lay there silently, and then headed back over to Bo, wiping away a fleck of blood from his glasses._

 _He'd have to wash his face before he went home to Grandmother._

* * *

There was a murky haze starting to appear on the fringes of his vision, and he gave himself a small round of applause as the smoke started to take on a smell. Reaching to his side, he pulled out the contraption he had been working on once he had gotten away from the three girls. It hadn't been easy, and he had spent much of the time muttering to himself about how useless logs and other natural things were for containers. Strong grass from the shallows of the swamp acted as rope to weave together the bits of bark and hollow logs he had gathered from the watery depths.

"I've probably gotten cholera from this adventure," he grumbled to himself, carefully setting the log travel system — so crude and primitive in comparison to his actual gas containers at home — above the smoking substance within the fire pit. "Cholera Crane does not have quite the same ring to it as Typhoid Mary, though, wouldn't you agree?"

He wasn't entirely sure who he was speaking the question to: _The Capitol? Falcon? Mr. Tetch?_ He settled on neither of the options and voted that he was just speaking to himself. His nose tickled ever so slightly from the inhalation of the fumes he had created. This was his third attempt to bottle the gas, his previous two attempts failing insofar as all it had given Jonathan was a healthy bout of sneezing.

He had been modifying the transport system after the previous one had let all the gas out with a hiss and had burst right into his face. Extra bark now clad the original delivery system, and he had relinquished the arm of his jacket to act as a tangible barrier. Already, he regretted that, since the mosquitoes took a liking to his pale complexion. He swatted at one absentmindedly. "I have no blood, you imbecile," he growled, waving his arm this way and that. "I certainly would be a lot redder if that was the case. Like that possessed boy from last year."

His log pipes trembled a little under his hand, and he turned his attention back to them, keeping his head a safe distance from his work in case it decided to blow its top again. At the far end of the pipes, where it bifurcated into two strands, a small wisp of gas puffed out of one side, and Jonathan gave the gas a wide smile, snatching the water bottle at his side with his free hand and holding it tightly against the edge, his hand quivering with untamed excitement akin to what he was sure other people felt as adrenaline. It was glorious.

This was what Sam had picked him for.

The pre-dawn became dawn light as Jonathan carefully screwed the water bottle cap back into place.

"Ah, Mr. Crane," he said softly, "not your finest work, I will admit, but it will suffice." He put the water bottle in Jervis' backpack, then set about destroying the fire and its attractive properties. It wasn't very difficult to do in such a place; all it really called for was a well-aimed kick of water and some boot stomping.

Daylight brought out the hunters in this place. Trees and leaves obscured the stars at night, removing natural light and preventing poor souls from seeing his smoke, but as soon as the sun came, it brought heat and humidity and vision. "Now, now, now, what to do? I wonder," he continued, spinning on his heel to where his journey's end lay.

" _When all the birds have gone to bed and the sun has gone away,"_ he sang to himself, squelching through the swamp, the mosquitoes on his arm having a field day. " _Up, jumps the scarecrow, and this is what he says."_

He paused at a knoll and set his backpack down, unzipping it to produce Jervis' hat and then putting the pack back on his back. Carefully, he knocked any of the dents out of the fabric of the hat until it stood tall and proud. Then, he set it on the knoll, half hidden to prying eyes.

"Ah Jervis," he said aloud, rapping his knuckles against the hat. "If only you were alive to see this moment. You would have made far better bait than your hat." He had to make do with what he had, though, so this seemed the best course of action. He swung away from the hat in a wide arc, aiming for a one-eighty angle on it. Through the trees, still concealed to most not watching — or not very good at watching — smoke billowed up from a campfire that was his prey.

* * *

What a surprise, _Jonathan thought dryly as Kaldur Ahm's portrait lit up the swamp water in a dazzling display of lights. Truth be told, he had expected to see him up at the end of Day One, after what Harvey and Harper had recounted to the pack, but it made it a little bit better for Jonathan, knowing that Kaldur had likely suffered quite a great deal in the day he had remained alive._

 _He lifted his water bottle toward Jervis' portrait as the little tribute's features appeared, looking delighted to be in the Capitol having his photograph taken. "Thank you, Jervis, for your noble and willing sacrifice," he said by way of eulogy, then fell silent as the lights lit up something else interesting. A small plume of smoke had appeared to the west of him._ I wonder, I wonder, who that could be, _he thought. The trio of tributes, still hunting for him?_ Perhaps. Perhaps.

 _It seemed only fitting that he should go investigate. "The only thing to fear is fear itself," he said softly, making his way toward the smoke, trying to remain invisible. It wasn't too hard vision-wise, though the swamp water made it difficult. He tried his best to stand on more stable tree roots, carefully making his way in the direction of the fire and pausing as he overheard voices._

" _They got his personality in that photo anyway," one voice, distinctly male, was saying. "Although I doubt utter disdain was what the photographer was aiming for."_

 _There was a small, quiet laughter, like the kind you get at a funeral wake._

" _Kaldur would not have approved of his picture in the sky, like some caged animal on display," another answered. "He would say there is no honor to such a charade."_

 _He recognized that voice, and he smiled even as a third voice agreed, the male cousin from Five. "We can honor him our own way. The_ right _way."_

 _He had found Diana Prince's pack._

* * *

Diana was standing over her campmates, and Jonathan watched as, one by one, she shook them awake with the diligent care of one of her stature. _A Capitol rat,_ he thought. _Does she ever sleep?_ He quietly took out the water bottle from the backpack as the reactions of the rest of the pack to waking varied from mild disgruntledness to an immediately upright and smiling companion.

Jonathan wrinkled his nose up at Kara Danvers reaching over to help her cousin stand up. _Far too happy for a life such as this,_ he thought. _Happy people don't win these things. She should know that by now._ He tried to remind himself that she had a mentor that had actually won the games through his charismatic attitude. _Charisma is not the same as happiness. Honestly, what use is it to observe emotions when I can't even get them straight in my head?_

The Twelve tribute, Jonathan's companion while waiting for training assessments, stood beside Diana, speaking to her in undertones. After a few moments, Diana nodded at whatever he said and then seemed to stand taller, as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"This seems as good a time as any," he said to himself, then remembered to stay quiet, since speaking before doing was the best way for any plan to fail. Creeping through the swamp, he kept his movements deliberate in the hopes to reduce any noise, but he was from a desert district, and the orchards were never this soggy while being irrigated.

He made a poor spy.

Diana held up a hand, her head cocked to one side, and Clark uncrossed his arms, his fists clenching together, moving to her side. _All my little ducks in a row then,_ he thought, continuing forward, watching the Four tribute slowly turn around to his approach, her eyes narrowed to spot him.

 _I'm a dingle dangle scarecrow with a flippy floppy hat,_ he thought, then rushed toward the group, unscrewing the bottle as he did so and sucking in a huge breath of air. He blew sharply as the gas unfurled, and there was a peculiar moment where Diana drew her sword partway, and Kara was leaping for her own. And then the gas hit them, and they seemed to momentarily freeze.

" _I can shake my arms like this,"_ he sang gaily, waving the bottle in front of him and watching them stagger as the gas took effect. " _And move my feet like that."_ He threw the water bottle onto the ground, withdrew the dagger, and jabbed toward Diana, catching her on the arm as she snapped her arms upward to block her chest and face. The movement seemed to disorient her further, and she swayed on the spot.

"What in Hades have you done to us?" she growled as Jonathan started to back away toward Jervis' hat. He smiled widely at her.

"All I want is to see what our brave hero from Four is afraid of," he said softly.

"What are you doing here?" Kara called out, and both Diana and Jonathan turned to her. She wasn't talking to Jonathan, though; her words were aimed at Clark.

"I don't want any trouble," Clark responded, his fists still clenched. "But she ain't going anywhere with you, you hear?"

"I thought you said you were hidden!" Kara said, tilting her head back to an unseen ghost and then turning back to Clark, her fists rising. "If you want him, you'll have to go through _me_."

"I don't believe your lies," Clark almost hissed, the venom sounding foreign even to Jonathan's ears, and Jonathan threw back his head and laughed as the bulky farm boy continued. "That's all your family does! Lies, and then taking everything I love away from me. Well, you _ain't getting Lois_."

"I won't let him hurt you," Kara said to her unseen ghost. "You taught me to fight. So I'm going to fight."

"Extraordinary," Jonathan breathed out as both Five tributes lunged at each other, Clark catching Kara with an uppercut and sending her sprawling into the damp. "All that fear, and it causes protectiveness. I wish I had my notepad." He highly doubted that was what M'Baku had experienced and began to try and recall what he had done differently. "Patient individuality?" he asked.

"Indeed," Diana said, and he remembered there were more than two people in the alliance as the teen caught him on the jaw and caused him to stagger away. He reached up to move his jaw from side to side, working out a click, and then took that as his cue to leave, sloshing away from the fisticuffs to his right and retreating beyond Jervis' hat, a safer distance to observe.

His smile returned when he looked back and saw the chaos he had caused. The two cousins were rolling in the swamp, water splashing up and making the pair resemble drowned rats as Kara clawed at her larger partner. He let out a small sigh of disappointment as he realized she didn't have her sword in hand. _No chance of a good, old-fashioned gutting, then,_ he thought. Still, maiming each other was a close second, and he mimicked Jervis' applause from their first pack. _Early days yet; she'll know where the sword is,_ he continued, his gaze roving around to spot how the others were faring.

The miner, the other John, was kicking at the fire, and the sparks flew up and danced with the flames it created. Jonathan could admire the lights twinkling in the smoke in the same way he could admire the look of terror on John's face, and then there seemed to be a surge of flame as the smoke billowed with extra flare. John was obscured in fire for a few moments. When the smoke died down, John had disappeared.

Jonathan did not fear anyone, and he certainly did not fear the disappearing miner. _Crawl back into your little hole in the ground._

Diana was on the ground, kneeling before some unknown entity, her face a picture of defeat as the full effects of the toxin set in. Even from the distance, he could hear snippets of her words.

"Sleep well… the splendors of… Elysian fields… life is… death is a blessing too." Her expression lost its defeatist look as she glanced up, spying Jervis' hat, and she took on a more vicious look, standing up from her genuflexion and drawing her sword. Jonathan watched her stride over toward the hat and could appreciate her ability to stride, since he didn't think _anyone_ else would be capable of doing so in an arena such as this.

He could appreciate her drawing back the sword and stabbing straight through Jervis' hat, puncturing yet another hole in the felt. _Foolish girl, falling for such a cheap trick._ He hadn't expected it to work, truth be told, but it was a warning sign that he should take his leave. _That poor hat._ He lifted his own from where it was attached to the hood of his jacket and set it comfortably on his head.

There were too many variables within the pack to stay and see Kara eviscerate her cousin. Jonathan was already thinking about the next person to gas with the toxin. It had been a worthy first, gassing a whole pack, but he already had an idea for the next time 'round, when it would just be someone all by themselves, and he could make them feel such wondrous, wondrous fear.

It made his heart beat just that _little_ bit faster.

He cast one final glance toward Diana, ready to take his leave, and tilted his head ever so slightly as she started to stride forward, seemingly in his direction. "What an incredibly straight path her fear takes her on," he murmured to himself.

His gaze locked with hers, wide pupils, narrowed brows, and it occurred to him that she was actually seeing _him_ through the fog of the gas.

He took a step back, and then another. "Interesting," he said. "What a fascinating day this was." It was time to go, though.

"To Hades with your mind games, 'Crow!" she called, swinging the sword up into a fighting stance.

Jonathan was tut-tutting to himself even as he decided he should move faster, his feet sinking into the mud and weighing him down, slowing his long legs enough that he suspected Diana would be able to reach him.

He ploughed through the swamp, searching for a copse of trees to seek shelter from his quarry. He was not yet ready to die, or even fight.

Inside his chest, his heart fluttered just that _little_ bit faster.

He spotted an area of dense coverage and altered his course toward there, casting his gaze back to see how far ahead he was.

Diana's sword sliced through his uncovered arm and sent a flash of scarlet through the air, as Jonathan felt tiny needles tingle through it, like a swarm of mosquitoes had landed and all bitten down at once. The wound brought him to an abrupt halt, and he adjusted his grip on the dagger.

"You are a fool to have looked back, just like Orpheus," Diana said, her breathing heavy as she struggled with whatever demons his gas had manifested for her.

"Let me show you what a fool does," he countered, darting forward with the dagger in a swiping arc. The blade caught the fabric of her jacket and sliced cleanly through it; he hadn't accounted for her ducking back. The movement caused her to drop down to one knee, and he smiled through the pain of his knife wound, sending a swift kick to connect with her shoulder and push her off balance into the swamp.

"I wonder what you fear, Capitol rat," he mused aloud. "Death? No. Your people seem to understand death better than most. Or at least have silly incantations and believe in a better place. Loss, then?" He narrowed his eyes, calculating, as he caught her shoulder with his knife, his eyes dancing as he took in her gritted teeth and shallow breathing.

"You think you were selfless, forming this little alliance of vagabonds and miscreants of injustice. But deep down, dear Diana Prince, we both know you just wanted some to worship you. As a hero. As a god." The dagger twirled in his hand, beads of blood collecting on it in the same way beads of sweat marred the brunette's brow.

"I… will… end… you," she growled out, her voice breaking with a noticeable quiver, and Jonathan laughed.

"I think what you fear most is not losing or dying. You fear becoming the villain of your own story." He bent over, folding in on himself, and coming right up to her ear, the dagger trailing across her throat in a superficial line, a burst of scarlet appearing on her skin.

He caught her sharp intake of breath, and it made his heart _pound_ , and it was like being Reaped again, and falling off the roof again, and killing his Grandmother all over again, and his whole body tingled. "That's the difference between us. I embrace it. You deny it. It makes you _weak_."

There was a sloshing sound from the treeline, and a voice called, "Diana!"

Jonathan looked up to see it was the other John, the one he presumed had just run away from his companions, the one who looked like he had gotten the least of the gas. And then Jonathan staggered away from Diana as a sharp pain exploded from his shoulder, the same one she had gotten him at previously.

"You are wrong," Diana hissed, hauling herself out of the swamp, her sword in hand, gleaming with sticky blood. _His_ blood. "It does not make me a weakling in the cold. It makes me _strong_." She swung the sword across, parallel to the ground, the tip barely missing Jonathan's abdomen, and he took a step back. "I am no villain, Jonathan." She swung the sword again, an over-arching shot this time, hampered by the injuries he had inflicted, and he reached up to block the blow with his dagger. The metal clanked together, and the sword slid off his, slicing through his knuckles to the bone.

His heart began to beat a _little_ bit faster, for an entirely different reason.

The hilt of the knife was slick with his blood as Diana advanced on him, her eyes still wide with his gas, but seeing him as clear as the day.

"You haven't got it in you. Too much desire to be the hero, remember?"

"Do not mistake a desire to avoid violence with an inability to follow through." She swung the sword in her hand in a low circle as she walked. "Do you fear death, Jonathan?" she asked him, her voice steady despite the drugs. The dagger fell from his hand as the pain from the deep laceration caused his grip to loosen.

"I fear _nothing_ ," he responded.

Her stride closed the gap as she came almost close enough to feel her breath on his face.

"Fear this," she ordered, and Jonathan had no time to step back, or contemplate life in the arena, or wonder why John the miner was running toward them in the slosh, because his heart was fibrillating within his chest, and the more it fluttered, the faster the blood stain high in his abdomen seemed to grow. Diana was still holding the sword, twisting it further into him, suspending him like the inanimate scarecrows from the orchards, and Jonathan felt butterflies in his stomach and blood in his mouth.

 _Fear._

"Thank… you," he choked out, his vision blurring as he smiled a bloody smile at Diana's grim expression. "Vill...ain."

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince


	69. Chapter 68: You Scratch My Back

**(A/N): Welcome back! It's time for a Tuesday update, and this time, we're checking in with tvfan69's ever-amazing Jade. :)**

 **Thanks as always to the writers who reviewed this and the previous chapter. I know that's practically a rote response by now, but really, truly, we appreciate the support and the love. We really do!**

* * *

 **Chapter Sixty-Eight - You Scratch My Back**

 **Day Three**

 **Jade Nguyen, District Ten**

 **Written By tvfan69**

* * *

"Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer."

- _Michael Corleone, The Godfather II_

* * *

The past two days had been, to sum it up in one word, rough.

Jade spent the first night huddled up inside her dead tree, nearly passing out from exhaustion after she'd forced herself to stay awake long enough to watch the faces of the fallen tributes flash across the sky, as well as the water.

The next day, she'd taken her time with moving on. She wasn't able to hear anyone nearby, so she wasn't in a rush, but at the same time, she knew better than to get too comfortable, unless she wanted the Gamemakers to take notice and add in an extra challenge for her. She made sure to move before the first rays of morning light, and she hadn't stopped since. She had also barely eaten anything in that time, save for one small eel she just barely managed to catch at the bottom of the swamp. Not to mention that, thanks to Helena, she was moving with a bit of a limp. So yeah, definitely a rough start.

It was now well into the morning of the third day of the Games, and in all this time, she still hadn't seen even a sign of any other tribute since the bloodbath. She couldn't help but wonder if this was a good or bad sign, as it could be either. She wanted to think it was good, since it likely meant that everyone else was distracting each other to the point where she'd slipped through the cracks. But on the other hand, these Games were anything but fair, and she knew better than to believe that there was such a thing as slipping through the cracks there.

Case and point, it was about five minutes later that she began to hear the sound of voices.

They weren't far, and that shouldn't have come as a surprise. Over the course of the morning, she had moved onto what seemed to be the closest thing to solid land in this arena. It was muddy and wet everywhere but solid all the same; it would make sense that other tributes would be in this area as well. The thing that did strike Jade as odd was that as she moved carefully and silently through the bushes and closer to the voices, she could hear that one of them had an almost… echoing sound to it. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was something off about that voice, and only when she finally found herself crouched behind a bush where she could see the owners of voices she had been tracking did she realize why.

The first voice, the odd-sounding one, wasn't a person at all but an obnoxious recording coming from some pod marked with a question mark that matched the one from the entrance tubes. The second voice was human, coming out in spoken-aloud thoughts as its owner knelt in front of the pod and discussed with herself what Jade could only assume were possible answers to some riddle spoken by the small pod.

It was the girl from Three, Caitlin, Jade was pretty sure her name was, and she looked like death warmed over. Her clothes were torn and spotted with blood, her face cut up as well, though it wasn't as bad as the rest of her. Briefly, Jade entertained the idea of killing the girl. Caitlin hadn't noticed her spying yet, so it would possible. _Actually, forget possible; it would be easy._ From her position, Jade had a clear shot for potentially throwing her knife into a number of fatal places, not to mention that she could also get up behind the other girl and slit her throat in about five seconds flat. There were probably about ten different ways in which she could kill Caitlin right now, and at least six of them where the girl would never be the wiser.

But Jade was exhausted, and one of the only things that she knew about the girl from Three was that she was smart, meaning that if Jade were to kill her, she would be left alone with that stupid pod, which would probably self-destruct and kill her if she grew frustrated and resorted to smashing it against a tree.

So it was with that thought in mind that Jade began making her way closer to the girl, not bothering to attempt to conceal her limp or avoid stepping on any fallen twigs or other debris in her way; she was confident that the platinum blonde wouldn't try and attack if she heard her coming.

Sure enough. Caitlin looked up at the sound of her approaching footsteps but made no move for any weapons and instead just watched as Jade emerged from the trees. For a moment, the two of them stared at each other, blinking as though they were each contemplating whether or not they were going to kill or trust one another, even if they each already knew the answer.

That, or Caitlin was staring at Jade's makeup.

"What's in the pod?" Jade finally broke the silence; Caitlin only blinked at her.

"I'm not sure," she finally stuttered out, "I think I might be forgetting part of the riddle; I was about to ask it to repeat it."

The small pod must have been sensitive to the command, or maybe to Jade's approach, because the green question mark on it lit up almost neon, and the disturbing voice from the pods they had entered the arena in sounded out:

 **Thread and needle, don't drop me.**

 **I'm made in time and injury.**

Jade considered the words a minute. _Stitches?_ she thought to herself just as Caitlin's face lit up in an excited smile.

"Stitches!" she exclaimed, and with no more than a quick blink of its lights, the pod opened up and revealed a transparent box filled with medical supplies. And just like that, the girls were back to warily eyeing each other.

They both needed the supplies; that much was obvious — so now the question became whether they were going to share them or kill each other over them.

"You ever sew yourself up before?" Jade finally asked, and Caitlin shook her head, her eyes slightly wide as she stared up at Jade, who nodded at the silent answer. "Right," she went on, getting down to her knees and wincing just a bit with the pain that zapped through her thigh with the movement. Caitlin saw it, her gaze flicking briefly to the covered wound before going back to Jade's painted face, which by now was set in a scowl.

Jade held her hand out for the supplies, but Caitlin only tightened her grip on the small container. "Give it," Jade insisted, but Caitlin only leaned further away. "What?" Jade all but snarled the question.

"How… How do I know you won't take it and run off?" Caitlin stuttered, and the question had Jade smirking. Honestly, she wasn't sure if she could outrun Caitlin while suffering from a slight, but still painful, limp. Nevertheless, it sure was good to know that Caitlin didn't see it that way.

"I guess you don't," she answered, her hand still outstretched.

Caitlin hesitated only a few seconds more before finally, warily, handing over the kit.

Jade smiled happily once she had the kit in her hand. Popping the lid open and rifling through it, she was pleasantly surprised to find that it even contained antiseptic, a luxury she had always had to steal or bargain for back in Ten."So, what happened to you?" she asked in as conversational a tone as she could manage while looking for the needle and thread.

"A monster," Caitlin answered in a small voice.

"A monster?" Jade repeated with a snort, looking up to find her new companion nodding as she brought her knees to her chest.

"One of the Gamemakers' obstacles," she explained, "It was some kind of mutant. Some kind of huge, flying, mutant scorpion." She shuddered at her own words, while Jade only chewed on her bottom lip, trying to picture such a creature. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to, however, because it sounded like Caitlin was going to be suffering nightmares about it for quite a while.

"You're lucky," Jade finally murmured, returning to her task. "Most people wouldn't survive something like that."

She wasn't watching Caitlin for a reaction, not really, but she did notice that the other girl cracked a tiny, itty-bitty little half smile at the praise of her survival. Of course, Jade had only meant that she was lucky, but she decided not to tell her that and instead went on with threading her needle.

"So," she said, "where do you want me to start?"

Caitlin, who was already extremely fair-skinned, went pale at the question and began frantically eyeing the marks all up and down her body. "Uhh…" she stammered, beginning to roll up her jacket sleeves before she thought better of it and just took the jacket off completely.

With her jacket out of the way, it was much easier to see the extent of her injuries — how many there were and which ones would need sewing up, along with which ones could be left to heal on their own. For the most part, the scratches on her arms looked as though they would all be able to manage without medical attention, aside from one that was particularly deep and jagged along her forearm.

"Probably there," Cairlin answered, pointing to the wound, and Jade nodded.

"Yeah, good call," she agreed, taking a gauze pad and wetting it with the liquid antiseptic, being very cautious not to spill any. She then reached out for Caitlin's arm, but Caitlin jerked away from the touch; Jade flicked her gaze up in annoyance.

"Sorry," Caitlin said before re-extending her arm, allowing Jade to take it and wipe the dried blood away from the gash.

Caitlin hissed as the chemicals of the antiseptic burned her tender skin, tugging her arm back on reflex but stopping at once when Jade tightened her grip. Once the wound was decently cleaned, Jade went about setting her thread through the needle, missing the eye on her first try but getting it on the second. Once the needle was ready, she took hold of Caitlin's arm yet again and tried to ignore the look of absolute terror in Caitlin's eyes.

"Relax," she found herself saying, "I know what I'm doing."

Caitlin nodded wordlessly, and so she began.

When she first pierced the skin, Caitlin gritted her teeth, and when Jade tugged the thread through, she practically whimpered. "You'll stop noticing it soon," Jade said without looking up from her work. "The pain will turn numb, and you won't feel more than a pinch."

"Uh-huh." Caitlin just barely gave the reply through a stifled cry, inhaling deeply through her nose immediately after, and so Jade spared a glance up to find her subject was staring up at the sky and, quite honestly, looking like she was about to faint.

"Don't tell me you have a fear of needles?" she practically teased, and Caitlin shook her head frantically.

"Not usually," she panted. "I… I know how to give stitches. During training I… I..."

"Hey!" Jade all but shouted when she noticed Caitlin starting to lean back, putting her weight onto her semi-good but currently shaking arm. "Don't move back while I have a needle in you; you'll make it worse."

Caitlin nodded while bringing herself back up. "Right," she said. "Right, sorry I… I don't know… I don't know what's wrong with me."

Jade scoffed at the words and was about to order her to remain still once again when suddenly, the bushes behind them started to rustle, and before either of them could do anything, out walked Harper Row.

Jade had thought Caitlin was in rough shape, but compared to Harper, she was the picture of health.

Physically, Harper looked fine, save for the dark circles under her eyes that indicated the Capitol was probably the last time she slept. Along with that lovely feature, her eyes were also bloodshot, though it was hard to tell if she had been crying or if it was just from the exhaustion; Jade guessed it was a matter of both. She looked back and forth between the two girls at her feet sewing each other up. She blinked once or twice at them, they blinked once or twice at her, and finally, she spoke.

"Are either of you going to kill me?" she asked, her hands on her hips, and the two girls looked at each other, questioningly, before looking back at her.

"Not at the moment," Jade replied, and Harper huffed a little at the answer.

"Good," she declared before walking just to the other side of them and proceeding to lay herself on her back in the wet dirt, one arm slinging across her eyes to block out the offending sunlight.

Jade and Caitlin continued to stare at her for a few seconds, but eventually, Jade turned back to her task, and Caitlin resumed her ever-helpful rocking back and forth.

"Hold still," Jade snarled the command, attempting to pierce through Caitlin's skin for the third stitch.

"Sorry," Caitlin mumbled.

"Not sorry enough to not move," Jade grumbled, mostly to herself, but it was loud enough for Caitlin to hear, and the blonde brought her head up to glare at her.

"It's not like I'm trying to make this difficult—"

"Well, you're doing just that!" Jade snapped out her interruption. "The more you move, the longer this is going to take."

"You think I don't know that?" Caitlin shot back. "This isn't exactly a picnic for me, but I'm kind of starting to panic—"

"Well, stop panicking!"

"It doesn't work like that!"

Throughout their mini screaming match, Jade nearly forgot that Harper was two feet away trying to catch up on some beauty sleep, but the next thing that she knew, the blue-haired tribute was growling and sitting up, then crawling over until she sat behind Caitlin.

"Caitlin!" she snapped over their bickering before her voice turned uncharacteristically soft. "Caitlin, look at me." She was firm, and tired, but still gentle.

Caitlin responded by doing as she had been instructed and leaned her body back to get a look at Harper.

"Hey!" Jade snapped when her patient turned and in doing so moved her arm yet again.

"Give Jade your arm," Harper instructed with an exhausted as well as irritated sigh. "But keep your eyes on me. Don't look at her, don't worry about what she's doing, just talk to me."

Jade rolled her eyes at Harper's soft tone, talking to Caitlin as though she were a child. But if it got the injured girl to hold still, then she wasn't going to complain.

"You're okay," Harper assured Caitlin, not that Jade was really listening. "We're not going to hurt you, okay?" Jade flicked her gaze up, intending to tell Harper that she should only speak for herself, but when she caught Caitlin's very hesitant nod, the words died on her tongue, and instead, she began another stitch.

She tried not to listen as Harper spoke in soft, gentle words to Caitlin. The sudden tenderness coming from Two's tribute should've surprised Jade, and most certainly should've had her thinking Harper was weak, but instead, she found herself oddly, begrudgingly, envious. She'd heard that Harper had a younger brother, and Jade could tell that way Harper was speaking to Caitlin was a voice that she normally reserved for him. It was so soft, and loving, and it was the way that Jade should've spoken to Garfield and Artemis.

That didn't matter now.

Garfield was dead, and Jade could only hope that she'd make it out of there to make everything up to Artemis. In the meantime, she needed to focus on her task.

They went on like that for another minute or so, with Harper gently assuring Caitlin that everything was alright, even though it was far from it, as Jade sewed up her arm. It was actually working.

"Where else?" Jade asked when she had finally tied off her final stitch for the wound, bringing Caitlin's attention back to her.

"Um… I think there's one on my left ankle, but other than that, I think I'm okay," she answered.

Jade reached for Caitlin's pant leg and rolled it up carefully, grimacing when she saw the deep wound caked in dry blood. "Yeah, this one definitely needs it," she confirmed before moving for the antiseptic once again, while Harper turned Caitlin's attention back to her.

"That's a very pretty ring," she commented, and Jade looked up briefly, catching sight of the small silver band encircling Caitlin's ring finger. "Is that your token?"

Caitlin smiled to herself as she brought her hands closer to herself and ran a tender finger over the ring. "Yeah," she breathed dreamily, "My friend gave it to me."

"Sounds like more than just a friend," Harper teased, a knowing smirk on her face and an amused tone in her voice that made Jade grit her teeth together. She sounded so conversational, like they weren't out here in the closest thing the world had to actual hell, killing their friends just to survive.

"Maybe," Caitlin replied wistfully. "Doesn't matter much now."

"Oh, don't say that," Harper softly scolded, something Jade didn't even know was possible. "It definitely still matters; you're still here."

Jade had to bite her tongue at that one. Didn't Harper realize what it would mean for her if Caitlin were to make it out of these Games alive?

"For now," the injured girl huffed sadly, and Jade could practically hear Harper frowning.

"Don't sell yourself short," she commanded. "Spend your time in here thinking about what you want to say to him when you get out."

Jade chewed almost angrily on her lip as she listened to Harper. She couldn't understand how she could sit there and assure Caitlin that everything was going to be okay. How could she have the gall to look Caitlin in the eyes and make it sound like this was all just a bad dream? This was real. This place was real. All of the death that they'd seen was real. Only one of them was making it out of this hellhole alive. How could Harper not realize this?

She couldn't, Jade had to admit to herself.

Harper couldn't _not_ realize that only one person was coming out of this alive, but at the same time, she doubted that Harper truly believed the eventual victor would be Caitlin. She was lying, then, and she was doing so to build up her own opponent. That didn't make any sense, not in a strategic manner anyway, but as Jade tied off the final thread of Caitlin's ankle repair, she couldn't help but wonder if things might've gone differently for Garfield in the Capitol had she allowed him to crawl into her bed that first night. She wondered if Artemis might cry less if only Jade were capable of pitching her voice as soft as Harper's was right now. Caitlin was no longer shaking, no longer focused on the damage done to her body. Instead, she was telling Harper all about some boy back home, and she was smiling.

"Done," Jade finally brought herself to say, earning the attention of her two associates. "All done."

Caitlin nodded her thanks and slowly brought her leg back toward her, inspecting her new stitches.

"And you?" she asked quietly, her gaze flicking up to meet Jade's with concern.

Jade sighed but rose to her feet nonetheless and began tugging her pants down. She noticed Caitlin's cheeks flush with a deep shade of red as she scrambled to avert her eyes, while Harper merely directed her attention to the tops of some nearby trees, presumably looking for cameras. She was never going to find any, of course. Jade wasn't clear on exactly what kind of technology the Gamemakers had concocted for filming the Games, but she knew they always had constant coverage of every tribute. She tried not to think too much about the fact that they could very well be broadcasting this right now and instead untied her makeshift bandage and removed the leaves she had placed over either side of her wound.

"Are you sure you can handle it?" she asked, bringing Caitlin's attention back to her, and the girl nodded dumbly.

"Yeah," she promised, her voice nervous and her eyes only a little more confident. "Having it done just freaked me out, but I did great with first aid in training."

Jade mulled it over for a minute, internally debating the pros and cons of just doing this herself, before she sat down next to the girl from Three and proceeded to lower herself to lay on her side as so to keep mud as far from her injury as possible.

"If she has trouble, help her," she snapped at Harper, who nodded and then came to sit by her side.

She rolled her eyes at that; she didn't need a babysitter to hold her hand like Caitlin had. But she wasn't about to tell Harper to move, so she simply put up with it and listened to the sounds of Caitlin digging through the medical supplies. To her own surprise, Jade hissed when the antiseptic made contact with her flesh, stinging the entire area of her wound.

"I'm sorry!" Caitlin quickly exclaimed, her voice almost panicked.

"It's fine," Jade all but growled at her. She was unused to the searing sting of disinfectant; it was something she rarely had access to back home, and on the rare occasions she did manage to get her hands on the liquid stuff, it was always watered down to the point of being nearly useless. She had no idea the proper concentration was supposed to hurt so much.

"I'll be quick," Caitlin promised, and Jade couldn't stop the laugh from escaping her lips.

"Don't worry," she encouraged Caitlin, "Rather have it done right than done fast."

She couldn't see Caitlin from her angle on her side, but she assumed the girl nodded before beginning her work. Once Jade felt the tip of the needle piercing her skin, she set her gaze back on Harper, who seemed to be looking at her and yet looking past her all at once. "So, care to share where you were running from?" she asked.

Harper blinked at her, as if snapping out of a daydream. She then brought her knees up and rested her elbows on top of them. "Long story," she replied, "Short version? Harvey and my group didn't work out, and he's unhinged. He was going to kill me. I lost him some time last night, but I haven't stopped moving. Can't risk him finding me."

Jade gritted her teeth and nodded at the story. She could tell there was more to it, if the way Harper hugged her knees closer to herself when she spoke had anything to say about it. Every instinct in her was screaming that she should press further, and maybe later she would, but for now, she decided she would actually leave well enough alone — for once in her life. _The rest of the story doesn't matter right now anyway._

Her mind was already bitterly jumping back to the last day of training, when Harper had suggested that she join Harvey's group of nut jobs. Nothing ever came of it; she never _wanted_ anything to come of it. She knew everyone had a hidden agenda in the Capitol, knew that any and all alliances forged were destined to fall apart in the arena sooner or later. She had said as much to Xavier once, and while he had admitted she was right, he had also admitted that an alliance just might keep her alive. Maybe it would, but if she were to align herself with anybody, it sure as hell wasn't going to be a gang that consisted of at least two psychopaths; if not more.

Besides, everyone knew Jack was really calling the shots of that group, and Jack killed Garfield.

Briefly, her stomach knotted up with guilt. If she had made something of that suggestion of Harper's, would Gar still be alive?

It was pointless to think about now, and odds were that he wouldn't, anyway. If things truly had gone as downhill as Harper claimed, to the point where her own district partner was actively attempting to kill her, then Garfield surely wouldn't have lasted long through the fallout. Not to mention that Harper was sitting right here before her, a huge target on her back, so she now had bigger problems to deal with than her dead partner.

"What about you guys?" Harper suddenly asked. "What have you been up to since we started?"

The two girls looked at each other as Caitlin nudged Jade to roll onto her back so that she could get to the other side of the hole in her leg. Both their district partners had died in the bloodbath, which Harper most likely knew already, as she had to have seen their faces in the sky or water. So neither of them was eager to open up that conversation if they didn't need to.

"You know…" Caitlin eventually trailed off. "We found a pod."

"I saw," Harper replied with a nod. "Thanks for opening it before I got here, by the way. I can't stand the stupid poetry those things spit out."

Jade snickered at the remark; she could say the same thing.

"What I mean is," Harper went on, "have you two been working together since the bloodbath?"

Jade shook her head, her face scrunched up with confusion as to how Harper could honestly believe that she of all people might have entered into an alliance right at the start of the Games and have her supposed friend still alive.

"No, just ran into each other." Caitlin supplied as she began her work on the inside of Jade's thigh.

"Any thoughts on working together?" Harper asked.

Jade looked up at Harper in disbelief. "We did have a conversation during training, right? I know I didn't dream that."

Harper smirked at the response, "Right," she said. "You're not here for friends."

"Neither are you," Jade was quick to shoot the comment back.

"True," Harper admitted. "Doesn't mean it isn't a good idea."

"You're serious?" Caitlin asked, the tone of awe in her voice making Jade wonder if Caitlin had expected her to kill her as soon as her leg was fixed, which honestly wouldn't have been the worst idea.

But Harper shrugged off the question. "Why not?" she asked. "We need to survive, and a lot of dangerous players are still in this."

"Who says we aren't dangerous players?" Jade asked slyly, and Harper leveled a deadpan glare with her.

"You're good, Jade, but do you honestly believe that if the clowns, Harvey, or the Sevens somehow managed to get the jump on you that you'd be able to take them down single-handedly?"

Jade narrowed her eyes and glanced away, knowing she was beat.

She didn't want to admit it, but Harper had a point. The Seven siblings were good, Jack and Harley were complete mental cases, and worst of all, Harvey could be coming up right behind them if he was tracking his partner with the intent to kill, as Harper seemed to think he was.

"Fine," she conceded, "We'll watch each others backs, for now."

Harper nodded, and so did Caitlin.

"Your stitches are done," Caitlin said as she snipped the thread, finally allowing her patient to sit up.

"So…" Harper trailed off with a smirk just before she held her hand out to her new friends, palm down. "Partners?"

Caitlin's smile was more genuine as she placed her hand on Harper's, but Jade definitely saw some sort of malice masked underneath; she would need to keep a close eye on this girl. "Partners," she agreed.

They both looked at Jade expectantly. Harper's expression more smug than Caitlin's, if only by a little. Eventually, Jade rolled her eyes "You two are going to drive me nuts," she said through a sigh, while putting her hand in the stack.

For better or for worse, the three of them were going to have each other now, and with Harvey very likely out there somewhere after Harper, Jade knew they were about to have their hands full.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince


	70. Chapter 69: Heads or Tails

**(A/N): Here we are with our Friday update! This time, we're taking you back to the Teen Titans, with robbiepoo2341's Dick Grayson.**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed and for making us grin at all the "girl power" comments!**

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 **Chapter Sixty-Nine - Heads or Tails**

 **Day Three**

 **Richard "Dick" Grayson of District Seven**

 **Written by robbiepoo2341**

* * *

" _The biggest risk is not taking any risk."_ -Mark Zuckerberg

* * *

If he hadn't been in the arena, in the middle of the Games, Dick would have slept through the slight rustling in the trees and the light splash of someone beside him.

Until then, he'd been perfectly comfortable, asleep with his arm around Kory's waist, his face in her hair, her body curved into his. He had never been this close to a girl, but with Kory, it was natural, a perfect fit, as easy as breathing — he just _knew_ what to do, knew that they would _work_. But for as deeply comfortable as he was right there — even with the wet ground and the humidity and the mosquitoes trying to eat him alive — that rustling and that first light splash had him instantly awake, and the fact that he tensed behind her stirred Kory as well.

"Dick?" she murmured softly, and he put a hand on her arm to both shush and reassure her as he scanned the area…

 _There_.

He saw the flicker of movement, the same color as the jackets the tributes had been given, and he could hear the light splashing sounds of someone moving in the water and _trying_ to be quiet — though no one in this arena could sneak. It just wasn't possible.

"Stay with the girls," he told Kory as he got up to investigate, and she frowned.

"What's going on?" She was already getting to her feet, not about to be left behind. "Let me help."

But Dick was already in motion toward the not-sneaky splashing sounds, reaching for his staves, his breathing controlled and his head tipped to the side to catch the sounds of their intruder. There was _no_ way he was letting anyone get close to his little alliance — whoever it was had picked the wrong group to mess with.

He was halfway there when their intruder seemed to realize that he or she had been discovered, and the light splashing sounds were suddenly so much louder as the intruder took off running, her hair flying out behind her…

And that was when Dick realized it wasn't an intruder but _Raven_ , trying to sneak out of their camp.

He swore under his breath as he rushed after her. "Kory, stay with Thea. It's Raven," he called over his shoulder, which only seemed to hasten Raven's flight as she rushed away from the camp and he sloshed after her, cursing with every too-slow step. _Why_ the arena had to be filled with water — this was just like before, with Gar, when the water had pulled at his ankles and kept him from flying as fast as he was used to…

 _Raven, what's gotten into you?_ he couldn't help thinking. He'd thought that adding Thea to the group had _helped_...

He had very nearly caught up to Raven when, out of nowhere, something hit him. Low.

Dick doubled over instantly, his vision going white as he wheezed. Some part of him realized that Raven had taken off again, and another part of him realized that she'd hit him by snapping back a branch on her way past, but if he was honest, those parts of his brain were _not_ working at the moment.

He winced and gritted his teeth before he hit the water with his hand, _trying_ to pull himself together. That was a low, _low_ blow.

With every passing second, Raven was running further and further away, and Dick knew it, but he couldn't get up for a while still. He couldn't even call out to Kory to tell her Raven was gone, because all his breath was pooled in his knees, and his voice was between them being strangled.

He finally managed to pull himself up using one of the trees surrounding them, but of course, Raven was far from him by then, even the sound of her splashing footsteps far enough away that it was hard to tell where they were coming from.

Dick swore under his breath again and edged forward, listening hard over the sound of his own wet footsteps. He wasn't going to give up on Raven so easily — he wasn't going to lose another member of his alliance the way he had lost Gar.

He was furious with himself the further he pressed into the swamp, furious that he hadn't seen that Raven was ready to run. He'd known that she had been struggling that first day, that she had been hiding inside herself after being forced to watch Gar murdered in front of her, but when Thea joined the alliance, Dick thought that had helped. The two youngest girls in the group seemed to have bonded — partly over their shared annoyance that the other half of the alliance was so wrapped up in each other — and Dick had hoped that taking care of the clearly shaken Thea would have helped Raven to stay focused. Given her something — some _one_ — to take care of.

Everything had seemed fine yesterday, and he had relaxed, gotten complacent. He should have known better, should have watched out for Raven. He'd _promised_ he was going to keep them safe and instead got so tangled up in Kory that he'd missed the signs that Raven was going to ditch the alliance.

He _wasn't_ going to lose another member of his alliance. He just wasn't.

He was sure Bruce was at home watching the Games and shooting the screen that same disappointed frown with which Dick had become intimately familiar. _Never take your eye off of the goal,_ he'd said. Over and over. Like a mantra. And Dick had always, always fallen short, gotten distracted, gotten involved...

Dick paused again in the water, straining to hear any sounds that weren't his own heavy breathing — he was _still_ smarting from that low blow earlier — or the normal sounds of the swamp, but still, there was nothing but a low buzzing of insects and a few frogs calling out to each other.

Until very suddenly, there wasn't even that anymore.

Dick felt his entire body go on the alert, knowing what it meant that the swamp had gone still around him. The animals had sensed a threat somewhere and were reacting to it — most likely a tribute … possibly a mutt …

Then, he heard a cry of surprise and another one, more triumphant, and before he even had time to fully process what he had heard, Dick was in motion toward the sounds.

He was sure that the first cry was Raven's, though it was hard to tell who the second voice belonged to. Male, definitely, but beyond that, he just couldn't tell. He didn't think it was Jack — he _hoped_ it wasn't Jack — because there was no accompanying preening and prancing, but as he heard the loud sounds of splashing that meant there was a fight going on, he still couldn't tell. No one was _talking_.

All he knew was that Raven was in trouble, and he was _not_ going to let her die on his watch. Not when he was so close.

He tried to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach, reminding him that he had been _so close_ when Gar died, that he had been sloshing through the water, desperately trying to catch up, his every step slowed by the very same churning water beneath his feet at that very moment…

He burst through the trees, both of his staves out, just in time to see Harvey Dent finally get the upper hand on the still-squirming Raven. Harvey was breathing heavily, the sound a painful wheezing sort of noise, and he was clearly favoring one side — the other had been wrapped at one point, but not anymore, the pieces torn, some still clinging to the arm that must have been wrapped too at one point — but Raven was wet, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she coughed up water.

 _He nearly drowned her,_ Dick realized, the thought only tightening his grip on his staves as Harvey didn't seem to have noticed yet that Dick had arrived, too focused on keeping Raven from wriggling out of his grasp again, reasserting his grip on her arms as he knelt on the small of her back.

Even in the shallow water of the swamp, Raven was barely keeping her head above water by sheer force of will, fighting back against Harvey's grip with a fire in her gaze that Dick had only seen in passing when he grabbed her at the Tesseract, though he'd thought that fire had gone dark after Gar died.

Harvey managed to get one of Raven's hands underneath his knee to keep her arm bent backwards, and once he had one hand free, he reached around to a back pocket. Dick couldn't catch all that Harvey was muttering under his breath — not when his own heart was pounding in his ears and he was more focused on the horrible, wet coughing Raven was doing — but he did manage to catch the gist of the question Harvey was asking himself: drowning or stabbing.

He was trying to decide how to kill Raven.

Dick was sure as he sprang forward that Harvey was reaching for a knife, but at the same time Dick burst into the clearing of trees where Harvey had Raven pinned down, Harvey brought out a little silver coin.

"Wait!"

All three of them froze at Dick's word. Harvey still had the coin clasped in one hand and Raven pinned with the other, his chest heaving. Raven was looking up at Dick in a mixture of relief and disbelief, since she probably thought she'd lost him earlier. And Dick was frozen, both of his staves raised but holding them loosely, as many fingers raised as he could manage without dropping his weapons to show 'wait' in his body language as well.

"Stay out of this, Grayson," Harvey sneered, the mouth on his good side pulled back only half as far as his bad side, which showed his jaw and teeth in a gruesome smile. "We'll get to you next."

 _We?_ Dick's eyebrows shot up despite his best attempt to keep a composed expression. It was obvious Harvey was teetering on the edge here, and Dick didn't want to make it any worse, not when Raven's life was on the line.

Dick kept his hands raised at the level of his shoulders as he moved into clearer view for Harvey, never dropping his gaze. "Looks to me like you've got a choice to make," Dick said, gesturing to Harvey's hand with his head tipped to the side. It was simple enough to put it together — the coin, the wavering on the different methods of killing Raven. He was going to leave it up to chance.

And while Dick had never been a gambler, he did know how to _play._

Harvey's eyes narrowed as he watched Dick, pressing his knee deeper into Raven's back so that her chin was in the water, her mouth partly submerged. She was only breathing through her nose, her eyes wide, and Dick faltered for a moment. He could see the throwing knives gleaming at Harvey's side, and as fast as he was, he didn't think he could get there before Harvey put one in Raven's side.

And he couldn't — he _couldn't_ be too late again.

But as usual, his mouth was faster than his brain and seemed to have come up with a solution all on its own. "How about a bet?" The words were out of his mouth before he'd thought about them, but now that they were, Dick was sure that was the right way to do it. Take the indecision and run with it. Play the game on Harvey's terms until he could turn them into his own.

Dick could see the hesitation just behind Harvey's gaze in the way he froze, in the way his eyes narrowed, in the way he was unconsciously twisting the coin in his hand between his fingers. He was clearly thinking it over.

Dick moved forward toward Raven, and Harvey's gaze snapped to his, stopping him in his tracks when he saw that Harvey was pressing Raven deeper into the shallow water. He backed up a step, and Harvey unconsciously mirrored him, letting Raven breathe; they were both at a stalemate.

"What are you talking about?" Harvey spat out at last, after what seemed like an eternity in a long, internal struggle.

Dick pointed with one of his staves to Harvey's hand. "It's a simple coin toss. Pure luck," he said, sure to keep his voice even. This was a performance. This was just like going to one of Bruce's parties, or flying through the air on the trapeze. Harvey didn't have to know he was scared senseless at the idea of losing another member of his team.

"We're listening," Harvey said, his eyes narrowed.

 _There's that 'we' again,_ Dick thought, but he was sure not to let his expression give anything away. If Harvey had some kind of psychotic split in the Games, then it wasn't Dick's job to parse the quirks that came with it. His job was to get Raven out from under Harvey and get her _out_ of there, back to their alliance, back to safety.

Dick took a deep breath. "Heads, you win — I'll back off and you can go back to making up your mind on how best to kill Nine's girl," he said. He couldn't look at Raven as he said it, sure that she was shocked, betrayed even. But he couldn't give away his plan. "Tails, I win — and you back off and let her go."

Dick could see the muscles in Harvey's jaw clench as he thought it over, clearly trying to find a loophole if Dick had left him one. He didn't look too happy about it, and the suspicion warred with thoughtfulness in his expression.

But Dick could tell — it was a tempting offer. And he knew Harvey was going to take it from the way he gripped the coin tighter, working out his answer to the beat of the muscle in his jaw until he finally nodded.

"At least someone around here knows how to play the game fairly," he said at last as he flicked his thumb and the coin flew up in the air.

As soon as the coin left Harvey's hand, though, Dick was in motion. Harvey was distracted, watching the coin, and Dick kicked out, slamming the heel of his foot into Harvey's side, the one he had clearly been babying and trying to stay off of. There was a terrific _crack_ that echoed the trees, but Dick wasn't sure if it was the blow or the coin that prompted Harvey to let go of Raven.

Harvey crumpled with the hard hit and then went to his knees in the water, his eyes wide and his expression desperate as he searched through the mud and water for his coin. "Where is it? Where is it? _Where is it?_ " Harvey hissed through his teeth, his voice caked in terror and pain.

Dick almost felt sorry for him.

But he wasn't going to stick around either and wait for Harvey to get a hold of himself enough to throw a knife their way. Dick bent down to scoop Raven up the same way he had done in the Tesseract, all but tossing her over his shoulder with both staves in one hand and the other on her back to keep her from slipping out of his grip. For her part, she was holding onto his jacket, for the moment more than willing to let him get them both out of there, considering what might have happened — though Dick was sure he was going to get an earful once they got to safety.

He took off running, while all the while, over his shoulder, he could hear Harvey's continued hissing, alternating between quieter and rougher, though hardly loud enough to be considered screaming, considering how badly Dick had injured him when he kicked him.

"Not fair. Not fair! He cheated. He cheated!"

Dick just ran that much harder, though not in the direction of the camp. He ran east instead of south — just in case Harvey did find the wherewithal to realize which way they had run — and it wasn't until he felt like he'd put some _solid_ distance between them and Harvey that he changed directions, still running until the weight of carrying Raven and the struggle of running in the water of the swamp tugged on him and slowed him down.

When he took a misstep and they both went into deeper water, Raven startled, the fear plain to see in her eyes the second they resurfaced. She had to have been remembering her near-drowning only moments before.

She was still clutching onto his shoulders with wide eyes until they got back out — and that settled it for him. He got them to the relative shallow end and didn't take another step, instead plopping down right there in the mud to pull Raven into a solid hug.

For just a moment, Raven tensed, startled, and then she let her shoulders drop. She didn't exactly return the hug, but she didn't fight him on it either, and he waited until she stopped looking like she was going to run away again before he even considered standing up again.

"Don't _do_ that to me," he said.

"What?" she breathed back, her eyes still a little wide. She was massaging her arms — maybe Dick would try to talk Kory or Thea into letting Raven take a look and see if there was any bruising, anything lasting. He didn't think Raven would let him that close, now that she was all but scooting away from him after the burst of brotherly affection before.

"You scared the crap out of me pulling that stunt," he told her, leaning back against a tree to wipe his hair out of his face and get his breath.

"I didn't _ask_ him to catch me," Raven said, her eyes narrowed in a glare. "And you're one to talk — betting on _my life_."

"I was never going to take that bet," Dick swore, one hand on his heart and the other, still carrying his staves, raised in the air. "I just had to get that coin away from him — and get him away from _you_."

Raven shook her head at him. "I can't believe you did that."

" _I_ can't believe you ran away!" Dick threw up both hands to illustrate his frustration. "Come on, Raven. I promised to take care of you. How am I supposed to do that if you ditch us?"

"I don't _need_ your help, Dick!"

"Clearly, you do!"

"Oh, what do you care?" Raven almost shouted at him, getting to her feet with a look of nearly murderous rage that almost set him back a step. "What do you care about anything but _her_?"

Dick was totally taken aback, his mouth slightly parted as he stared at the fuming girl in front of him. "Raven…"

"This isn't a _game_ , Dick. People _die_ in this arena," Raven continued, her voice rising to an almost hysterical level. "But all you care about is kissing pretty girls and looking like a hero!"

"That's not—"

"It's _true_!" Even though she was a foot shorter than him, she was squaring up with her chin thrust out and her eyes blazing.

The air rang in silence between them for a moment as Dick stared as her before he let his shoulders slump and released all the breath in his lungs. "Raven, I'm sorry."

For a long time, Raven stood there with her hands clenched in fists, nearly shaking in rage, but neither of them moved. At last, she seemed to try to get a better hold of herself, and she closed her eyes, letting a breath out through her nose, slowly. Dick had seen Bruce do that in meditation and recognized the calming trick, but again, he didn't say anything until she opened her eyes again and the fire that had been burning there seemed to retreat back into embers.

"You don't think I'm taking this seriously?" he said, slowly and evenly and without dropping her gaze. "Raven, my sister is out there somewhere, and I have no idea every day whether she's alive or dead. For all I know, that cannon this morning was for her, and if it was, I'll have to live with that the rest of my life." He shook his head slowly. "But I promised to do my best while I'm still alive to keep you and the others safe. If that means I have to carry you through the arena myself until the day I die, I'll do that, but I'm not going to abandon you either. I'm sorry you felt like you had to abandon us."

Raven watched him warily, her eyes still slightly narrowed. "You don't need me dragging you down," she said at last, though her tone was decidedly less murderous than before, shifting instead into something softer and almost… defeated.

He frowned but didn't step forward like he wanted to — she didn't look like she wanted to be touched. "What are you talking about?"

"You'd rather curl up with Kory, or trade jabs with Thea. I'm just _there_. You don't need me weighing the group down."

But Dick shook his head to every word. "A promise is a promise," he told her, then took the few steps to put a hand on her shoulder anyway and dip his head down to catch her gaze. "And I make it a point not to give up on my friends."

She frowned up at him for a moment, the disbelief plain to read in her expression. It was clear she didn't think he'd made anything like a solid argument for her to stay, but finally, she nodded. "Fine."

He gave her his best grin at that and swept an arm back toward their camp. "Come on. Kory and Thea are probably worried about us. We should get back before they organize a search party and we get our lines crossed."

"Yeah, can you imagine if you were stuck with _just_ me for the rest of the Games?" Raven deadpanned.

Dick spun to face her, ready to argue the point, but when he saw the pleased little smirk at the corner of her mouth, he had to laugh instead. "Oh yeah. Horrible," he teased, grinning wider when the smirk widened despite what looked like Raven's best efforts. He threw an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the camp, sure that Thea and Kory would be waiting for them — and ready to move, he hoped, because they had to find better shelter, somewhere far from Harvey Dent and anyone else that might have been close enough to hear the fight and come to investigate it.

It was already shaping up to be an eventful day.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince


	71. Chapter 70: Pick a Side

**(A/N): Welcome back to our Tuesday update! This time, we're taking a quick break from the action of the Games to peek into the goings on of the Capitol. Things are starting to fall into place...**

 **Thanks, as always, to the writers who reviewed the last chapter! It's fun to see the characters grow as the story progresses, and we're glad you're enjoying that as well.**

* * *

 **Chapter Seventy - Pick a Side**

 **Written by Canucklehead Cowgirl and robbiepoo2341**

* * *

" _Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead." -Poor Richard's Almanac_

* * *

 **Victor Sage**

 **Triskellion**

* * *

It was a different feeling entirely, being in the belly of the beast.

This was where it all _started_. The rumors meant to dispel the truth. The squads sent out to quell dissenting voices. The secrets. The lies.

It was rather exciting.

Vic had only been in the Triskellion for a few days, but already, he was pleased to see, most of what he had come to believe was, in fact, truth. SHIELD was hiding the true nature of the Games from the face of the public — though he had been surprised to find that they were also hiding it from Thanos and the faction of the Capitol loyal to him.

It wasn't _quite_ what he had theorized, but he was known to be wrong on occasion in his theories — _only_ when he didn't have all the pieces.

As it was, he knew that he still didn't have everything that he could have. There was still something buried deep within SHIELD that they didn't want him to see, even after bringing him in to examine those very inner workings. And no, it was not the obvious secret that had Vic's SHIELD handlers twitchy and nervous whenever he asked them for more information on the Games themselves. Whatever _that_ was, it was well and truly buried. He would need at _least_ another week before he could come to it.

No, no, this was something within the fabric of SHIELD itself, an undercurrent that wound its way through so much of what he was seeing.

Agent Clay Quartermain had brought him in because Vic had been able to tell him what should have been _obvious_ to a man in his field — clearly, SHIELD was lacking in intelligence, a major oversight for an _intelligence_ organization. But even on more or less house arrest, being fed only the information that had been approved for him to look through, Vic could see the patterns dancing before his eyes as clearly as if they'd put the secrets in polka dots and made them tap dance.

SHIELD was fighting against itself. That much was obvious. There were all the signs of internal strain. Missions going awry that had no reason to. Reports being 'misplaced' or 'mislabeled.' It was glaringly obvious — at least to someone who wasn't deeply embedded in the organization itself.

That was SHIELD's problem, really — they were such a _large_ organization that a single misplaced document here or there was put down to human error, especially when it was nothing classified, especially when it was a new recruit putting it on the wrong desk. These things happened.

They simply didn't "just happen" in a pattern.

For the moment, Vic was reading through an old report from a few years back concerning the movements of a few of the more 'dangerous' victors, the ones that SHIELD had been watching for years and still seemed not to be able to see the patterns of collusion. As he worked, he was absently tracing the sketch of the octopus-like pin he had seen in the surveillance photos and videos of so many agents. It was a marker, certainly, and tucked away on cufflinks and tie pins. Nothing too ostentatious — though considering the lavish nature of the Red Skull, who Vic knew was at least involved if not at the head of this movement, that was somehow surprising.

He hardly looked up from what he was doing as Quartermain came in, still tracing absently and frowning at the report he was reading.

"Any old and exciting news?" Quartermain asked casually. "Or just the same old same old not exciting that everyone thinks they already knew about?"

Vic smirked Quartermain's way — he did like the agent that had been sent to deal with him — and leaned back in his chair. "Agent Quartermain," he said, "the vast conspiracies within this organization would take anyone _months_ to unravel."

"Yeah, but you're not anyone, are you?" Quartermain picked up a random file and flipped through it before setting it down in a different pile.

Vic couldn't help but smile. "Well, at least someone here has some intelligence," he said mildly before he pushed the sketch of the design toward the blonde agent. "Tell me, Agent Quartermain, what do you know about the legends of Hydra?"

Quartermain pulled the drawing a little closer and looked the rough sketch over for a moment. "Well. I can tell you there isn't much about it on the books since before the 'revolution' and that at least a few of our victors are old enough to remember them."

"And what's not on the books is unreliable, word of mouth," Vic said, waving his hand. "Yes, I know. But I asked what you know about their legends, because _that_ —" He leaned forward. "—that is what is permeating your organization, Agent Quartermain."

"Legends?" he said, frowning. "Legends are usually a lot bigger than what the reality is."

"And that is the problem, isn't it?" Vic tapped the sketch. "If your agents are subscribing to the tenets of this …" He shook his head. "I can only call it a cult, and even I don't use words like that often." He chuckled. "Crazy as I am."

Quartermain rested one hand over his heart. " _I_ don't have any agents … not specifically, anyhow."

"Which makes you perfectly suited to the task of dealing with problems like this," Vic argued. He handed Quartermain another notebook. "Here. A copy, of course — I've memorized the full list. These are agents who have, on surveillance, been wearing or otherwise displaying that emblem."

"Great, thanks, I'll look into it," Quartermain said offhandedly, as if Vic was handing him a grocery list. "Anything else of interest?"

"Oh, I'm sure you're already aware of the internal leak from one of your top teams," Vic said, matching Quartermain's offhanded tone and smirking to himself. It really was something else to be _inside_ the organization that he had been trying to crack into for all these years.

He was having a blast.

Quartermain paused and turned his way with a frown. "Which team?"

"The one run by Phil Coulson," he said. "Of course, it isn't the only compromised team… but if you were looking for the most obvious 'everyone should know'..."

"Oh," Quartermain said. "That … is a matter that is already being dealt with, of course… what do _you_ think the most obvious is?"

"Of course," Vic said with a smirk. He leaned back and stretched his hands out in front of himself. "The most _obvious_ answer would be to examine the incredible blind spot everyone naturally has in dealing with family. _How_ Amanda Waller came to head up a secret organization when I could break into it on the first day is _beyond_ me."

Quartermain outright laughed. "Yeah, no one's missing that one," he chuckled. "But most of us already know it's not very helpful to second guess Fury's tastes." Quartermain allowed himself a crooked smile. "He _is_ the one that's been hand-picking who's coming in to get to the bottom of this, after all."

Vic smirked and went back to his work. "Lucky you."

* * *

 **Phil Coulson**

 **Triskellion**

* * *

Coulson was still livid.

He had _hand-picked_ his team. Hand-picked them. These were agents that he had checked over a dozen times, men and women that he trusted with his life and his secrets.

With Skye, it had been a little bit different, since they had recruited her out of terrorist activities against Thanos' regime. But Ward? Ward had been with SHIELD for _years_. Coulson had read his file himself. The man had been wearing SHIELD's eagle wings since he was still a teenager.

And yet there had been no denying the fact that even with Skye under tight watch, even after Raina had been killed, _even_ after all that, his team _still_ had a leak.

He would have been lying if he said he didn't at least have his suspicions about Ward when it was clear that someone was leaking information from his team. Fitzsimmons couldn't keep a secret between them to save their lives, and he trusted Melinda May almost more than he trusted himself, so it had to be someone else.

After Ororo and Steve's mission — Coulson had the confirmation he needed. He had the proof to nail a member of his team to the wall, and he wasn't going to hesitate to do it. Not with the timeline they had to work with.

"Do you have a plan yet, Phil?" Agent May asked from the doorway, her arms crossed and her expression, as always, unreadable.

"I was thinking 'drag him to questioning', but if you wanted something more creative…"

"I like it," she replied.

He almost had to smirk her way for that one. "Of course you do." He gestured for her to lead the way, knowing that she was just as steamed about this as he was, and fell into step with her easily enough. Melinda May on the warpath was not someone to be trifled with.

"Do you mind playing good cop?" May asked.

"Why do I always have to be good cop?" he shot back — which was, really, a good measurement of the kind of mood he was in.

"Alright. Bad cop, worse cop then."

He couldn't help but laugh quietly and nod. "Much better."

For a moment, May smirked his way before the two of them strode into the gym, where they knew Ward would be putting in his workout at the end of the day. For the moment, Ward didn't even look surprised to see the two of them — especially since things had been so busy with Fury's last-minute push to get things ready while Thanos' attention was distracted with the Games — and sat up from the weightlifting machine to incline his head their way.

"Something up?" he asked.

Coulson and May shared a glance, and Coulson almost let out a sigh as he stepped forward. _Still somehow good cop_ , he thought to himself before he turned his full attention to Ward. "Grant Ward, you're under arrest for conspiracy."

For a moment, Ward simply stared at the two of them. "You're joking, right?"

But neither Coulson nor May actually answered the question, instead letting the fact that several more SHIELD agents — soldiers more than special agents, really — had started to file into the room speak for them.

When Ward realized they weren't joking around, he leapt onto his feet and tipped over the weight machine he'd been working on, toppling hundreds of pounds of heavy iron weights toward the SHIELD agents trying to apprehend him. He looked around himself, irritated to see that even though he'd pushed back a few of Coulson's backup soldiers, more were filing in from all entrances to the gym, and he was going to have to fight his way out.

With a serious lack of proper weaponry, he reached down and yanked loose the bar on the hand weights — giving himself a handy set of heavy duty staves in an instant — though he wasn't entirely surprised when May seemed to have taken the same idea, but with a longer bar. By the time he'd made the rush her way, she was twirling the long bar like a bo staff — slower but also much heavier a hit if and when it would make contact.

As the two of them faced off, circling each other and working through the gym, it became quickly apparent that May wasn't letting him get too close to an exit. Any attempt to do so was met with a hash jab that _had_ to have broken something, or a well-placed kick with similar results. The staves he had were keeping her at arm's length, but it didn't do much if anything against the long bar she had.

He was quickly getting frustrated. He couldn't _reach_ her as it was. He needed to get the bar away from her. The next time she made her jab, he dropped one of the staves and pulled her closer by the bar, fully intending to hit her with the other stave, but of course, she dodged.

The stave hit the metal of the bar — but not entirely squarely. Instead of the ringing clang of metal on metal, there was a loud crunch, and May let out a half-muffled roar between clenched teeth as the fingers holding that bar were crushed.

With a poisonous glare, May shouted out in pain and anger and drove forward before Ward could react, clearly _done_ playing nice — though he hadn't realized until then just how much she was holding back. She kicked his feet out from under him and flat out tried to stomp down on his face, though he barely dodged that blow. He swung with the stave, only for her to catch it with her good hand and drive a palm strike into his face, crushing his nose, and making sure that he released his hold on the metal bars.

From there, it was at least even as far as weapons went, but May's rage was far beyond what Ward was prepared for. She came at him in a fury; shouts and non-verbal grunts came with every strike. Her lip was curled back as she threw every bit of her weight and strength into every hit — making sure that all contact was taking pieces out of him.

He managed to block a lot of it, but she was attacking so hard, and so quick, there was very little room for retaliation on his part. But when he managed _somehow_ to capture her arms and wrap her up tightly from behind, Ward actually thought he'd done it.

"Let me out of here, and I won't kill her," he shouted out toward Coulson. "Call off your men, and back off."

"You've got to be kidding me," May said from between clenched teeth before she stomped down hard on his foot and threw her head back, breaking out his front teeth and knocking his grip loose enough that she could throw an elbow into his stomach … and when he stepped back, hunched over his injuries, another one that carried all of her weight came down on the back of his head, knocking him out cold. "Are you sure you want to bring him in alive?" May asked from the floor, bloodied and battered.

Coulson motioned to some of the men to grab Ward — though considering how things had been going lately, he wasn't going to let them just leave with the unconscious traitor on his team without personally coming with them to make sure he actually made it to the cell prepared for him. He stepped forward to offer May a hand up, too, on her good side, and couldn't quite rein in the smirk. "I'm sure," he said. "But I can see the appeal."

"If he so much as blinks at anyone crooked, I'm ending him, Phil."

"And if it weren't for the fact that I want to know who he's been reporting to, I wouldn't bat an eye," Coulson replied easily. He paused and looked her over, already knowing the answer to the question but asking it anyway: "Do you want to get yourself looked over first?"

She turned his way to give him an incredibly dry look. "What do _you_ think?"

Coulson held up both hands. "Had to ask," he said, though he didn't push the matter at all as the two of them followed the soldiers to the cell.

Once Ward was secure, Coulson sat down across from the unconscious former member of his team, though May didn't sit, standing with her arms crossed and her injured hand resting on her upper arm and looking for all the world like she was ready for round two when Ward finally stirred back to consciousness.

"You've got to be kidding me," Ward said when he recognized where he was, in the same cell that they'd questioned Skye when they first met her.

Coulson crossed his arms, unconsciously mirroring May's body language as he glared at the man across the table from him. "You've been leaking our secrets to someone on the other side. What I want to know is who you're actually reporting to — since it clearly isn't SHIELD."

Ward was already shaking his head. "No," he said, though he had dropped the surprised facade and looked more smug than anything else. "You don't get it — I _do_ work for SHIELD."

"I'm not in the mood to play games right now," Coulson said with his eyes narrowed.

Ward leaned back and smirked. "It's not a game. You're just too blind to see it."

"Maybe it's time for an eye for an eye then," May suggested. "Unless you start. Talking."

"You know, it's real cute when you play the Cavalry for him so he doesn't have to," Ward said, the smirk turning into a wide, smug smile.

May's arms uncrossed and her chin tipped up, though before she could take more than a step, Coulson laid into him with a hard hit square in the center of his face. "How about you don't rile up anyone on my team — for your own health."

Ward's mouth was dripping red, and he spit out some of his own blood before he glared Coulson's way and then shook his head. "You're going to find out soon enough," he told him. "I'm surprised you haven't yet; we're right under your nose."

Coulson frowned at him for a long moment, his expression still not giving away what he was thinking. "I've had enough of the games and little riddles, Ward. You screwed with my team, you leaked secrets to the other side, and you're not working for SHIELD. That makes you an enemy combatant in every definition of the word." He turned toward the two-way mirror. "Bring me the serum. I don't have time for this."

Ward's eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline — especially when it was Skye who brought the truth serum with a glare Ward's way that was nearly as venomous as May's as she handed it to Coulson. "Remember this?" Skye asked.

But before Ward could say anything further, Coulson jabbed him with the serum and sat back down across from Ward.

"Now," he said. "Let's try this again."

* * *

 **Nick Fury**

 **Triskelion**

* * *

Nick Fury was not happy.

There was no reason for him to be in anything like a good mood as it was, considering the Quarter Quell was going on and the president had already threatened Fury over the 'Titans' — _They're too much like those damned campfire children from last year. You promised me bloodshed, Director_. — and the revolution they were supposed to be running against the Capitol under the cover of the Games was hanging on too-thin strings already.

Quartermain's reports on Sage's findings as well as Coulson's report on Ward's confession had hit Fury's desk right after the chat with Thanos, and Fury found himself glaring down at the pictures of Hydra pins and the promises Ward was making that SHIELD was positively _filled_ with its own worst enemy.

There wasn't going to be enough time to pull back the revolution or to make a full investigation into cleaning Hydra _out_ of SHIELD. They would lose so much forward momentum if they did that now, and they wouldn't have the guarantees that they did this year. For one thing, Fury was head of the Games, but Thanos had made it clear that he'd lose more than his job if the Games continued to be so _friendly_. For another thing, this year, they had the advantage at least of _knowing_ they were compromised. Another year and they wouldn't have the manpower when their organization was divided against itself.

The best option was to keep moving forward, but to step up the timetable. If Coulson's report on Ward was accurate — and there was no reason to doubt it — then Hydra wanted Thanos and his regime out of the Capitol just as much as SHIELD did. The only difference was that they planned to step in and take the throne for themselves.

So, Fury reasoned, he would still be able to move the majority of SHIELD during the revolution — and then keep the circle infinitely small on his final maneuvers, and the removal of Thanos himself. Only those personally involved would know about it.

With that decided, however, there was still so much to _clean up_ , and it was irritating to Fury. He hated batting cleanup, especially this close to a big operation.

For one thing, there was the matter of James Barnes. Fury didn't particularly care one way or another if the young man from Five had survived last year's fire — that wasn't the main takeaway from Rogers' report. The real problem here was that Hydra had clearly shown that it was capable of taking a young man presumed dead and twisting him to their cause. And all things considered, it was a little too close to what Fury and his team had been doing with the tributes from the Games — young people presumed dead brought around to fight a war that no one knew was brewing.

Coulson's team had multiple leaks. Hill was scrambling to put a team together to help Rogers go after his former best friend, who was apparently at the root of their problems with tributes' and victors' family members being assassinated. Quartermain's weird new genius kept finding more and more evidence that SHIELD itself was compromised at every level.

Fury would have been a fool not to think that there was every possibility _he_ had a leak.

Which added up to a growing headache and frustration as there was a chime indicating that Fury's newest young victor was at the door, as requested — and it wasn't like Fury was pleased with the boy either, considering the company he was keeping and the spectacularly stupid decision-making the other victors had reported, confirming the rumors swirling around the Capitol.

Quartermain let Logan in and stepped back, closing the door behind him as the young man strode up to Fury's desk, chin up and looking like he was ready for a fight.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Fury asked.

"My job," Logan shot back.

"I told you what your job was — get your head in the game and pay attention," Fury shot back.

"And you left out answering any of the questions I asked, too," Logan replied.

"You're getting caught up in the wrong priorities," Fury said evenly.

"Oh, see — I thought the priority was to stop killin' kids." He put his hands up for just an instant looking entirely sullen and combative. "My bad."

"What do you think our last little _private chat_ was about?" Fury shot back. "I didn't bring your friend all the way up here _or_ arrange for you two to have time together just to let you hug it out in my office."

"You also tiptoed around lettin' me know what happens to 'em when they go through your little program, and how much they remember from when they were killed," Logan replied. "Why is it that I got the feelin' that it's _more_ than what you wanna say? It _matters_ if it was more'n what's comfortin' to everyone that _didn't_ stop breathing." He drew in a breath before Fury could answer. "It might not mean a damn thing to you, but it matters to me. Stuff like that screws with your head."

"I told you as much as you needed to know," Fury said as calmly as he was able. He needed to get control of this conversation. .

"Clearly, you didn't," Logan replied, both hands flat on the desk between them. "Who else didn't you tell me about?"

Fury paused then leaned forward with a frown when he caught Logan's tone. "Who else? And who exactly _should_ I have told you about?"

"Someone that didn't come back _right_ ," Logan replied, anger flashing in his gaze. "Someone _you_ thought I wouldn't see."

Fury held Logan's gaze for a moment and shook his head. "Agent Quartermain said you were getting drugged, but if it's going to affect you this badly, I'm pulling you."

"Now wait just a damn minute," Logan growled out. "What the hell're you talkin' about?"

"Your new _girlfriend_ is drugging you — or haven't you noticed?" Fury shot back.

"She ain't …." Logan let out a frustrated sound. "Yeah. I've noticed. Makes it easier to deal with the rest of this mess that's gonna be in my face one way or the other. But she wasn't drugging me until _after_ I saw..." He stopped and drew in a breath, narrowing his eyes at Fury. "The drugs are new."

Fury looked Logan over critically. "So that's how you're coping."

" _No_ , I was coping just fine without her dopin' me. But between her and Jess, it's impossible to keep away from it. Especially when the two of 'em are workin' together to slip 'em to me."

Fury paused and began to scrutinize him a bit closer. He hadn't suspected that Jessica Drew was on the wrong side. She'd been helpful to his agents. But he too, had seen the two women in the lounge. "What's Viper's game?" he asked in a much more amicable tone. "You have to know you can't trust that woman any further than one of Coulson's lab rats could throw her."

"Seems to be the same game _everyone_ around here is playin'. Yourself included," Logan replied, almost resigned to it. "Digging for loyalties."

"And how the hell did _she_ find someone to show you?" Fury asked. "That program is locked down tighter than anything we've got running right now. Tighter than the Games — all of it."

"Seemed to me like Fox was moving around fine with her guard detail." He glared a little harder Fury's way. "Thanks for leaving that out, by the way. That was a treat. Even if she did go crazy when you brought her back, I had a right to _know_ that my ex-fiance wasn't dead - screwed up or not."

Fury paused, the frown deepening for a moment before he got downright irritated. "Silver Fox was _never_ part of the program," he said in a low dangerous tone. "She went into the Games traumatized after Creed played his sick mind games. Our top psychological mind promised she'd only get worse if we brought her back, so we let sleeping dogs lie."

"Well whoever your top mind was — they were right," Logan said with almost a sneer. "I know who I saw. It was her. No doubt in my mind. Tazed the hell out of me too." He put his hands on his hips as he took a step back. "Or do you need to see the marks to make sure I wasn't hallucinating?" Logan didn't wait for an answer though before he opened up his shirt to show the twin puncture marks on his chest.

Fury shook his head, his irritation quickly and obviously growing, though now it was directed away from Logan the more he thought about who would have had the access to pull off something like that. "It wasn't SHIELD," he insisted.

"No kidding," Logan replied dryly.

"There's some nut job running around resurrecting kids on our dime — brought back a kid from Five that wasn't even _in_ the Games," Fury continued. "So whatever it was you saw — it wasn't on us. So pull your head out."

"You know, I gotta tell you, _Nick_ … it doesn't give me any faith in you or your program if Viper's friends are bringin' em back under your nose."

"And it doesn't exactly fill me with faith seein' you _walking around_ with Viper like you two are the best of friends. _Or more._ Aren't you the one going on about a two-way street?" Fury replied.

"I don't even know how to answer that." Logan scrubbed a hand over his face. "I don't _trust_ her. I'm doing what I can to keep away from her."

"Good. She's certifiable."

"Yeah, figured that out all on my own, thanks," Logan said in a dry tone. "And that was _before_ she drugged me. Just didn't realize you were so territorial about _who_ drugs your victors."

Fury watched Logan for a moment as he worked it out in his head. He was sure he knew who was behind it if someone was authorizing tribute resurrections without his say-so, but he wasn't going to ignore his newest tribute in the meantime. Not with what he had planned for him. "VIper's working with an organization that calls itself Hydra," he said at last, leveling with Logan. "They want the throne when Thanos is gone. Real sweethearts — join or die types. _Don't_ get mixed up with them."

"Figured that out already, too, thanks. Pretty sure they'd have even less a use for me than you do, though."

Fury frowned deeper at that and let out a breath. It was clear the boy still had no clue what the bigger picture was, but if he was trying to avoid Hydra, Fury wasn't about to clue him in yet. Not when they might force him to their side anyhow. "Keep your head down," he said at last.

"Fine. But I'm not giving up on the Wayne kids," Logan warned. "Even if you could prove your stupid program isn't going to screw them up."

"Damnit, Logan, there are more important concerns right now."

"Like _what_ exactly? What the hell do you expect me to do?" Logan challenged. "Sit around and do _nothing_ until your stupid Games are over? While you're getting set for … _whatever_ ... I'm trying to do right by them. I gave 'em my word, Nick. It's all I've got, and I'm not gonna screw 'em over." Logan paused. "Unless you really think that all I'll ever do is stand around and watch hell rain down on everyone."

Fury looked irritated as he watched his newest charge. "I've got someone I need you to talk to," he said. "And after that, I _will_ send you down to see the program first hand," he swore.

"Is that a low key threat, _Director_? Gonna take me out if I don't toe the line?"

"Take it how you want to take it," Fury said. "But you're going to get your in-person look."

"Right. Who do I have to see now?"

At that, Fury couldn't help but smirk as he leaned back. "Old friend of yours from home," he said.

"Yeah, I don't have any of those."

"You'll just have to be wrong this time," Fury said. "I'll have Quartermain let you know when it's time — he's got the access you'll need to see this _old friend_."

"Seriously, Nick. Cut back on the riddles. It doesn't do you a damn bit of good." Logan didn't drop his gaze as Fury hit the button to call for Quartermain to return. "Or does it cause you physical pain to give a straight answer?"

Fury gave him a dry look but didn't answer until Quartermain arrived, and Fury tipped his head to Logan. "See if our good friend Mr. Wayne can find some time in his busy schedule for Logan, would you?"

Logan looked openly confused as he watched Fury, then looked between him and Quartermain before he let out a breath and shook his head on the way out the door.

Fury almost smirked to himself once Logan and Quartermain were gone, though the smirk died almost exactly in time with the door closing before he went to his comm to buzz Hill. "Tell my daughter I need a word. Now."


	72. Chapter 71: My Boss Likes Me to Smile

**(A/N): Welcome back to our Friday update! This time, we've got the ever-amazing Harley Quinn, written as always by Canucklehead Cowgirl.**

 **Thanks to our writers who reviewed the last chapter; we're glad to see people attaching to the characters and figuring out our best-laid plans ;)**

 **And thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for your reviews and for making us laugh :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Seventy-One - My Boss Likes Me To Wear A Smile**

 **Day Three**

 **Harleen Quinzel, District Eight**

 **Written By Canucklehead Cowgirl**

* * *

" _It doesn't matter who hurt you or broke you down. What matters is who made you smile again." - Unknown_

" _I've never forgotten him. Dare I say I miss him? I do. I miss him. I still see him in my dreams. They are nightmares mostly, but nightmares tinged with love. Such is the strangeness of the human heart. I still cannot understand how he could abandon me so unceremoniously, without any sort of goodbye, without looking back even once. The pain is like an axe that chops my heart. "_

― _Yann Martel, Life of Pi_

* * *

Harley had run out of materials to make traps hours ago, and with nothing to do with her hands, she was spending more and more time looking over her shoulder. Not wary about another tribute … more like she simply missed her _favorite_ partner in crime. She let her bat drag behind her in the water, watching the ripples as they rushed out and bounced off of the trees and her friends' legs while they walked.

It was hard to think about setting traps, or hunting people down, or well … _anything_ when the fact of the matter was that she'd been worried sick since the lightshow the day before. She'd held her breath until she could see that her Puddin's name wasn't up there, but … it sure didn't help matters that he was probably all alone out there _lost in the swamp_.… He just wasn't cut out for this kinda thing.

He was used to his goofy clown goons watchin' out for him and coverin' his back … he'd never make it all alone.

She paused and once again looked over her shoulder the way they'd come. The trail was completely obscured, and she had no idea how to even get back to where she'd last seen him, let alone how to find him from there. "Aww, Puddin," she lamented in a breath. "Why'd ya haveta go and be so mean?"

Helena stopped when she heard her sigh, turned, opened her mouth, closed it again, and turned back, continuing to slog through the water. "He doesn't know how to be anything else, Harley. He's a jerk. You're better than him, and you deserve better." She paused for a moment and added, "And you _know_ it."

"Awww, you're just jealous that you don't have a fella who's as lovin' an' loyal to you as my Puddin' is to me," Harley replied in a sullen tone, under her breath. Deep down, she knew that Helena was right … but she missed him. And she knew he missed her. He _had_ to.

"Right. So jealous of an abusive, psychotic clown," Helena replied evenly.

"Ya think I don't know what love is? My Puddin' isn't the _first_ guy I ever fell for," Harley said with a sniff as she tipped her nose up.

"Oh? So there's someone to blame for your willingness to let Jack treat you like he does?" Helena said with a raised eyebrow, obviously trying to figure out what had gone wrong with her teammate.

Harley smirked and shook her head lightly as she thought about it. "Nah. His name was Bernie Bash. Only guy in my class that _understood_ me." She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes as she reminisced. "He was a real sweetie." She smiled to herself and seemed to perk up just a little as they sloshed through the murky water.

Helena and Pam shared a look, but it was Pam that broke the silence. "What happened?"

"Oh. You know. Just what you'd expect." Harley sighed and smiled a little wider as her tone became more sing-song. "He made a grand gesture that got himself killed. It was the most romantic thing I ever saw."

"What did he do?" Helena asked, fully turned her way and perfectly focused on her as Harley kept walking, catching up to the pair of them and then even passing them by.

"We had this broad in school use'ta be a real pain. She was the head cheerleader; you know the type." She pulled a face and then spun to face the girls, with one finger pointing their way. "Bonnie Harper. He pushed 'er in front of a crosstown bus." She let out an audible sigh as she clasped her hands under her chin and then scrunched up her nose before she made a swing with the bat, hitting nothing but mosquitoes. "That girl used to treat me like _dirt_ every chance she got. And Bernie … he took offense to it. Iced 'er just because she was mean to me."

The other two young women watched as Harley's smile slipped, and her bat slipped down to splash on the surface of the water. "He never got a real trial. There was enough witnesses that they just hauled him off to prison. He wasn't there a month before someone shanked him over some mashed potatoes."

There really wasn't much that could be said to that, so after a silent pause, the three girls were again trudging forward. But that didn't mean that Harley wasn't thinking. "So don't you even think for one second that I don't know what love is," Harley said with a stern tone, though once again she found herself slowing down and letting the girls take the lead as she rested her baseball bat across her shoulders and thought back.

* * *

 _A week or so after the dramatic rescue from the thugs in the alley, Harleen had found herself searching out the strange graffiti that she'd seen on the wrong side of the tracks._

 _In spite of his harsh warning to get away, she couldn't help but try to find him, and even when she finally did, he was impossible to get to. He had droves of devoted followers that kept back anyone that didn't have official business with the clown prince of crime._

 _She watched from a distance, since his friends wouldn't let her get closer, even after she changed her whole look, ditching the more popular clothes that the other girls in her class wore for a more edgy look_ — _cut off shorts and a crop top, for starters._

 _She bided her time, watching from afar as Joker and his gang went about their business. She spent her time refining her look … and when the two gangs of Eight met up to plot together on how best to raze the city, Harleen found her cue._

 _One of the opposing gang members started yellin' and throwin' threats around. Clearly, the lines of communications were closing._

 _With an acrobatic flip, Harleen cartwheeled her way into the middle of the madness. "Hold up there, big boy," she sang out as she got in the middle of negotiations. "You can't keep up a meetin' with my Puddin' lookin' like some kinda hobo." She squinted her eyes and pointed at a spot in the center of the man's chest_ — _and the instant he looked down, one foot went flying up as she kicked him in the nose. "Ha! Made ya look!"_

 _As the fight broke out all around them, with Harleen in the middle, giving it every bit as good as any of the gang members, Jack stood there, his chin in his hand as he watched the scene of chaos around him. "I'm having the worst case of deja vu," he said, mostly to himself. "The voice is familiar, but I can't place the face."_

" _You like the view, Puddin'?" Harleen said over her shoulder from on top of a fire escape before she performed a little wiggle and somersaulted over to Jack, sliding up to him to wrap her arms around his waist._

" _I have the strangest feeling we've met before," he told her frankly, a pointed frown on his features as he watched her affectionate hello._

" _Of course we have," Harleen said with a huge grin_ — _and that was what seemed to do it for Jack as understanding lit his features and he let out a soft 'ah'._

" _Want me to ice 'er boss?" the nearest clown asked, but before Jack could answer, Harleen took offense and dove at the guy, one arm drawn back as she swung her purse toward him. He raised his arm to stop the blow from the purse, but when it made contact, there was a sickening_ crunch _and the clown dropped the knife in his hand in favor of holding his now broken arm close to his chest._

" _You wanna piece a me?" Harleen snarled as she stood over him, her purse at her side_ — _clearly heavier than it looked. "Bring it, clown-boy!"_

 _She drew back to hit the guy again, but before she could get too much more wound up, Jack grabbed her elbow with a tight smile. "Why don't you and I have a private word, my mysterious maid of mischief?"_

 _Harleen grinned up at him and dropped her purse_ — _which dropped a brick out of it when it hit the ground_ — _but he wasn't in the mood to wait for an answer and instead dragged her into the next room over. Once they were in the room, he shoved her forward and closed the door behind them, his smile morphing into something far less friendly as he advanced._

" _Oooh, I knew you an' me was gonna be a great match, Puddin'," Harleen said with a grin._

" _Oh, I don't know about that," Jack said. "What's funny here is the very idea that you think I'd ever want to be in_ love _. It's simply not something that is survivable."_

" _And why would you say that, Mistah J?" Harleen asked as her eyes went wide and he advanced on her._

" _Just a_ feeling. _You know what I mean? When you spot that certain someone …" In a quick move, Jack rushed her and wrapped his hands around her throat, pressing her back against the wall as he put on pressure and spoke through his teeth. "Your throat goes tight! You can't talk_ — _can't breathe! Heart pounding, head spinning …"_

 _And in the middle of it, she grinned at him, eyes wide, not fearful in the least, or not registering what was happening at the time, though that seemed to be enough_ — _and all at once, Jack's malicious smile fell, and he let her go and stepped back. "That was … I was just joking," he said in an almost sullen tone._

 _She rubbed her throat and stepped forward, still grinning at him._

" _You're one crazy broad, you know that … erm …"_

" _Harleen. Harleen Quin-zel."_

" _That's a neat little pun," he said, smirking as he turned toward her. "Girl like you only comes around once in a lifetime." He stepped forward, once again boxing her in. "So … what did you want to talk about,_ Harley _?"_

* * *

Helena cursed a mess of spiderwebs that had seemed to descend on her from nowhere and swore under her breath as she knocked a few small web slingers off of her arms. "Oh, for… Gaaah. Stupid, stupid spiders..." She brushed her arms off again with a final shiver and moved on. Still, it was enough to snap Harley out of her moment of reminiscing, even though her mind was firmly set on Jack as they started to move forward again.

The more she thought about it, the more she compared what she'd seen in the Captiol … like the sweet little baby-faced Gar and Raven thinkin' they were subtle … or the _unbelievably_ romantic Dick and Kory who absolutely knew they weren't … or even the way that she saw a few of the boys watching Diana with a poorly-hidden awe … it _was_ different than what she had with Jack. It was more equal. Better reciprocated. But it was still special. Right?

Her chest was tight, and she didn't realize at first that she was trembling.

"It's crazy, right?" Harley said after a long moment of only frogs and insects breaking the silence over the soggy march. "To love someone who hurt you." The other two girls shared a look as they watched their obviously dejected ally slow to a stop. "It's crazier, though, to think that someone who hurts you … loves you, right?" Harley had stopped fully, her chest heaving and her lip quivering, before she used the heel of her palm to wipe the escapee tears away with one hand, smearing the last remains of her makeup.

Pam stared at her for just a moment, open-mouthed, before she quickly crossed the open span of water between them and wrapped her friend up in a hug, holding her carefully as Harley rested her head on Pam's shoulder. "You don't need him, Harley," Pam told her. "You're too good for that grinning gargoyle."

"I know, I know," Harley drawled out. "You're startin' ta sound like a broken record, Red."

"What did you see in him, anyhow?" Helena asked, frowning at Harley but still looking concerned.

"It's kinda hard to explain," Harley said, still sounding pretty miserable. "I've just never met anyone like him, and he's a rush to be around … "

"Maybe just try to remember who's actually on your side," Pam replied as she stepped back and tipped Harley's chin up. "Now come on; we should get moving."

"Yeah," Harley said with a sniff. "You're right. It's just hard sometimes, ya know? It'd just be a lil' easier if there was a few jokes goin' around. I miss the laughs."

"Be that as it may," Pam said. "We should probably focus on making new good times … that are actually good."

The soggy little blonde frowned to herself, but Pam's smile was encouraging, especially after she'd given Harley a little kiss on the cheek … and with a grumble, Harley decided to at least _try_ to make the best of a miserable situation. She slipped the jacket that they all wore off and tied the arms around her waist, which was much more reasonable in the heavy heat and humidity as the girls wandered the swamp.

It was hard navigating the thick brush that was terribly overgrown in this section of the swamp. And it wasn't long before both Harley and Helena were having trouble with getting through the narrow game trails.

 _Snap!_

"Ow!" Harley called out as a red streak raised up over her cheek where a branch had snapped back and cracked her one in the face. "This _sucks_ ," she said, rubbing her tender cheek. "If it ain't the bushes, it's the bugs! Why tell us how to find food if they ain't gonna tell us how ta keep the skeeters off!"

"Harley … keep it down," Helena said, though even she had to admit Harley had a point.

"Who do we gotta kill ta get a little bug spray in here?" Harley said before she glanced around, searching for a camera. When she saw a glint of light on glass, she quickly dug in her pocket and pulled out her lipstick to reapply a swath of bright red, then fluffed her ponytails and posed in her best little cheesecake option toward the camera, considering the knee deep water all around them.

She cleared her throat and grinned widely. "Hey Mistah Osborn … if you wouldn't mind maybe I dunno … _gettin off ya worthless keister and doin' somethin' useful for once in yer miserable existence,_ I'd sure appreciate it." She grinned and even forced out a little giggle before her whole expression shifted to one that was entirely unamused as she drew her arm across her mouth — smudging her lipstick terribly. "Gettin' tired of this bug eat bug _bull_ crap."

She shoved the baseball bat in between her hip and the jacket, catching the end in a pocket and using it like a holster of sorts so her arms were free as they moved. " _Lead on_ , Miss Wayne."

It was plainly clear that putting the bat away was a good move. Harley needed her arms free to squeeze through the path Helena was making. The deeper they got into the heavy brush, the more she needed to hold back the bushes and brambles — in an attempt to keep them from thwacking her in the face. Once was enough, thank you very much.

"I know you like all'a this green and nature, Red, but this is gettin' a little ridiculous," Harley said as she once again moved back to keep from getting a branch in her eye. She had just ducked under another one and pushed a draping bit of Spanish moss out of the way when she felt something on her arm and froze to the spot. Her heart was hammering in her chest when she first saw the tarantula-sized spider resting on her. "Oh, man — that can't be good," she muttered to herself before the dark, hairy creature raised up its front legs, revealing bright, iridescent green and turquoise covering its mandibles and — for lack of a better term — face.

On seeing the beautiful shimmering colors on the spider, Harley's entire body language shifted, and she felt her features change from those of fear to absolute awe. "Oh my _gosh, he's so cute!_ " She bit her bottom lip and shrugged her shoulders up lightly, then gently held her free palm up in front of the spider that was still sitting on her arm. "Hey there, _little fella_!" she cooed. "You're about the prettiest thing I think I've seen in this here arena outside'a Pammy here." She was smiling sedately, and after a few moments, the spider slowly lowered its front legs and then walked from her arm to her palm, though when she giggled, again, it held its front legs up in warning.

"Oh, I'm not gonna hurt ya," she said, beaming at the brightly-colored spider. "Such a pretty little guy. Or gal. I'm not judgin'." She kept shifting her hands so the little guy could keep walking … until it finally stopped and seemed to tip its head slightly. Harley melted all over again when she saw it sizing her up. "Awwwwww, you really are the cutest little thing … I'm gonna keep ya if you wanna stay." She lifted her hand up so it was at eye level — bright, curious blue irises staring lovingly into the eight shining emotionless spider eyes that gave away nothing.

"Hey gals! Hold on a minute; I made a little friend!"

"What now?" Pam said under her breath as she turned, only to grimace and let her eyes widen when she saw the creature Harley was holding — and grinning at. "Oh God."

Helena stopped and looked back at her, taking a few seconds to register that something was seriously wrong with their little sociopath. "Oh, _good grief_. You're not thinking of keeping that thing, are you?"

"Nah, I'm not thinkin' about it, sweetums," Harley said, grinning maniacally. "I'm _doin'_ it. He's _precious!_ " She held her hands up presentation style — with the spider facing her two allies as she sang out 'ta-daaaa!' "Just look at him! Isn't he the prettiest thing you've seen since we got into this sinkhole?"

The spider, almost on cue, raised both front legs and bared its fangs toward the two girls, who cringed back slightly and shared a look of disgust.

"Look, Harley ... that thing is probably a mutt, from the size of it. It could be programmed to turn on you — on _all_ of us — at any moment! Just get rid of it!" Helena managed to take a step away from the spider without even realizing it.

"I'm gonna name him after the nicest, prettiest guy I ever knew," Harley said.

"If you start calling that thing 'Puddin', I'm going to flatten it with my boot, no matter what kind of crunching noise it makes when I do." Helena voice was harsh, but she gave a little shudder at her own threat, and Harley looked shocked.

"I said _nicest_ ," she countered haughtily, shimmying straighter as she stuck her nose in the air and the spider climbed up her arm to rest in the shade that her ponytail was throwing — one long leg resting against Harley's neck. "Oh. Lookit, see? He's a gentleman."

"What makes you say that?" Pam asked, her expression bordering somewhere on amusement.

"Because _gentlemen_ prefer blondes," she replied before positively strutting between the two of them. "C'mon Petey. Let's find us some high ground."

"Petey?" Pam said. "Who's that?"

"My lil' spider, of course," Harley replied. "An' he's a doll."

"He is _not_ a doll. He's a poisonous — _It's_ poisonous, a dangerous tool of the Gamemakers. Think, Harley!" Helena said.

"Aww, come on, he wouldn't hurt nothin'," Harley said before she sniffed and lifted her shoulder that wasn't holding Petey. "And the term is venomous if it bites you, poisonous if you bite it. Smarty pants."

Helena growled under her breath. "Sure, maybe it won't bite _you_..."

"Awww, come on …. he's just …he's so pretty! And if he was gonna bite me, don'tcha think he'd 'a done it already? These little fellas are just misunderstood. If ya treat 'em right, they won't hurt nothin'." She leaned her head toward the spider, who again raised its front legs for a moment, though it stopped when she straightened up again.

Helena rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Pam, talk some sense into her. I don't want that thing crawling around on us while we're asleep!"

"Don't bring me into this," Pamela replied with a smirk on her face, holding up her hands.

"I'll keep him away from you," Harley pouted as she cooed toward the spider. "Ya big spoilsport. I'll bet you'd be more friendly if it was more warm blooded." Harley sniffed and stuck her nose in the air before she turned and simply strutted past her to companions, deciding on the spot to lead the charge with her new friend.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince


	73. Chapter 72: The Fall of the House of El

**(A/N): And we're back with our Tuesday update! This time, we're checking on the Supers, with the lovely and talented Ophelia Claire and her similarly lovely and talented Kara Danvers ;)**

 **Thanks to our writers who reviewed this last chapter as well as previous chapters. It's so fun to see what parts get people laughing and which parts work for intensity and engagement. We love it!**

* * *

 **Chapter Seventy-Two - The Fall of the House of El**

 **Night Three**

 **Kara Danvers of District Five**

 **Written by Ophelia Claire**

* * *

" _Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you got 'til it's gone?"_

Big Yellow Taxi

Joni Mitchell

* * *

Kara was shivering, and it wasn't from the temperature. The arena air was still muggy and oppressive, and the sun was high overhead.

No, it was the remnants of Crane's gas in her system, and the trauma it had left behind.

Kara and Clark were huddled together at the base of a tall tree. They sat in a couple inches of water, but neither cared. They were just lucky to both be alive after the events of that morning. Kara could feel Clark's sturdy frame shuddering next to hers where their sides pressed together, drawing strength from one another's presence.

"How did we make it back to each other?" Kara murmured tiredly. "I can't remember. I remember fighting with you…and then running away."

Clark coughed. When he spoke, his normally rich, gentle voice was still raspy. "I think we never made it too far apart. I think I was still following you as the gas wore off, and then we just sort of…" He shrugged, though the movement was little more than a halfhearted jiggle.

Since Diana had woken them early that morning, Kara estimated she and Clark had been in a daze for two or three hours at least. She vaguely remembered brawling with him in a pool of water, the murk coating her face and slipping down her shirt. She could feel the itchiness now, of dried pond scum and whatever else was in the water inside her clothes, but she didn't really want to move right now.

"What'd you see?"

It took a moment or two for Clark's words to penetrate the fog that persisted in hanging around Kara's brain.

"What?"

"What did you hallucinate that made you wanna fight me?"

Kara tried to pull coherent thoughts out of the jumbled, hazy chaos that was her memory of the past few hours.

"I think… someone was in trouble," she said. "Someone important to me…" Kara's brow furrowed as she thought.

* * *

" _What are you doing here?" Kara snarled out. She glanced backwards at the man leaning heavily on a fallen tree. His once-bright green hair was dull and matted from dirt, and blood caked several rips in his clothes. "I thought you said you were hidden!" she said, panic creeping into her voice. Mar-Vell couldn't be here_ — _he'd be killed. She looked back at Clark, who had murder in his eyes._

" _If you want him, you'll have to go through_ me."

* * *

"Yeah," she continued. "He was hurt, and you wanted to hurt him more. A part of me was confused as to why he was in the arena, but at the time, the need to get you away from him outweighed everything else."

"I saw Lois," Clark blurted out. "She was here… and you said you had to take her away. That I could never see her again. Something about upholding the House of El."

Kara sighed. "Upholding the House of El is really not our biggest concern here in the arena." She shifted, feeling the mud squish underneath her. "And anyway, Lois Lane is hardly someone that would disgrace our name… or whatever. 'Our name' is only two people at this point; you kind of have free rein here." She let her head drop onto Clark's shoulder, and after a moment, she felt his cheek rest on the top of her head.

"I don't know if I ever actually said this, but I'm sorry for ostracizing you," Kara said. "I know I told you why, but it doesn't take away all the blame. I could've made my own choices, but I just followed along."

'That's one good thing to come from the Games, I guess," Clark replied after a moment of silent contemplation. "How long d'you think it would've taken us to come around if we hadn't gotten picked?"

"Oh, gosh, who knows?" giggled Kara. "We might've spent _years_ just furiously avoiding one another."

"Get some of them horse blinders so we wouldn't even be able to _see_ each other," added Clark.

As the sun inched higher in the sky, it began to glint off something stuck in the mud, partially hidden by the reeds several yards away. Kara studied it for a minute, and then heaved herself up from the mud on shaky legs. She placed a hand on Clark's shoulder for a moment to steady herself, and he put his hand up in case she needed another anchor. Kara waded over to the reeds and shoved some of them aside.

"Hey!" She pulled her shield out of the mud and held it up for Clark to see.

"Apparently, Hallucinating Kara is still smart enough to hide her gear nearby," he said, using the tree to pull himself to his feet. "Is your sword there?"

Kara pushed aside some more of the reeds, wandering further into the plant patch. "I don't see it. Maybe I lost it further away." Her foot landed on something hard that definitely was not mud. "Ooh, hey!" She plunged her hands into the murky water, and one closed around what felt like a hilt. "Yes!" She tugged the sword free from the sludge.

Clark sloshed over to join her. "That's a stroke of luck, at least." He put his hands on his hips and gazed across the swamp. "So, now what? Do we try and find Diana and John again?"

"I think eventually, yes, but we should find a good place to set up camp and see if anything happened this morning. We've been here and out of it for too long — we don't know if someone could have spotted us. And we don't know how much Diana and John were affected by the gas — their minds could still be altered."

Clark nodded. "Solid plan." He gestured out into the swamp. "Shall we?"

Kara was feeling much better with her sword and shield back in hand. "We shall."

The cousins meandered through the marshland for another hour or so. Fortunately, no one seemed to have taken advantage of them while they'd suffered the effects of Crane's gas, and the most dangerous thing they saw was the ridged back of an alligator gliding through the water several yards out into a pond. They were quiet, it ignored them, and they continued on their way.

Finally, they came across a grove of trees that were up on one of the raised patches of drier land.

"Here," Kara declared. "We can make camp here for the rest of the day and tonight."

"I would drop my stuff with a definitive air, but I didn't think to bring my pack when I chased you away from the campsite in a gas-induced craze," Clark said with a grin. Kara let her sword and shield fall to the ground and smirked at him.

"Definitive stuff-drop done," she said. "Now it's really ours." Clark laughed, really laughed, and the sound lifted Kara's spirits. "Okay, we're gonna need firewood and food. I haven't eaten anything since last night." Right on cue, Clark's stomach rumbled, and Kara laughed too. "And your stomach agrees."

"You've got the sword; I'll go look for food. Little ponds make catching fish easier; I remember that," Clark said.

"Stay within hearing distance, okay?" Kara said. "I've got trees to climb." Clark gave her a quick two-finger salute and began wading into the reeds.

Kara glanced around at the trees, gauging their climbability. She found one with several sturdy branches low enough to reach and hauled herself up. As she'd suspected, the lower branches were damp; but as she climbed higher and higher, away from the water and closer to the sun, the branches began to dry off.

Kara's head broke through the crown of leaves into the daylight. The sun beat down on her, and she turned her face upwards, basking in the light. The air was a little clearer up here too — a breeze that couldn't make it through the trees down below played across her face, and Kara just sat for a minute or two.

It was incredible how if she closed her eyes, she could be back in Five, with the sun warming her face and the breeze bringing fresh air to her nose. The sun was always the same. It was her rock in an arena where anything could happen.

She heard a splash and opened her eyes. A quick survey of the surrounding marsh found Clark waving at her. He grinned and held up a wriggling fish for her to see. Kara gave him a thumbs-up, and Clark turned back to the water.

Her need for sunlight satisfied, Kara began her own task. Her sword was not serrated, so she couldn't saw at the branches, but she could use it like an axe with passable results.

Kara spent about twenty minutes hacking away at branches and had tossed five good-sized logs down to the ground when she heard it.

Or, to be more accurate, _didn't_ hear it. It was too quiet. What had been making noise around her?

It hit Kara like one of Diana's punches.

 _Clark._

He'd been splashing and rustling around, and now there was none of that. Kara twisted around frantically in the tree, trying to catch a glimpse of her cousin's dark hair, but she saw nothing.

"Clark?" she called hesitantly. There was no response.

She tossed her sword down to the ground. It landed point-first in the soft ground as she scrambled down the tree, dropping the last couple yards to land in a crouch. She yanked her sword from the dirt and scooped up her shield, hurrying off in the last direction she'd seen Clark bustling around.

Maybe he was tracking a little animal and her call had startled it, and now he was just trying to be quiet until it dropped its guard once more. Kara hadn't heard a cannon, after all, or sounds of a struggle.

Or maybe he'd just wandered too far away for her to hear him. She wouldn't put it past him, based on what she'd seen in training. Strong and kind her cousin was, but flighty as a bird as well and as easily distracted.

Clark was fine, because all the evidence pointed to him just being out of range, right?

Kara had nearly managed to convince herself of that fact and had just spotted the trail of someone trudging through the reeds — _see, Clark_ did _just wander too far_ — when something green — a different, deep-forest green that she hadn't seen in the shades of olive that made up the swamp — caught her eye.

But she must have been seeing things, because green kryptonite flowers only grew in grasslands like Five; it couldn't grow in water-heavy environments like this.

But there was no mistaking the thick white streaks that ran through the petals _or the stems that had been freshly ripped_ —

Kara began to run, using her shield to thrash reeds out of the way, following the path of crushed plants ahead of her.

She nearly tripped over her cousin's body lying still in the water, a few kryptonite flowers floating in the water inches from his hand.

Kara dropped to her knees beside him, on the side opposite the innocent-looking flowers. His eyes were half-open, and his breath was short and raspy, but he still managed to focus on her.

"No, no no no no no. It's going to be okay, Clark. You'll be okay. You'll be fine."

The corners of Clark's mouth twitched, even as he choked on the feeble currents of air that were still making it into his lungs. He knew.

Kara couldn't think. Clark was dying. This wasn't right. This couldn't be right, because he was supposed to make it back to Five; he had a whole life with Lois ahead of him and Mrs. Kent — _oh god, Mrs. Kent_ —

A frantic idea came to Kara's mind; something she'd only seen done before a couple times. She pinched Clark's nose shut with one hand, hoping she wasn't making him panic more, and covered his mouth with hers, trying to force air into his lungs.

It was a good idea, but futile. Her air met resistance almost as soon as she exhaled. A little splash caught her attention, and she looked to find Clark's hand raised, shaking, fingers twitching.

She grabbed his hand with both of hers and gripped it like it would keep him alive longer.

Clark's mouth was moving now, trying to form words with the last vestiges of air he had in his lungs. Kara leaned closer, trying to catch the words.

"S...st…" Clark's other hand flopped onto his chest, and he tapped his gold pendant.

"Stronger together," Kara completed for him, her voice choked with tears.

Clark smiled faintly.

The grip on Kara's hand slackened.

Clark's head tipped gently to the side.

A cannon boomed.

And Kara screamed. It ripped itself from her throat without even her even thinking about it.

The scream was made of anguish from losing Clark so soon after finding him in her life; of regret for not staying by his side and keeping him away from the kryptonite flowers; of hate that the Gamemakers would give him a death this unworthy of him; and of deep, deep sadness and pain for the people he left back in Five.

She didn't care who heard it. Let Jack and Jonathan and Harvey come and find her — she would cut them down.

She had to make it home. She had to make it for Clark. To carry on her — _their_ — legacy.

A low hum made Kara look up sharply, the memory of the tracker jackers still fresh in her mind. There were no insects to be seen, but shimmering into view no more than a quarter mile away in the sky was one of SHIELD's hovercrafts. It was coming her way, which meant it was coming for Clark, and Kara had to leave. She reached out and placed her fingers delicately over Clark's eyelids, closing them softly. Her hand drifted to his forehead, and she flicked his cowlick— slightly limp from the damp heat, but still curling over his skin— before gathering her weapons and hurrying away from his body.

Kara walked for a couple hours. She didn't recognize the areas she passed, but she didn't pay much attention to her surroundings. She receded far into her own mind, memories that she'd almost forgotten resurfacing in her solitude.

* * *

 _She was six, and on the playground at school. She sat in the sandbox with her new friend, Winn, and the two of them were building a sandcastle bigger than either had ever made alone. The door to the playground opened, and a class of slightly older children came out. Clark was among them, and as soon as Kara saw him, she turned away and ducked down behind the wall they'd constructed._

" _Are you hiding from someone?" Winn asked._

" _No," Kara said indignantly._

" _You are! You're hiding from someone! Do you have a_ crush _on them? Do you_ loooove _them?" Winn sang._

" _No! I'm just... fixing the wall. It's crumbly over here."_

 _Winn studied the students beginning to disperse on the playground. "Are you hiding from Clark? Why don't you like him?"_

" _Be_ cause _!" Kara grumbled. "Mommy and Daddy said he's a bad person. And Mommy and Daddy are always right."_

 _Winn said nothing, just continued filling up his bucket._

* * *

Kara found a grove of close-growing trees to make camp in. There was a deeper pool of water with small fish nearby, and a sturdy tree with thick branches to spend the night in.

* * *

 _She was eleven, and taking a shortcut through a neighborhood she'd never passed through. She passed a house with an older woman working in the garden out front. The woman seemed to be struggling with a heavy tub of tools, and Kara hurried into the yard, taking one end of the tub just as the woman lost her grip on it._

" _Oh, goodness, thank you, sweetheart," said the woman. "I usually have my dear Clark to help me with the heavy lifting, but he's off doing goodness knows what. My name's Martha; would you like a glass of lemonade or some cookies?"_

 _Martha and Clark? Was this really Clark's house?_

' _Um, no thank you, ma'am, I'm running an errand for my mom. But thank you for offering."_

" _Don't worry about it, dear! Have a nice day!" Martha waved as Kara hurried on her way._

Would a bad person like Clark really help out with garden work like that? _Kara mused._

* * *

Kara built a small fire under a leafy tree, hoping the foliage would help disperse the smoke. Fires were visible at night, but smoke was visible during the day. One of Firestar's little tips.

* * *

 _She was thirteen, and she was sitting alone in a funeral hall in front of two closed caskets. There was nothing in them, she knew. Nothing had survived the explosion._

 _The service had been nice. Plenty of important people talking about her parents' legacy and impact and work. Everyone had hugged her and told her how sorry they were for her, but no one had really_ talked _to her. It was all just sympathy for a poor little orphan they didn't really know._

 _She heard footsteps behind her._

 _It was Clark. Kara jumped to her feet, swiping a quick hand across the tear tracks on her cheeks._

 _Clark stopped a couple yards away, his hands shoved in the pockets of his dress pants. Kara hadn't seen him during the service, but he must've been there._

" _I, uh… I'm really sorry. About your parents," he said awkwardly. "I didn't even know my folks_ — _the ones related to you, I mean... wish'd I'd known 'em."_

" _Um… yeah. Thanks_ — _thank you," Kara said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear._

" _It was a nice service," Clark offered._

' _I didn't know a single person up there talking," Kara admitted. "They all worked with my parents. Never really met them."_

" _Yeah. It was obvious they didn't know you. No one talked about you," he said._

 _Kara was taken aback by Clark's observation. "Yeah… I mean, it wasn't really about me, but… yeah."_

 _Clark gave her a tight smile. "Yeah. Um… well, I'm sorry again." He lifted a hand in farewell and hurried out of the hall._

* * *

Kara extinguished her fire as the sun began to set, the dinner of the few small fish she'd caught staving off the rumbling of her stomach. As the sky darkened and stars began to wink into view, the low, sonorous beginning of the Marvel anthem echoed through the arena. Kara hurried to climb her tree, because she couldn't stand to see Clark's image projected into the water. He deserved the open sky.

She reached the top just as the Marvel seal was fading from the black sky.

The first few faces to show up were nothing new. Slade Wilson faded into view, replaced after a few seconds by Cisco Ramon, then Kaldur. Kara braced herself for what was coming next, but her cousin's face held a calm, confident gaze still that made her heart ache. Jervis Tetch followed Clark, and another new face was next: Jonathan Crane. The ache in her chest was temporarily replaced by a stab of pleasure at knowing Crane was dead. If it weren't for his gas attack, she and Clark wouldn't have been separated and weakened. Clark might still be alive.

Little Gar's face was the last in the procession, and the sky went dark. Kara nestled herself into a sturdy fork and gazed up at the stars.

Sleep was a long time coming that night.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers


	74. Chapter 73: Twist of Fate

**(A/N): Welcome back to our Friday update! As a few of you have asked what's up with Harvey... it's time to find out! Here is Seas and Shadows' peek on one of our Batvillains ;)**

 **Thanks as always to the writers who reviewed. It sounds like we're hitting all the emotional buttons... and we're really not sorry.**

* * *

 **Chapter Seventy-Three – Twist of Fate**

 **Day Four**

 **Harvey Dent of District Two**

 **Written by Seas and Shadows**

* * *

" _First sign of madness, talking to your own head."_

― _J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_

* * *

Harvey shivered in the cold wind, fumbling around the tree roots on his hands and coin was gone. He needed his coin. Where was his coin!?

 _It's here somewhere! The Seven boy threw it here, it's hidden over here_ —

 **No, he whacked it there, it's over near that log** —

They needed the coin. Harvey needed the coin.

 _Where's our coin!?_

Harvey pitifully crawled into the base of the tree, wiping his dirt-stained fingers against his suit. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair at all.

Slade. The Career Pack. Crane. The tracker jackers. Harper. His side. Raven. His coin. His coin was gone. He _needed_ his coin.

 **Where's the coin!?**

"I don't know!" Harvey snapped. "I don't know, just stop it, stop fighting, just—" He trembled, trying to stay together, but it was a losing battle. "Just _stop bothering me!"_

Harvey felt little pinpricks spark at his eyelids, and the following bubble of shame that rose up in his chest squeezed at his lungs. He sniffled, propping his head on his knees so the cameras wouldn't see his tears.

His ribs were just about destroyed. He'd lost everyone — Harper, Jack, the Careers. His coin was missing. Dick had gotten away with Raven.

 _At least it can't get any worse._

Then, it started to rain.

Harvey slumped, curling in on himself. His shoulders began to heave.

He wasn't crying. He wasn't. He was _Harvey Dent_ , he was sixteen years old, he was from the _Avengers Academy_ , he didn't cry, Tony Masters would have never let him cry…

Harvey sat there for a moment, staring at his mud-soaked knees through a haze of tears.

No. He wouldn't cry. Not yet. He'd cry when he'd won the Games or he'd cry when he died trying. But he wasn't going to cry here. Not like this. He was better than that.

Harvey wiped his nose and got to his feet. He started walking, not focusing on where his feet led him. His ribs burned horribly in pain. Dick had done a number on him, worsening what Harley had done with her bat. He would have to try and fix it up soon, but for now, with the rain, the best thing he could do was try and find some poor creature that would have come up to ground level for a meal.

 **No! We need to find the coin, go after Dick and Raven, and make them pay! We gave him a chance, we trusted him, we need to make them hurt for what they've done! He didn't play fair. He lied; we trusted him, and he lied!**

 _No! Fix up the ribs, stop the bleeding, clean up the blood, then find the coin. We can't find the coin if we aren't conscious, we have to stay alive first!_

 **Shut up! Don't tell me what to do, not when I don't have the coin! I'm the boss here, I'm in charge** —

 _YOU'RE in charge? Excuse me? I'M the one calling the shots now. The coin would have wanted this_ —

 **Are you kidding me? The coin** —

"Stop it," Harvey groaned out. He stopped his trek into the forest, putting a hand on a tree for support. He took a deep breath, slowing down his building anger before it reached a boiling point. "I'll work this out, just wait. We're gonna fix this, everything's gonna be alright, got it?"

Harvey just had to have a little bit of luck, now; all he needed was to be left alone for the rest of the day, to get some time to recuperate and work on his problems. He'd find his coin or make a replacement, he'd fix up his chest, he'd get a solid shelter going. He could do this. He'd been trained for this.

He could make this work. He could fix it all. The Games just had to give him a chance to show that it was fair. That was it. That was all he needed.

He'd bent down to pick up a sturdy branch he could use as a walking stick when Harvey felt the cold, sharp sensation of a knife at his throat.

A soft, quiet voice sounded in his ear, a voice that didn't match with the ones inside his head. "Freeze."

Harvey froze. His mind began to spin faster than he could follow it. The blade was poised below his chin, held horizontally over his Adam's apple by his assailant's right hand. There was a hand gripping his left shoulder. In the pouring rain, Harvey had never even heard them come until it was too late.

 _The voice is too high to be a guy's. This is a girl. I don't think we know them really well, or else we could tell who it was by now._

 **Steal her knife. Break her wrist. Stomp on her throat.**

 _Cooperate. Listen to her. See if she wants anything from you first and use that to our advantage._

Harvey considered what the voices had to say and carefully moved his gaze back toward where the knife was pressed at his throat.

"I told you. Don't. Move." The girl hissed, shifting closer threateningly.

Her mistake.

Harvey gritted his teeth. "No, thanks," he replied, and smashed the back of his head into the girl's nose.

She tried to make a movement with her knife, cursing in pain, but Harvey used the extra space he'd made to move his good arm up to counter, knocking at her wrist. He bent forward, using his weight, and grabbed at the girl's knife with both hands, twisting her fingers backwards until they released. Harvey pulled the girl's arm forward, using the momentum to smash his right foot onto her toes.

It was a move Taskmaster had shown him back in the Academy. It was made to be fast, simple, practical.

The girl kicked Harvey hard in the back with her free arm, near where Dick had reopened his chest injury. He gasped, his lungs aching for a breath as he mentally swore. Unable to do anything but to let go of her other hand and stumble to the ground, he turned, trying to catch a glimpse of his attacker while he fought his lungs for air.

Blonde hair, stained almost brown by mud and the heavy downpour. Bright, piercing blue eyes. Pale skin, marred by scratches and tracker jacker welts.

 _ **It's the Three girl. Where's the coin?!**_

 _WE NEED THE COIN!_

"Stop it!" Harvey snapped. "I don't need this now! Not now!"

The Three girl frowned, circling him warily. She didn't understand, didn't know why Harvey was so upset. He didn't _have_ the coin, dammit! How was he supposed to decide without the coin?!

He glanced down at the hand that was holding the knife he'd taken off of her. He had no idea how well it was balanced, but he thought he could probably toss it without doing himself more harm. Would it work like the coin?

Harvey threw the girl's knife up into the air, and she jumped, startled at the action, before she smirked. "I thought you were supposed to be good with knives."

The knife spun downwards, and Harvey snatched at it eagerly. He felt the telltale prick of the blade slice at his hand, saw thin strands of red mix with the raindrops when he opened his palm.

It had worked. Harvey grinned.

"You haven't seen anything yet, Caitlin," Harvey said, drawing her name from all of the time he had spent memorizing the tributes, working with Masters. He had prepared for this; he felt steadier with the knife almost like his coin.

He knew from what he'd studied about her before the Games that she favored brains over brawn. Sure, anyone was dangerous with a knife in their hand, but Harvey had the knife now, and Caitlin was no match for him without a weapon, even if he was injured. She didn't know how to fight; she hadn't done much in training….

A second girl tackled him from behind, and Harvey found himself suddenly slipping on the wet tree roots, scrambling for stability in a blur of green and brown and grey.

 _HIT HER HIT HER HIT HER_ —

 **KILL HER KILL HER KILL HER** —

Something smashed into Harvey's gut, and he got a glimpse of dark hair and an olive-skinned fist. Harvey fell onto his back, rolling on his bad side, and his ribs _burned_ in response. Caitlin's knife slipped from his fingers, splashing somewhere out of view as his vision began to blacken around the edges.

 **Someone else** —

 _They're here, they're all around us, they're good at this_ —

 **It's not fair, it's not fair, IT'S NOT FAIR** —

 _Why can't they just let us be?!_

Another fist flew at Harvey's face, but he saw it coming this time. He tried to block and sloppily managed to deflect the hit — trying and failing to ignore the pain as they pounded at his face with their other hand.

A foot rammed into his groin. Harvey fought off the taste of rising bile and the darkness creeping further into his vision. He gasped harshly and tried to raise his torso, no longer trying to fight, and instead simply looking for distance. He'd already let go of the second girl's hand. She reeled back, likely stunned at the sounds coming from him, and Harvey used the crucial second to get his first good look at the second girl.

He _knew_ this girl.

District Ten.

Jade Nguyen.

And from what he remembered of her from his observations before the Games, this one _did_ know how to fight.

 **She has stripes on her face. Why does she have stripes on her face?**

 _Not gonna stay on long with rain like this. It's already smudging._

This wasn't fair. Harvey had only wanted _a day_. One day where it was him and the voices in his head and nobody else to bother him. He hadn't asked for any of this. It wasn't _fair_.

He shakily got to his knees, swamp water dripping off his face. He turned, looking for where Jade had gone, but Caitlin was at his side and had gotten her knife back. Harvey was watching her as closely as he could, though he was in no shape to even get to his feet. He reached for the set of throwing knives by his thigh and managed to slip a knife into his good hand just before Caitlin came down on him. She swiped her knife down, the air whistling as it moved, and Harvey flicked his knife upward, stopping the descent of her attack just in time. His other arm had already travelled half the distance to Caitlin's head, ready to strike, but then Jade was there and—

 _Oh, god, she's going for the bad side, she's going for the injury_ —

 **They're working together, they're teaming up on me, this** — **this isn't** _ **fair!**_

Harvey seized up in pain, instinctively trying to move back, but Caitlin was on the other side, as hard to escape as an avalanche given the state of his side and his breathing. Suddenly, Harvey's other hand was being pinned down, he was losing grip of his knife–

"Keep him down!" he heard Jade yell to Caitlin. "Don't let him move, keep him—"

 _Stop it! Go away, go away, go away! This isn't fair; you're not being fair!_

Harvey could feel adrenaline pumping through his veins and felt his face go red with heat and rage. He pushed back as hard as he could, trying to free himself, but with no air coming to him, he simply couldn't get the leverage he needed and didn't have the strength necessary to fight them both off. Jade was kicking away at him with her free leg, ramming her knee again and again into Harvey's side. He'd lost the knife he'd taken out; he didn't know where it was. He didn't have anything he could use to stop them, and every kick was only making his breathing problem worse.

 **It's not** _ **fair**_ **! There's two of them, they're not hurt like us, it's not fair!**

He hadn't managed to worm away from the two. Harvey looked back, trying to get an idea of what Jade and Caitlin were doing next, but with his vision beginning to fail him, and his lungs not bringing him nearly enough air, he had no way to stop his inevitable fate. He shifted his gaze, water dripping in front of his eyes — and Harper Row stared back down at him.

No.

 _No._

 **No. She ran away! You scared her off, she left, she went away!**

 _She's our friend! We helped her survive, we taught her tricks, we kept her safe, she's here to repay us, she's here to save us_ —

 **She came back for us! She's going to help us, she's come back for her friend, for her partner** —

"Harper," Harvey barely managed to gasp, clutching at his chest, which had reopened thanks to the dual efforts of Caitlin and Jade. The blood felt almost foreign to him, hot and thick against his comparatively cooler hand, and he put every ounce of all he had left trying to explain, to tell her what was happening. "Thank God — you came — back, you — you came — back for — me — they're — gonna — kill me, stop them — we — you and me — Harper..."

His district partner looked down at him, emotionless. She reached for her knife, and Harvey smiled. His mouth tasted like blood. He wasn't sure how long he would have lasted without her. He had never felt so grateful in his life. "Thank you, H-Harper," Harvey stammered, trying to catch his breath, but the burning in his chest was somehow only getting worse.

Harper's face contorted into a sneer, and Harvey's heart stopped.

"No," the word escaped him, more painful than the breath that wouldn't come.

 _She-_

 **How-**

 _But-_

 **Why-**

Harvey heard something splash behind him and looked up just in time to catch Caitlin right behind him. Harper slashed her knife down at the same time Caitlin struck at Harvey's back. Harvey tried to raise his arms on instinct, but it did nothing to stop either of the blades' trajectories. Harper's knife scraped into his shirt, piercing the thin fabric and into the side of his chest. The hit went deep. Harvey felt metal collide with fragments of bone right before Caitlin's blade slid right next to his spine.

If Harvey thought breaking his ribs hurt like mad, he was completely unprepared for what came next. The knife dug into flesh, cutting past cartilage, sinking into his insides like an icicle through warm butter. Harvey gasped and stiffened. Caitlin stumbled backward and pulled her knife free — letting the blood flow out so much faster than the rain and water washing around them.

 _You're a traitor, Harper._ Harvey thought, well beyond being able to breathe, let alone speak. _This is your fault. It's_ — _It's your fault they're gone. You weren't fair. You weren't fair, and you killed me_ —

He didn't even notice that the thoughts were his own, not the voices that usually argued in his head. Not when Harper was in front of him. The traitor.

Harper swallowed, said something that was lost on Harvey's ringing ears. She raised Harvey's knife, to finish him off — though Harvey knew already that this was it. The voices were gone; it was so quiet. He was in so much pain that he hardly noticed when Harper plunged the knife into his heart.

Harvey had never felt so alone.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row


	75. Chapter 74: That's What I Get

**(A/N): Welcome back to our Tuesday update! This time, we're peeking behind the scenes after all that death and destruction. Check out Logan's mentor peek, written as always by Canucklehead Cowgirl.**

 **Thanks as always to the writers who reviewed as well as to Slim Summers2002 for continuing to hang with this story and let us know what you loved :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Seventy Four - That's What I Get**

 **Capitol Training Center, Day Four**

 **Logan Howlett, Twenty Fourth Victor**

 **Written By Canucklehead Cowgirl**

* * *

" _Our chief want is someone who will inspire us to be what we know we could be."  
Ralph Waldo Emerson_

" _It is spiritless to think that you cannot attain to that which you have seen and heard the masters attain. The masters are men. You are also a man. If you think that you will be inferior in doing something, you will be on that road very soon."  
_ ― _Tsunetomo Yamamoto, Hagakure: The Book of the Samurai_

* * *

The level of control that was being used over Logan in the Capitol was disturbing. Even more so than the usual mess he found himself in. Naturally, once Fury had finished his little chat and sent Logan out of his office, it wasn't to kick him back to the shark tank. Instead, Agent Quartermain led him through a maze of hallways and stashed him away from the other victors and capitolites with an Agent that was nearly unreadable, which was proof that he'd be babysat for a while longer until Fury got over this new wave of paranoia.

Of course, it didn't exactly feel like much of a babysitting detail to start with. Agent May had been sure to introduce herself like a professional, but as soon as the door was closed, she attacked, and the two of them sparred for a solid hour - no doubt testing his retention of hand to hand combat that Fury had tasked him with.

She'd looked almost pleased when they stopped for the first break to catch their breath, but before he could fully regain his wind, she launched into a new assault. He could tell that May was testing his boundaries, pushing him, and trying to get him to lose his temper, but he wasn't about to do it.

While they worked he weighed his situation out, and by the time they stopped and their dinner was delivered via more SHIELD agents, he was sure that the director was digging into every interaction he'd had since their last discussion.

Fury had to be trying to see if Logan had leaked the TAHITI secret, because honestly, if it was Logan in Fury's shoes - that's exactly what he would have done, given the situation. Check into it. Double check it and assume guilty until proven innocent. At least where secrets like this came in.

* * *

Logan took a moment and cleared away the empty food containers on the table to join the ones from the previous night in the garbage can before he glanced up at his new 'friend' and let out a sigh. He was going a little stir crazy between random sparring sessions, and when it was clear that May wasn't moving from her current spot, he simply dropped into his seat and went back to reading the very old all-Japanese copy of _Hagakure_ that Jubilee had found for him, which was wonderful practice … but not how he expected to be spending his time in the Capitol.

 _This is what happens when I keep asking for someone that's nothing like Parker to talk to,_ Logan thought to himself, then scowled a little deeper. _Damnit. Worse than I thought if I'm missin' his yakkin' right now._ The woman across the room guarding the door kept her arms crossed and her gaze elsewhere as she stoically kept watch over him.

Until of course, there was a knock and a very quiet, cryptic 'it's time' from the other side. May looked over at him and tipped her chin up. "You heard the man. Let's move."

Logan let out a grumble and got to his feet, book still in hand, though he stopped a few paces from May. "You gonna tell me what the hell this is all about?" Which, of course, she completely ignored, in favor of a short staring contest.

"My team is waiting on you. Security will only be guaranteed for so long," she replied.

He held her gaze for another long moment before he opened the door and stepped outside, where Quartermain quickly led him out into the bright sunlight. A car was waiting - along with half a dozen more SHIELD agents. He glanced over his shoulder at May, who only gestured for him to get moving. In no time, the entourage was on the road, and Logan had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. This was a load of crap. All of it.

The blacked out windows on the car they were in … the fact that it wasn't just Quartermain 'escorting' him through the Capitol. It had Logan on edge. It was like all of the rides he'd taken with Moira only the sense of impending doom was much worse. Nothing that started this way ended well. Ever. Not that there was much he could do about it yet.

He was more tense than he'd admit to by the time they had finally worked their way through the city to where the houses were situated a little further apart. There was a lot more greenery than what was in the very center of the Capitol. In fact, this place was about as secluded as you could get while remaining within the Capitol's walls.

When they finally came to a stop, Quartermain held up a hand to make sure Logan knew to wait. Agents from the other car spread out and verified that the coast was clear before May and Quartermain finally exited the vehicle with him.

May led the way, but Logan was set to fight and made note of where the other agents were stationed around the place, even if they were pointedly trying not to look his way. Quartermain took over lead, and Logan followed him through the security checkpoints that were clearly more extensive than the exterior of the house indicated. Palm and retinal scanners, voice recognition, the works. Whoever it was behind the doors had to be either very powerful in the Capitol constructs, or incredibly valuable to Fury's quest.

Which only made Logan more sure that Fury had been pulling his leg when he mentioned Bruce Wayne. Until Wayne's butler let them in through the final set of doors as if he'd been opening up Wayne manor - his usual polite expression in place as he greeted them. "Alright that's …," Logan muttered under his breath. "Who the hell travels with a butler?"

"I thought it was a Seven thing," May said dryly, though that was probably the most she'd said to him in the past twenty four hours. Roughly. And he couldn't pass it up.

"What's that make you?" Logan shot back with a tight smile that only earned an emotionless glare from the Agent.

"Your keeper," was the monotone reply.

The impeccably dressed older gentleman that had greeted them interrupted their picking with a brisk "This way, please."

He led them right to a smaller room that clearly was being utilized as a study, though as Logan looked around it, he was obviously out of his comfort zone. "What's the story?"

That was when Bruce Wayne himself arrived, of course, his eyebrows high when he saw Logan. "The story is fairly straightforward. Someone tried to kill me, and since Nicholas Fury is a paranoid old bat, that means I'm under _protective custody_ and relegated to paperwork while my children _fight for their lives_ in the Games." He paused and fixed Logan with a look, clearly irritated with the arrangement. "Unless this is Fury's overly elaborate way to arrange for you to take a donation?"

For an instant, Logan frowned, not liking the way that this was laid out even more than usual. "Pretty sure I got it covered," Logan replied. "I'll let you know if I'm fallin' short."

Bruce nodded before he sat down at his desk. "Then you're probably here about the will," he surmised, looking at the two agents who had accompanied Logan, though neither of them gave anything away.

"What will?" Logan asked - his expression open enough to make it clear that he had no idea what Bruce was talking about, but Bruce wasn't looking his way, and Logan missed his expression entirely.

"Old Man Howlett," Bruce said, gesturing to the huge stack of paper and binders on the desk.

"The hell's that got to do with me?" Logan asked, frowning at his old family's rival.

"He left you everything - and made me executor. The old bastard." With a glare that illustrated exactly how irritated he was at having to deal with everything, Bruce finally looked up at Logan and paused, the glare still firmly in place.

Logan took a step back and shook his head with both hands out. "Woah. Hold on. _What?_ " He narrowed his eyes and tipped his head to the side slightly. "You tellin' me he finally kicked it? Who'd he take with him?" Logan took a step forward. "And _what._ He did _what?_ "

Bruce turned the full force of his incredibly unamused expression toward Quartermain, who simply raised both hands. "Hey, you're executor - exec-ute or something."

But that only made Bruce's glare harden before he turned back to Logan and took a deep breath, trying to be patient. "On the same day someone shot at me and killed the SHIELD operative that had come to protect me, the old man was ambushed in his study in the house on the hill. He was the only target, so he was the only one who died," he explained evenly. He rested a hand on the stack of papers. "As for the rest, all I can tell you is that yes, he left it all to you, and despite going through everything with a fine-toothed comb, there's not a thing I can find wrong with any of it. You are the sole heir to the entire Howlett Estate and everything that comes with it."

Logan stared at him for a minute then scrubbed his hand over his face. "Of course he'd do somethin' like that. Puttin' it in writing probably killed him on its own." He slowly took the few steps forward. "So what am I supposed to do with all of this? I'm guessin' you needed me or I wouldn't be here."

Bruce leaned back and let out a breath. "Honestly, at this point, I only need your signature to continue a few lines of funding that your father had put into place that are tied to the Howlett finances - the orphanage, the businesses, all things of that nature as well as acknowledging that you're now the one _responsible_ for all of it." He paused and gave Logan a serious look, as if he was assessing him as he spoke. "Additionally I need instructions on what you intend to do with the staff at the estate," he said, then looked toward Alfred. "Personally, I'd suggest keeping them - they're good people. Of course, _legally_ , I can't advise you in what you choose to do with your estate, but if you plan to keep them on, you need to make them an offer of employment."

"I wouldn't get rid of 'em if they wanted to stay. I know they're relyin' on the money and there aren't many options for 'em in Seven otherwise," Logan said, following Bruce's gaze to rest on Alfred. "I'm sure the old man was screwin' 'em over for years, too. Whatever he allotted for 'em can't be enough." He tipped his chin up toward Wayne's butler. "Alfred, right?" Logan said, waiting for him to nod and confirm as such. "You're the most knowledgeable person in the room. Why don't _you_ take a look and adjust the numbers. I don't know what'd be considered fair, but I'm sure whatever's on that paper ain't it."

Alfred raised both eyebrows for a moment before he seemed to be completely unable to hide the smile. "I can certainly suggest to you a commensurate pay level," he said mildly.

" _Good_. I trust your judgement." Logan let out a sigh. "And... if you could take a guess at how much they've been underpaid in the last … say ten years? I'd like to fix it. Call it a bonus for having to put up with my crap instead of his."

Once more, Alfred looked surprised, his lips slightly parted before he recovered his poise and nodded. "I shall estimate a round figure, of course," he said, and Bruce was already handing him the necessary binder with an almost proud sort of look.

Logan nodded and turned back to Bruce. "Is that all?"

"Unless SHIELD wanted something else, that's all I've been made aware of," Bruce said. "You can get back to campaigning for my children after you sign all of this." Bruce paused and held Logan's gaze. "Legal name, please, James."

"Right," Logan breathed out and nodded to himself, looking almost resigned to it. He pulled out the chair to sit down and sign everything Bruce stuck in front of him, though he paused, pen in hand, staring at the very first line that required his signature, simply unused to using his given name.

Once he got started, Logan worked at finishing the paperwork far more like his father in speediness at least, and it was clear that he trusted Bruce to not pull something, where the old man would have read every word on every page.

It was all very mechanical once he got started. He'd seen his father do this kind of thing years ago, and there were plenty of forms he'd had to sign since he'd won his games. Even for as often as he'd done it in the past year, it was still a foreign feeling to sign 'James' instead of 'Logan'.

Logan took even greater care when he paused to take a few sheets of blank paper to carefully draft out a letter addressed to the staff of the estate, sure to word it clearly so they knew he wasn't demanding a thing of them with his offer of continued employment, and that the bonus was theirs whether they chose to remain on or not.

Finally, after not only signing everything Bruce had prepared, and glancing at the neatly-stenciled numbers that Alfred had written into one of the binders just long enough to sign that too, Logan was done with the legal side of things. He sat there for a few moments, almost numb after he set the pen down as Bruce quietly stacked the paperwork aside, still watching Logan with that same almost proud look that made Logan more than a little uncomfortable.

"Before you go," Bruce said, pulling Logan back to the here and now. "Let me give you something for Helena and Dick."

"Sure," Logan said, pulling a small device out of his back pocket. "If you wanna do that, I keep it on me. But I think I got it covered already." He slid it across the desk to Bruce and sat back. "You shouldn't 've had to deal with all this crap."

"It's about the only _useful_ thing I've done since I got here," Bruce muttered as he keyed in his information and slid the tablet back toward Logan. "I haven't included an amount. Whatever you need for them - _that_ is more important to me than any figure."

Logan watched him for a long moment, weighing out his words carefully before he spoke. "I'm gonna exhaust my resources in the Capitol first."

Bruce met his gaze and it was clear that he was taken aback for a moment. "They're my kids," he said simply.

"I know. They're good people," Logan said, nodding. "I've got a lot of money headed my way from sponsors as it is. It's all I've been doin' when I wasn't with them. I'm _not_ turnin' you down. Not even close, I'm just gonna go through them _first_ rather than risk bankrupting you." He got to his feet and looked at the tablet, frowning when he saw that there was another addition next to Wayne's. He glanced up at Alfred, who only gave him a determined sort of look before Logan put the tablet back in his pocket and he addressed both of them. "Right now, they're both doin' alright. By the time they need somethin', you can count on it being bigger than any one donation. Especially with the little rule they threw in. But I'm tellin' you - they won't go without."

"You have to understand," Bruce said, rising from his chair as well to see the boy out. "It's the only thing I can do."

"I know," Logan agreed. "And I'll pitch in _myself_ when the time comes to cover any shortfall. I promised to help them and to do everything I can. I intend to stick to my word."

Bruce raised an eyebrow at that. "Huh," was all he said as he obviously considered Logan, which really only made the young man feel as if he needed to explain himself.

"Listen. I had more than I'd ever need from my winnings and … _etcetera_ ," Logan said, looking a little more uncomfortable. "This …" he gestured toward the stack of papers they'd left behind. "Even without this, I was plannin' to throw my all in when they needed it. There's no rule against it, and _I_ don't need _anything_ from the Capitol to live. Estate or no."

Bruce nodded, still looking thoughtful as he watched Logan out of the corner of his gaze and then stopped him at the entryway. "I'm sure I'll see you again when Fury finishes his little… tantrum."

"If he's followin' through on what he says, then yeah. Hopin' for sooner than later," Logan agreed.

"That's what I understand," Bruce said. "But you know how Nick is. He'll never give a straight answer when he could give nine smaller pieces to fit together yourself."

Logan nodded but paused as he considered it. "Believe it or not, that's not _entirely_ my experience. I think he's making an effort for more of a two way street."

"Then he must trust you," Bruce reasoned.

"I wouldn't go that far," Logan said, shaking his head. "He only deals with people he thinks are useful. All it really means is that he has a purpose for me still."

Bruce nodded lightly with a small smirk before he rested a hand on Logan's shoulder. "If you need anything - if _they_ need anything - let me know."

"You'll probably know as soon as I do. Maybe before since I'm spendin' a lot of time in the shark tank," Logan replied. "I appreciate you playin' Fury's secretary. I doubt Agent May would have been nearly so warm."

"That's not something I'm used to being called," Bruce said with a smirk toward the agent in question.

"He's probably suffering from a head trauma," May said dryly before she gestured to Logan. "If you're done…"

"You gonna go out on the town with me, Agent May?" Logan teased.

May smirked his way. "I suppose that's _one_ way to look at it."

Logan let his smirk stretch into a crooked smile. "Just what I was lookin' for. Sushi and a spar." He tipped his head to Bruce then took a moment to pause and turn Alfred's way. " _Thank you._ I wouldn't have felt right offering them what the old man was paying." He glanced up at Bruce one more time, though he didn't hold his gaze as he headed out with May and Quartermain and the entourage of Agents.

They'd barely gotten on the road again when Logan sat back and let out a breath. "You know, you could've told me about the old man," he said, looking between the two agents. "I'm not mad, but that wasn't right leavin' it to Wayne."

"Wasn't our call," Quartermain replied, though he looked as if he didn't approve of the situation either.

"Bull. What about the cloak and dagger crap takin' me through the city like you're delivering me to a Capitolite on a silver platter?" Logan asked.

"Also, not our call," May admitted before she decided to break her totally unreadable facade. "And you were still under investigation - which, I'm sure you figured out already."

Logan nodded to himself at that. "I'm gonna have to pay him back for this one. Unless this was part one …" he gave May an appraising look, once again ready to fight, and she held his gaze with a flat expression.

"Are you going to be able to avoid Viper's poison or do I need to make it look like you've found a love interest in the Capitol?" May asked.

"No offense, but I doubt you'd set me up with someone I'd wanna be around," Logan replied.

She smirked a little at that and minutely raised one eyebrow. "Ye of little faith."

"When it comes to this racket?" he challenged, letting his statement hang in the air - which only got a smile out of Quartermain that lasted well into their drive back to the center of the city.

Once back to the hub of the Capitol, the SHIELD Agents were careful to ensure that Logan had a secure pathway. The walk wove for nearly a mile underground, with the team of agents spread out around them checking every cross hall and door before finally he was spit out into the Training Center, several hallways down from the victor's lounge.

"Don't take any drinks from anyone," May warned. "I _don't_ want to have to babysit you again."

"Sure you do," Logan replied with a little smirk as he headed off with Quartermain. "Best spar you've had in a while."

"I was _holding back_ ," May called out, sounding completely unamused as someone in her gathered team tried and failed to hide a giggle.

"So was I," Logan replied before he caught Quartermain grinning outright and resolutely facing away from May. "What?"

"Nothing," Quartermain said, managing to force the grin back to a smirk. "But if this keeps up, it's going to be interesting once this thing gets rolling." He took a breath and looked over his shoulders before he stopped Logan and held up one hand. "Agent May wasn't kidding. Don't -"

"I ain't drinkin' nothin' that I don't crack the seal on myself," Logan said, cutting him off. "You don't have to go to spy school to be paranoid."

Quartermain nodded "I'll find you when it's time for your other field trip." He held the door open for Logan to step out into the much more busy hallway. By the time he got to the shark tank, it was clear that his presence had been missed by the way that the Capitolites swarmed him. They were moving in tightly enough that neither Viper or Jessica had a means of getting close.

Logan took his time and worked the room, still in a little daze as he tried to remind himself that he needed to keep looking like he was working - sure to avoid anything that people tried to hand him, sticking entirely to bottled water with a closed seal. But it was next to impossible to avoid the overly friendly touches and a few stolen kisses, including Viper, of course who seemed to be almost trying to mark her territory.

But it was that much more disorienting after Selene had managed to slide up to him and get cozy that again, when he found the world tilting slightly. He glanced toward the victor's lounge and very nearly let out a groan when he saw the only occupants were Viper, Jessica Drew … and Victor Creed.

But he was fading, and he knew it. Carefully, he disentangled himself from Selene's grasp and excused himself away from her overly pleased looking smile. He made a beeline out of the shark tank and through the lounge, sure to make it clear he wanted nothing to do with any of the occupants of the room on his way out.

He wasn't entirely surprised when someone grabbed a hold of his arm once he was down a more quiet hall, though he started to fight them when they did until their voice broke through.

"I thought you said you had this," Agent May said in what had to be her more angry tone.

"I did everything right," Logan said, looking like he was about to pass out as she pulled him into a quiet room then started checking him over after his legs gave out and he crumpled to the floor.

It wasn't long though before she shook her head at seeing how shallow and rapidly Logan was breathing. "You need help."

"Ya think?" he wheezed out, eyes closed as he leaned backward.

May's voice was in his ears, nearly barking out commands as he tried to get his breathing under control. His heart was racing and he flat couldn't focus on anything, even with May lightly slapping him to keep him awake.

* * *

Logan woke up with a start, drawing in a huge breath of air as he tried to sit up, though that simply wasn't possible restrained the way he was. His eyes went wide and he started to struggle in earnest before a young woman in a lab coat and a ponytail rushed over to try to get him to calm down. "You need to relax," she said, one hand hovering over his arm. "You're among friends. You're safe."

He frowned deeper and pulled violently away from her until May came in to catch his attention. "You were poisoned, she helped you. Get it together," she said in an urgent tone, reaching past the mousy little brunette to lay a hand on his shoulder and squeeze.

Logan met her gaze and glanced down at the restraints. He stopped pulling, but he didn't relax in the slightest. "Let me up."

The doctor moved to do exactly that, but May blocked her for just a moment. "Don't break my lab rats." He nodded at that and May untied his wrist then pushed the girl back as Logan undid the rest of the restraints himself in a rush and sat up, jaw locked and clearly ready to fight or run or _something._

The ponytailed doctor waved with the tips of her fingers and gave him a bright smile. "Hello. I know you want to get back to your _very_ busy schedule but I'm afraid I _am_ going to need a blood sample to ensure that you are in fact cleared of the toxins you were exposed to."

Logan was ready to tell her 'no' when Fury's voice broke into their conversation. "Be quick about it, Agent Simmons. Logan and I have another appointment to get to."

Logan watched him suspiciously as Simmons pushed his sleeve up and quickly drew out a few tubes of blood - obviously trying to make friends with her tone and her cheerful outlook, but as soon as she was done, Fury was waving him over. "Your guys drugged me?" Logan asked.

"No. It appears as though one of the _Capitolites_ managed that," Fury replied. "New protocols are already in place to have our Agents search them before they're allowed contact with the victors. Your girl Viper has already been caught twice with illegal items."

"We believe it was a transdermal poison that was used on you," Simmons interjected excitedly before Logan could take more than a step or two toward Fury. "It was an entirely different delivery system that those two tributes used on Tanaleer Tivan, though this was of _course_ far more sophisticated than a rag-tag hallucinogen. _You_ were dosed with a heavy amphetamine and a compound found only in sea snakes." She was grinning still, though when she realized that the other occupants of the room were just staring at her, she wilted and held up the tubes of blood. "I'll … just get these run through right away, sir. And … As soon as they confirm that all is well, _you_ can go back to whatever it was that you were doing, Logan."

"Thank you, Simmons," Fury said, though as they left, Logan glanced back at her a couple of times. "I know this wasn't on you, but if it keeps up, I _will_ put you in protective custody, Logan." He paused, clearly bothered by the events of the evening. "I wasn't going to get you into Tahiti this quickly, but it seems now is as good a time as any."

" _This_ is Tahiti?" Logan asked, looking around the open halls as the sounds of marching SHIELD Agents echoed the hall. "Seems ta be missin' a few palm trees and hula girls."

A lab-coated figure with dark curls stepped through one of the doors not yet secured by an Agent, thoroughly engrossed by the tablet he was holding. The young man made it a step or two before he glanced up and then stopped entirely, the light of recognition on his face as Logan and Fury drew closer. Logan couldn't help but stare.

"Banner," he said, the word coming out almost like a breath.

Bruce Banner blinked twice before his features twisted into a frowning grimace. He dropped the tablet and drew back his arm as he rushed forward. Logan had barely enough time to realize what was coming, but not enough to block an instant before Banner hit him. The next thing Logan knew, he was waking up back in Simmons' lab again. Though it wasn't as jarring as the first time - and at least he wasn't restrained.

The lights had been lowered, but as soon as he could pay attention and focus, he realized there was someone sitting in a chair near the bed. He squinted into the dark room, and shifted until he was sitting up against the headboard.

"You shouldn't try to get up yet. They say you might have… that I might have given you… a concussion. Or at the very least, I broke your vomer," Banner said quietly as he stood from his chair and paced uneasily, finally stopping with his arms crossed on his chest and a heavy exhale. "Sorry."

"My _what_?"

"Vomer. It's one of the bones of the skull." He pointed at his own face, gesturing as he described in more technical detail. "You know, along the midsagittal line, articulating with the sphenoid, ethmoid, and the left and right palatine bones…" Banner stopped and blinked when he saw the look of absolute confusion on Logan's face. "Ah… your nose."

"Oh. Yeah, you sure as hell did. I had it comin'," Logan muttered as he started pulling off the leads and wires that Simmons had stuck all over him, causing several monitors to complain insistently. "I'm guessin' they'll fix it if they don't like the double black-eyed look on me. That was an awful damn solid right hook, Banner."

"I've been working on it," Banner said absently as he turned off the equipment and shook his head. "And I suppose you _might_ have had it coming… But I promise you, I really tried my hardest to reverse our situation." The two looked at each other and shared a smirk. Banner took a deep breath. "Flashbacks are a bitch, as I'm sure you know."

"No kiddin'," Logan agreed.

For a few moments they were silent until Logan cleared his throat. "You alright?" Logan asked.

Bruce shrugged a nod. "I'm okay, I guess. Even though almost every morning... it feels like I'm still getting used to it." He exhaled a breath. "What about you? How are you adjusting to finding out about our little fairyland?"

Logan tipped his head to the side slightly. "Sure don't help with the guilt."

Banner frowned. "What do you have to be guilty ab- _oh_." He cracked his knuckles and looked off to the side, nodding abruptly. "You aren't any more guilty than I am. Than any of us."

"You're wrong on that one," Logan said.

Banner's gaze grew hard. "Really? Really, Logan?" He took a few steps toward the door, stopped, and turned back. "Do you really think I wouldn't have done the same thing in your place, at that time, the way I was? The way everything was? Really?" He stopped, stared down at the floor for a few moments and shook his head before looking back at the bed. "I would have," he said, quietly. "I would."

"Maybe," Logan conceded with a little nod. "But you didn't."

"Not for lack of trying." Banner stared for a long moment, before a smirk twisted his lips. "But I'm pretty sure it's not a contest, Logan. At least, not anymore."

"Nope," Logan agreed. "But there's still a difference between what you did - or tried to do- and 'guilty'."

Banner drew back with a frown. "No there isn't. We all were trying to do the same thing."

"You weren't trying to do it 'cause you wanted to," Logan pointed out. "You didn't have a choice."

"We all had a choice. And _no_ choice. All of us. You're beating yourself up about what we were all trying to do." Banner leaned forward a bit. "Are you saying you _tried_ to get chosen for this? That's crap."

"And you're beatin' yourself up over the what ifs."

"Nothing 'what if' about it! I would have killed you. Done. How does that make us any different?"

"Just the fact that you _didn't_."

Bruce tilted his head, trying to understand. "Listen. Guilt is based on intent. If my father had hurt my mother accidentally, he would have felt guilty. That's a normal human response. But if he hurts her intentionally, for his own twisted pleasure, he _is_ guilty."

"I got that, but I'm tellin' you, the guilt from what you intended to do, and the consequences from actually goin' through with something is different. And there was nothin' enjoyable about it." He put both hands up in front of him. "I'm not tryin' to have a pissin' contest here. I just don't want you to beat yourself up on my account. I deserved it."

"No, you want to hog all the guilt for yourself because you're the one who succeeded."

Logan chuckled at that. "No. I hear ya, Bruce. But what I did to Kurt was worse than the others. You included. Maybe not physically as bad as what I did to the others … but I didn't mean to kill him." His smirk dropped and he scrubbed a hand over his face before he met Bruce's gaze again. "My motivation changed a lot by the time I ran into you, and I wasn't pullin' any punches. I set out to take down as many as I could."

"You know…" Bruce watched him for a long moment, considering. "Yeah. That was ugly. But even more so because it wasn't your fault." He shifted uneasily, and leaned against the wall, finally looking surreptitiously over at May, and back to Logan. "You know?"

"That he's alive?" Logan said easily. "Yeah. I know. I talked to him. Doesn't change things."

Bruce stared for a moment, and finally chuckled. "And I thought I was the one with anger issues. Who likes to blame myself for everything..."

The silence settled between them, slowly becoming more comfortable. Banner sat down in the guest chair once more, and pulled it closer to the bed. "Okay," he said quietly. "I have no idea what I can tell you. You probably know more than I do about whatever they're calling the 'real world' these days. Do you need anything?"

"I just wanna know if you're still you," Logan said. "That they didn't screw with that."

A small frown preceded Banner's response. "Still _me_. Ah. Now that's a good question." He laced his fingers together and rested his chin for a moment, looking out toward the door. "I don't actually know how to define who I _am_ anymore, if we're talking bodies and physically identical molecular composition." Logan raised an eyebrow as Bruce's gaze shifted back to him. He must have registered Logan's lack of familiarity with the terminology, because the expression on his face was enough to make Banner tilt his head to the side and give him a lopsided grin. "But," he said with an older, more familiar expression as the two of them studied each other, "As far as I know? I'm as _me_ as I've ever been."

Logan held his gaze and did his best to remain neutral as he studied Banner's features and body language. "Izzat the best you got?"

Banner threw up his hands. "What can I say? How can I reassure anyone that I'm still the same if I don't have a way to know for sure myself? It's a self-defeating premise… Are you _you_? Are _any_ of us sure that we're _us_? How do we know what _us_ is?" He stared at Logan, and after a moment, chuckled to himself. "Still, I've been working on this whole process for most of a year. It's surreal. But Tony and I… we've been trying to make sure things are as above board as possible. As normal as something this abnormal can be." After a thoughtful moment, Banner smiled, and the sparkle came out in his eyes as he leaned forward. "I gotta tell you, you want to talk to someone who is _definitely_ himself… have a chat with Tony. That guy's personality could overpower anything. He hasn't changed."

Logan's focus fell to his hands. "I doubt he'd wanna talk to me."

"You wouldn't even have to talk to _him_. Just listen to him talk to Jarvis." Logan frowned, and Banner waved off the unasked question. "Long story. But listen, Logan. I've gotta think that if I _wasn't_ me, I'd be a lot more relaxed about what the hell is going on around here. Who knows, I'd probably be _calm_ all the time. And I wouldn't be thinking so much about people I knew back before all this…" He paused, and Logan narrowed his eyes, watching him more closely. "And honestly, I don't think I would have tried to punch your face in. Would I? I hardly think it would be kinetic memory."

"That wasn't muscle memory, that was instinct. And it was a good one to act on," Logan said, nodding lightly before he glanced over to where Agent May was standing guard, watching their interactions carefully. He knew Fury had to be nearby as well. Watching. He let out a sigh and sat up further to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. "It's good to see they were at least smart enough to bring you back. For what it's worth."

"Thanks. Still not sure how I feel about… well, the whole thing." Banner sat back in his chair, and took a deep breath.

It was apparent that there was something still unsaid, and Logan lifted an eyebrow in question. "That's why I asked." Silence stretched out for a moment as Banner seemed to be considering something carefully, and Logan was determined to wait him out, even shooting May a warning look when she opened her mouth to interrupt.

After a few moments, Banner blurted out a question abruptly. "Have you seen - any of the stylists?" His entire presence betrayed more than his words. "Just curious, you know…"

The hopeful look in Banner's eyes was more than enough to convince Logan that the Bruce Banner he knew just a year ago was still alive, as he tried desperately not to ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue and likely had caused the younger man many a sleepless night.

"I have. Stylists're all pretty tight. Maybe you already knew she's not designing for the Games this year."

"She's not?"

Logan shook his head slowly. "Seems it's not normal for one of 'em to work for a year then drop back out of the spotlight. The story that Jubes told me was that her old man wasn't doin' too hot health-wise, and she stepped up to help at the company."

"Oh." Banner nodded, staring at the floor.

"All the sparkly types say she's doin' pretty damn good."

"Great. That's... great. I'm happy for her..."

Logan smirked and watched Banner a bit more closely. "Jubes an' Noh damn near talked my ear off about how _Miss Kai's_ whole line is based on what she designed for you."

Hopeful dark eyes darted to meet Logan's icy blue gaze. "Really? That's… that's…"

"Sounds to me like you made an impression on 'er."

For a long moment Banner stared at Logan, before a grin escaped and he dropped his gaze to the floor, pushing his hands back through his hair. "Yeah, well, the feeling was mutual."

"Was?"

"Do you really think she's waiting around for a dead man?" Banner stood and raised his arms to somehow encompass the entire facility. "Does it look like I'm getting out of here anytime soon?" Logan held his gaze and allowed a crooked smirk to tug at the corner of his lips. It was enough to get Banner to stop outright and frown. "Hang on. Am I?" He stepped closer to speak more quietly. "Do you know something about how things are going out there? What the timing is?"

Logan leaned forward slightly. "For how tight Fury keeps secrets," Logan said as quietly as he could and still be sure that Banner could hear him. "I don't think he'd have let me down here if things weren't about to change in a hurry. Unless Fury takes a bunch of other victors down here to wander around?"

Banner's fists clenched. "No. Just you that I've seen." He looked toward the door, and back to Logan, his jaw tight. "Damn it. I hate being in the dark."

Agent May reached behind her shoulder and flipped a switch. The two men squinted against the sudden light, and found her sarcastic expression. "Any better?"

"Miss Melinda May," Logan said, gesturing to the barely smirking Agent. "Stand-up comic." He let out a breath and turned back to Banner. "Truth is, the only one that knows what's happening for sure is Fury right now. _All of us_ are in the dark."

For an instant, May looked almost pleased, though she schooled her expression quickly enough.

As Logan got to his feet, Simmons returned with a caddy full of vials and syringes. "No no, you're not going anywhere until I've finished patching you up. You're too popular right now to allow you to walk around the Capitol all battered and bruised." He started to open his mouth to object, but when May gave him a look and took a few steps forward to assist, he allowed Simmons to push him back, offering little resistance other than cursing under his breath as the ponytailed doctor drew up a measure of some sort of drug. "This will fix you up right as rain in no time," she swore with a friendly smile before she plunged the first needle into his arm. Logan looked past her to Banner, who glanced at the contents of the caddy and then nodded lightly.

"This is going to knock you out for a while," Banner said, frowning at the label nearest him.

"Next time then, Banner," Logan said as Simmons cheerfully got to work on him.


	76. Chapter 75: Asylum from the Storm

**(A/N): Welcome back to our Friday update! We're taking you back to the arena this time to the insane ramblings of the Joker, written as always by abrokencastiel. (How does she do it?)**

 **Thanks to our writers who reviewed the last chapter for their continued support, and thanks also to Slim Summers2002; hopefully we'll match up to your bloodshed appetite as the story goes on :P**

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 **Chapter Seventy-Five - Asylum From the Storm**

 **Day Four**

 **Jack Hamill of District Eight**

 **Written by abrokencastiel**

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" _One either cares what others think about him, or cares what others think he thinks about them. If you want to find someone who doesn't care in the slightest what anyone thinks, try a lunatic asylum." ―_ Criss Jami, _Healology_

* * *

There were many things that Jack could tolerate. Cold, heat, hunger, dim-witted boys with a hero complex. All of those were annoying, but bearable. There were things that made his teeth grit, like people who didn't know their place and those who hid their agendas, like Angela. There were a few things that he despised above all else. Traitors were the top of that list, and the number was ever growing. Jonathan, Jervis, Pamela, Harley. His red lips curled into a sneer, accentuated by a low growl. _They'll all learn the cost of their actions._

But the Joker's revenge would have to wait. Right now, the most pressing annoyance was the persistent rain that hadn't let up in hours. He was soaked through, even the water resistant clothing having surrendered to the torrent. The swampy environment offered no respite from the onslaught, and Jack was feeling waterlogged. His bright green eyes continued surveying the environment as he trudged through the muck, hoping for a large tree or rock that would offer him at least a little shelter.

After splitting from Angela, Jack had been simply wandering. His desire to brighten his day with tracker jacker venom was curbed only by the fact he had very little left. Only a small bottle he had managed to steal from Angela's stash remained. "Should have taken more," he grumbled. "Should have killed her and taken it all." He sighed and shook his head. "If only I didn't have that pesky ounce of integrity."

A sudden patch of hard ground jarred him out of his thoughts. His head cocked to one side as he peered down at what appeared to be an old, broken road. If he didn't know it was there, it would have been near impossible to see. The moss, mud, and grass hid the stone from view. Jack's brows knit together, and he tried to follow the path to see where it led. No final destination met his gaze through the rain and foliage, but something pulled him forward. A wide grin cracked his face, and he happily strode down the broken road with a new pep in his step.

Slowly, a new shape appeared through the trees. Jack's eyes brightened and his pace increased as he approached the ruin. The building was large; the actual size was hidden by the overgrowth that creeped against the stone. A large, wrought iron arch spanned the road with dark letters spelling out the name of Jack's new home:

 **ARKHAM ASYLUM**

The name sent a shiver of anticipation down the Joker's spine. Loud laughter joined the sounds of the storm as he spread out his arms as if presenting a performer. "Now the real show can begin!" he announced to the swamp.

With a skip in his step, Jack whistled his way to the front door. The entrance stood open in welcome. The scarred young man put his hands on his hips and breathed deeply through his nose. "Ahh," he exhaled. He giggled and spun into the center of the foyer. "Jokey's home!" he exclaimed.

He turned to share the moment with Harley, only to remember she was no longer a player in his game. A momentary frown flicked across his face, but disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. There was no time to be angry right now.

Jack rubbed his hands together excitedly as he considered the dark hallways around him. So many options to explore, so little time. Who knew when his first guest would be arriving? He had to be prepared.

The hallway he chose led toward the center of the asylum. He didn't stop to examine any of the small rooms beyond a quick glance. He mentally marked a room with a large area of floor missing for later exploration. What he wanted would most likely be hidden away from prying eyes. Rivulets of water ran down the walls and pooled along the broken floor. A moldy smell permeated the area, but it didn't deter the young man. Graffiti along the walls ranged from animalistic doodles to haphazardly scrawled "HELL IS BETTER THAN HERE" which seemed a bit dramatic, in his opinion.

Finally, Jack reached a pair of double doors. He pushed through with gusto and was met with a sight that would make most people's blood run cold. The Joker couldn't have been more excited.

The treatment room was set up as a theater. The circular room extended upward near thirty feet, with multiple rows of semicircular seating for observation. Dim light entered through a large crack in the ceiling, which also allowed rain to run into the room. A single stained table was in the center, with leather straps neatly laid across it. Jack's green-eyed gaze roamed the room until he found the cart of medical tools pushed into a far corner. Rubbing his hands together gleefully, he made his way over. The rusted tools out on display met his hungry gaze. The bonesaw, scalpels, and forceps were easy enough to pick out. The ice-pick and hammer for lobotomies was a little more exciting. A pair of strangely curved pliers gave him pause for a moment until he saw the chipped tooth lying beside them.

"Christmas has come early." Joker grinned widely as he picked up a scalpel and tested it against his thumb. The rusty blade took a lot of pressure to make even the smallest drop of blood appear. Any cut made would be ragged and painful, not like the pretty little slices his pocket knife made. "Perfect," the clown laughed.

He whistled as he pushed the cart toward the center table, one broken wheel spinning and catching sporadically on the white tiled floor. A few adjustments had the tools right where he wanted them: hidden from the view of the patient, but within easy reach of the surgeon.

Satisfied with the setup, Joker continued his exploration of the room. Most of the cabinets were empty or their contents destroyed by the elements. There were a few odds and ends, including a few more scalpels and an old kerosene lamp that he set aside for later use. One wooden box, however, caught Jack's eye, and he quickly pulled it out. Dust floated in the air as he opened the lid and examined the various cogs inside, which had been relatively well-preserved. A hand crank on the outside moved the guts of the machine, which in turn led to a small spark emitting from metal ends.

"It's not just Christmas," Joker practically sang as he waltzed around the surgical theater with his new toy. "It's Hanukkah, New Year's, and Thanos Day!" He reverently placed the shock device on his cart and stepped back to better assess his setup.

The addition of such a prize meant he had to step up his game. Before, the whole "rusty and broken" theme had been fine and dandy with the few tools he had, but now he had the _pièce de résistance_. No, the empty seats and poor lighting wouldn't do. The Joker was careful to safely place the venom vial on the cart and covered his cart from prying eyes with his jacket. _There is so much work to be done._

The tall teen quickly strode back to the foyer, stretching his sinewy, discolored arms in preparation for heavy work. "This whole place is going to need a facelift," he said to himself. "I can't have the first thing guests see be this disaster." He frowned and moved to rip down drapes covering tall windows. Angry, high-pitched chattering from above him drew his attention. "Seems I have a few bats in the belfry." He cracked a grin. "Well, more than usual." He dissolved into laughter as he continued exposing the tall windows.

Stormy light barely made the foyer more inviting. Rain angrily pattered against the windows and slipped in through the broken panes. Adding the dreary outdoors to the broken surroundings, complete with leaves and moss, made the area more "haunted house" than he would have liked.

"What this place really needs is a fresh coat of paint, but I suppose a banner would do," he mused as he examined the plain drapes at his feet. "Now I just need some paint." His sharp eyes searched the ceiling until he found a huddled mass of brown bodies.

"In old Transylvania when I was a lad

Our castle was poor but we never were sad"

He hefted a brick in his hand, tossing it experimentally a few times as he sang.

"We learned to be happy

We'd dance round the hall"

His feet slid along the floor as he moved into a position below the bats.

"One two three, twirl round the floor

One two three, left foot you swing"

He hurled the brick with an almost comical motion. The missile flew through the air toward his unsuspecting prey with deadly accuracy.

"One two three, then start to sing

One two three, loud as you please," he chortled as the animals scattered. Three of the beasts plummeted along with the brick back to the floor.

"One two three, counting with ease

One two three, doing the batty bat."

Joker laughed as he danced over to his victims. Two of the bats were definitely dead, but the third was weakly flopping around with one wing bent at a sickening angle. "Oh, don't worry," Jack cooed as he picked up the injured bat. The animal snapped at his hand as he gently patted its head with a long finger. "I'll take care of you very soon, Bats. Just let me finish up with your friends here." He left the animal on the ground, confident that it couldn't get far with its injuries, and took the dead bats to the spread out drape.

Jack retrieved his knife from his pocket and cut off one bat's head. He quickly began painting with the body, writing out wide letters while the blood was still flowing. When there was nothing left, he moved on to the next bat. In the end, he had a banner reading " **WELCOME**!" over a red, grinning mouth. A few extra flecks of blood added an appropriate amount of flair. He whistled the nursery rhyme's tune as he pulled the banner up the stairs and draped it over the banister facing the front doors. A quick tie at each corner secured it in place.

The clown slid down the creaking banister with a laugh, spinning as he landed to judge his work. "What do you think, Bats?" He glanced at the still struggling creature. "Oh, I agree. I think it adds the perfect amount of class."

The next step was to eliminate the other paths. It wouldn't do put in all this work and have some idiotic tribute wander off into another section of the building. Joker immediately set to work taking apart the stairs. The wood was fairly rotted, and each step was easily pried up with his knife and a bit of muscle. He whistled as he worked, moving the boards to the unwanted doors and nailing them across the opening with his boot as a makeshift hammer. He could still slip through a few gaps if he squeezed. As long as it was obvious that those sections were off-limits to guests, he was content. He'd add a few pitfalls and traps later to punish those who strayed from his path.

Joker sat next to the bat as he pulled his boot back on. "I feel like we've really grown close, Bats. Like you really get me." He dragged the squealing creature closer to him by its broken wing. "You're much better company than Harley." His face darkened momentarily. "But that's in the past now. If she wants to choose that organic hussy and those heroic fools over me, then that's her problem. We'll see how long she lasts."

The bat struggled against his hands as he picked it up and carried it toward the operatory. "The real question, Bats, is if you are a mutt or some sort. You're bigger than the bats of Eight, but that could just be a regional thing." He retrieved a large specimen jar from one of the cabinets. A crack ran from the top to the bottom, but the overall integrity of the jar was intact. He shoved the bat in and snapped the lid closed, expertly avoiding the teeth. "There you are. All nice and snug." Joker watched the animal scoot around the bottom of the jar, its head pressed against the side. "I wonder if bats eat through stomachs like rats do?" he mused aloud.

Joker retrieved the kerosene lamp and experimentally shook it. A light sloshing confirmed that he had at least a little light to work with. After a few tries, he was able to light the lamp using the electric shock box. "Such a useful invention." Jack grinned as he re-covered his surgical cart with his jacket. "Don't miss me too much," he said to the hidden bat.

He returned to the room with the large hole in the floor. It appeared to open all the way to the basement. He lowered himself into the hole without hesitation, hanging by one hand in the musty darkness. He let himself drop to the floor, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. Light flickered off of metal as he slowly was able to identify his surroundings.

Jack's jaw hung agape at the beauty around him. "I don't believe my luck. Is this a hidden camera show? A sort of surprise gift to me?" He grinned maliciously, sure that somehow there was a camera on him. "Jessica, you shouldn't have." A cold shiver of delight ran through him at the thought of her displeasure with him mentioning her.

With a manic giggle, he began exploring the asylum's small morgue. Most of the body storage vaults remained closed, but a few stood open to reveal their stained body slabs. One slab in particular had fallen completely out of its chamber, like the corpse had broken free and escaped. Sadly, there were no bodies left for him to play with, but that fact was made up for with the new tools he found. Larger bone saws, forceps, knives, claw-like retractors, syringes, and, best of all, bottles of what smelled like formaldehyde, complete with tubing and needles to do the deed.

"Just when I thought it couldn't get any better. I should have brought a shopping bag!" He left the instruments for the moment, examining the rest of the small morgue. He led with the light, examining the walls and ceiling for integrity. A particularly moldy section caught his eye, and he stepped up onto a counter to get a closer look. The plaster crumbled against his touch. Joker retrieved a knife and returned to the ceiling. He pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth as he began digging at the flimsy spot. Moldy plaster fell around him as he worked until he exposed the weak floorboards of the story above him. Whistling as he worked, Jack eyeballed the area below the new hole and chose a few glass specimen jars from a cabinet. He held the jars high and casually dropped them to shatter across the floor until the area was covered with broken glass.

Satisfied with the first of many traps he planned to make, Jack retrieved a stained white sheet from a body chamber and fashioned it into a makeshift sack. He carefully packed up his new toys. The formaldehyde bottles clinked together as he hefted the bag over his shoulder like a demonic Santa Claus.

The kerosene lamp lit the way through the basement level. There were only a few doors, most of which led to empty rooms. He did manage to find a storage closet with extra kerosene and some candles, probably intended for emergency use during a power outage. Another door led to a large generator type contraption. If he had been from Three, maybe he could have made the mechanism work. Unfortunately, unless there was a large "ON" switch, he had no chance of actually turning on the power.

The tall teen sighed dramatically. "I suppose my neon dreams will have to remain dreams for now."

After a few more turns, Joker found the stairs back to the ground floor. He was happy to discover that the new hallway led to the seating section of the operatory. It took just a moment for him to deposit his bundle on the operating table for later sorting. For now, there was more to explore.

He returned to the back hallway and began collecting usable debris. His collection eventually led him to a dilapidated bathroom, where a large mirror gave him a shattered reflection. He examined his visage in full splendor for the first time since entering the Games. The new Glasgow grin spread across his cheeks with stubborn dried blood. His green hair had lost all product and now hung in lank, crimped locks on either side of his face. The white make-up was practically nonexistent. Instead, his scarred, off-color skin was bared for the whole world to see. For most occasions, he would care that his signature look was lost, but in this case, he was learning to embrace what he was becoming. The monster under the bed was not some dapper gentleman; it was disfigured and grinning.

* * *

Four hours later, and Jack could proudly say his hallway was fit to bear the Joker name. The floor had been neatly tidied and cleared of debris, for the most part. The windows had been covered to only allow a few streams of light to enter the dim hallway, just enough to let a person pass through without tripping. He walked down, past the first half of the doors that were completely blocked off by the large broken mirror he'd dragged from the bathroom and a dozen more warped mirrors that gave funhouse reflections.

The next few doors were empty aside from what had been in them when he arrived. Decoys to put visitors at ease. A makeshift blockade of beds and furniture forced travelers to enter one of the rooms where a trip wire waited to let loose a nail-embedded board. The rest of the dark room had large nails set up to stab through unsuspecting boots. If the victim managed to avoid the traps, they would continue through a broken wall to the adjacent room. Joker carefully sidestepped around the section of the floor that he'd destabilized in the morgue. One wrong step and it'd be a short fall onto glass. A few more trip wires varying from boards to metal pipes filled the rest of the room and the remainder of the hallway to the operatory. If he had down time later, he could add more tricks.

"I'm back!" Jack called as he entered the operatory. "Did ya miss me?" He dramatically pulled away his jacket, making the bat screech against the relatively harsh light. "Oh, no need to go batty, Bats. Don't want you to get too tired out before the action starts." He slipped his jacket back on and headed for the back of the building. He was hoping to find more exciting things. At the moment, the operatory was looking dull compared to the hallway. Yes, he had his supply of fun torture toys, but he needed some pizzazz.

He paused at the end of the hall to observe the dreary outside through a small window. The drizzle was refusing to let up. If anything, it was looking worse. A shape caught his eye. A cross. Joker squinted to try and better discern what was out there. Giddy joy welled within him when he realized it was a graveyard.

Without delay, Joker found the nearest exit through a broken wall and strode across the damp ground. Stone crypts dotted the area amid the simple, white-cross grave markers and more exquisite headstones. Jack hummed as he two-stepped to the first crypt, swiping up a bar of rusty metal from the ground. His hum transformed into a whistle, and he slowly circled the structure, his sharp eyes looking for the easiest point of access. The whistles reached a crescendo as he raised the metal above his head and brought it down at the largest crack. A few more hits in time with the beat finally split the partially crumbled top. The slabs fell apart with a dull thud on the soft earth.

"Knock knock." Jack leaned over the tomb and peered at the coffin. "Who's there?" He nonchalantly flipped open the lid. The body was mostly decomposed, with only a few areas of tight skin covering bone. "Why, aren't you a sight for sore eyes, my dear?" He picked up the corpse's hand in greeting. "How would you like to witness the most spectacular show of the season?"

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row


	77. Chapter 76: Ripples

**(A/N): Welcome back to our Tuesday update! This time, we'll go away from the insanity of Jack (ack!) and check in on our Wonder Woman, written as always by InDeepDarkWood.**

 **Thanks as always to all of our writers who reviewed (cas really is terrifying when she wants to be, isn't she?).**

* * *

 **Chapter Seventy-Six - Ripples**

 **Day Four**

 **Diana Prince of District Four**

 **Written by InDeepDarkWood**

* * *

" _Trust in me, just in me  
Shut your eyes and trust in me" _

_-_ Kaa, The Jungle Book

" _People sacrifice the present for the future. But life is available only in the present._

 _That is why we should walk in such a way that every step can bring us to the here and the now." -_ Thich Nhat Hanh

* * *

Normally, Diana liked the rain. She loved its cleansing properties, its raw, untainted power, its ability to soothe a restless sleeper into bliss. It reminded her of home when the gentle rainfall would patter against her home and drip softly from the wooden railing around the front. Even when a giant maelstrom rose up from the sea, sending violent winds and needle sharp droplets pounding off her skin and the ocean's surface, there was a beauty that she loved to watch.

 _Loved,_ she thought, frowning as she hunched over on the tree bough, watching the water collect on the end of her hood and drop down onto her nose. The rain caught in her eyelashes and blurred her vision when she blinked, and she had to wonder if this was the Gamemakers' doing, hindering her ability to see any sort of distance from camp, or if the Gods had simply decided that she needed a handicap.

"Come, Diana, you only live this life a short time," she told herself sharply. "Look and see beyond the obvious affliction."

So she did, or rather, tried to at least. She looked past the immediate soaking her face was experiencing, and her vision adjusted its focus as a bird would watching fish beneath the water's surface. The swamp was full of grim and dreary greens and browns and greys.

It came as quite a surprise when a bush, weighed down by the ever increasing amount of water, bowed down to reveal a hint of color. She had no idea what the flower was, having never tried to understand the flora's nature in her district, let alone such a foreign expanse as the swamp. Still, in the torrential downpour that was happening before her, the small flash of color continued to make a valiant effort to remain visible and alive.

"I still do not like this sad attempt of rain," she said aloud to the flowers in the distance, tearing her gaze away from them to resume her watch of the perimeter. A sad day it would be if she were surprised because _flowers_ distracted her. _What kind of warrior would I become, to be caught off guard?_ she asked herself.

"Did you say something about rain?" John called up to her, and Diana jumped at the voice, her shoulder aching where Crane's knife had embedded itself in soft tissue. She shot a glare towards the sky, rain splattering into her eyes. _You think that was amusing, Zeus?_

"This rain has an evil stench to it," she answered, peering down at her companion from the trees. "I fear it is a Gamemaker ploy of some sort, though its point fails to make itself known." She watched John shrug, the water cascading off him and collecting in his boots.

"The smell might not just be from the rain," he said, looking up at her from beneath his brows, a small smile on his face. "It's hot as hell here; maybe they just know we really need to take a shower."

Diana chuckled lightly at the words, shaking her head as his smile widened just a bit more. "How fares our supplies?" she asked, nodding toward their camp. Fire was impossible to create in the rain, and the humidity had increased exponentially since the previous night, and she doubted it would be necessary for cooking based on John's slight furrowing of his brow. The stones they had collected to create the fire pit lay beside the backpack they had pulled from their previous camp. _Clark's,_ she thought, a lump catching in her throat as her mind traced out his portrait for her.

"Not great, but better than we could hope for in the circumstances," John was saying, and she blinked away the image of their dead ally. "Found some of those berries that Kara told us about the first day."

"The ones that don't taste very appetizing," Diana confirmed with a nod, turning her gaze away from her partner and back to her own task of keeping watch. She doubted anyone would be out hunting in this weather, but it never hurt to be vigilant. Vigilance was how she could remain safe. Vigilance was how she could keep allies safe. _Not that you have done well in that aspect of life,_ she thought to herself, feeling the anger for her fallen comrades bubble over her, and the injustice of it all.

"The ones that taste like shit, you mean," John corrected, moving away from the tree and resuming his rummaging through the backpack and the supplies they had gathered the previous day. Diana had been pleased with herself, and John, that they had managed to not only retrieve a backpack, but also collect items en route to this new camp, despite being under the influence of Crane's toxic gas.

Supply gathering had been the highlight of the previous day. Diana lapsed into silence as she scanned the arena for signs of life other than creatures that were potential food sources. It had come as an unexpected blow when the nightly anthem had played, and they learned who the afternoon cannon had been for.

She had failed Clark Kent.

Just like she had failed Francisco Ramon.

* * *

" _Diana, we need to move," John said firmly in her ear, reaching over to touch her shoulder. Diana jerked violently at the hand, pain exploding in her shoulder as it dripped out blood from the torn skin. She was frozen to the spot as the cannon rang out in the arena, loud and proud and stirring up all sorts of images in her brain._

" _It was your stubbornness that killed me."_

 _Cisco was standing just behind Jonathan, his arms crossed, long hair tousled, a shadowy image of his former self. There were dark stains on his clothing, markings of his dealings with Harvey Dent, but all Diana could see was the accusing look in his eyes, and the thought that Hades had returned Cisco to the living world just to torment her._

" _No..." she said softly, a shell of herself._

" _You should have tried harder to convince me to join you," Cisco continued in the same accusatory tone. "No, you_ could _have tried harder, but you weren't really bothered, were you? Weak Cisco, useless to your cause."_

" _You wanted to stay," she reasoned, the words huffing slightly, aware that John was shaking her shoulder roughly._

" _Snap out of it, Di."_

" _Of course, once I didn't_ fawn _over you, you could just toss me aside." Cisco was striding towards her now, his boots making no impact with the ground, Hades giving him power to move freely._ A moment, _Diana thought in her frozen state, her breathing heavy._ Cisco knew he was not useless to me.

" _Diana!"_

 _The ghost of Cisco faded away from her thoughts at John's slightly panicked tone, and Diana found that she could move again, though the world kept changing shape and distorting around her. "We need to move. Kara and Clark...they've gone nuts," John was saying. "You...you have to put him down now."_

 _Diana glanced sideways at her ally, bits of soot and a smoky tinge still around the front of his body, and then down at her now-trembling arms. She followed the path from forearm to hand, to where she held her sword in clenched grip. The trail continued down the edge of the sword to where Jonathan Crane remained on the end of her sword, his feet dangling a few inches from the ground._

 _Her arms lowered him to the ground and the release of tension on muscles intensified the trembling and she nearly dropped the sword. John reached out and grabbed the hilt, steadying her as she pulled it from the other tribute's abdomen. The dead boy dropped like a basket of fish, landing with a soft squish instead of a loud crash, cushioned by the swamp._

" _Francisco," she began, feeling the toxin curl around her vision's periphery._

" _Is dead," John interrupted firmly, "and we will be too. Crane was part of the Pack, remember? And what do you do when you see a lone pack member?" He helped her sheath the sword, and then started to pull her back the way they came._

" _You look for the rest of the pack," Diana answered._

" _I know you think that's the right answer, because, well, because you're you, but no. We're not looking." John's eyes seemed abnormally dilated even in the watery light of the arena, and Diana wondered what he was seeing. "We're running from them."_

* * *

The sun was climbing up into the middle of the sky when Diana dropped down from the tree lookout. Sun seemed like an excessive overstatement, the pale imitation in the dark storm clouds a poor source of light against a blanket of darkness. In vain, she tried to shake off the excess wet from the clothing and her head, but it seemed to help little; as soon as one drop left her, another three were there to take its place.

"This storm is growing stronger," she said shortly. John looked up from where he sat; he had moved on from supply counting to sharpening his axe, one of the smoother firepit stones acting as a temporary whetstone. "Please, do not lose a finger in your endeavors. That would not be an ideal situation here." The axe paused mid-way through a sweep, and John seemed to be searching her expression, or her head, for something. Diana reached up to the angry red line across her neck, and raised her chin haughtily, exposing the wound even further. "If you are gawking at this, don't bother; it is not the first wound I have ever received, and it most certainly will not be the worst."

"No, I wasn't gawking at anything," he replied, shaking his head and turning his attention back to the axe. "I was just trying to see if you were joking, but you're not. It's kinda funny."

"I would never joke about something like your safety, John. It's important." Her brow furrowed slightly as he smiled at her words.

"I thought that was my line?" He resumed his sharpening, the axe flowing smoothly over the rock. Diana didn't answer his question, figuring it was rhetorical, instead picking up a handful of the berries, and popping them one by one into her mouth. The taste was a bitter one, and it left an even bitter aftertaste. Antiope had told her once that bitterness was a sign of poison, and she had had more than enough toxins to last a lifetime, but she had placed her trust in the Five tributes, and Kara's knowledge hadn't let them down yet.

She closed her eyes and sat there a while, trying to imagine the taste of the grapes that grew on the vine by the cliffs, and translate it to these bitter berries. She wondered if Kaldur had ever gone into the vineyards on her mother's territory and stolen some of the fruits. She knew Arthur Curry's people were always trying to bend the rules, sneaking in to Odin's family gatherings, trying to climb their sacred Yggdrasil, loitering on Hippolyta's land by the cliffs.

It stood to reason that her district partner was one of _those_ divers. _So sure of himself and so set in his ways,_ she scoffed internally. _So sure he is on the right path and doing the right thing._ Her mind flip-flopped as she ate another berry. _Was on the right path,_ she corrected.

"It is part of life," she murmured to herself, aware of the rain hammering down around her and muffling any microphones, as the water lapped at her boots, its rhythm reminding her of Kaldur's last heartbeats she had felt under her fingers. "Life is a blessing, and so too, death is a blessing. Dead but in Elysian fields, enjoying its splendor." The words were not for her partner; they were too terrestrial for him, but for Clark... "Sweet Clark," she added, leaning back on her hands as the water swirled around her wrists.

 _Wrists, Diana,_ she thought, and her eyes opened.

"John," she said quietly, taking note of the fact she could no longer see tufts of grass around her. She stood up slowly, a cascade of water falling off her from where she had created a puddle at her midriff. "John," she repeated in a louder voice, turning back to the engrossed miner. " _Constantine_." He looked up at _that_ , looking as though he had been in a trance, and Diana gestured around them.

"Were you...were you always standing in boot high water?" he asked, his gaze dropping all the way from her eyes down to where her boots were covered in murky water.

"No," she replied, in a tone which meant she didn't need to add the ' _obviously_ ' part to speech. "I believe our camp is being flooded by the Gamemakers."

"Probably being too boring for them," John agreed, jumping to his feet and setting about stuffing things in the backpack.

"Yes. It seems my murder of Jonathan was not enough to – what do you say? – get them off our case." The phrase sounded unfamiliar rolling off her tongue. "There is higher ground to the west; I saw it from my watch. We should make haste." In the slippery camp they finished piling the supplies into the backpack. Even as they looked on, the water was rising. _Of course an arena would not have an irrigation system,_ she thought, though she was unsure as to whether it was due to Capitolite stupidity or Gamemaker ploy; Diana was inclined to think on the latter.

She offered out her hand as John shouldered the backpack, and he looked at it almost incredulously. "Let me shoulder the burden," she said by way of explanation to her gesture.

"You're fine," John answered, shaking his head and spraying the water like a wet dog. "I'm stronger than I look, you know."

"You are weighed down by your axe," Diana pointed out, and John laughed, loud and audible above the rain, swinging the axe onto his shoulder.

"This axe is the lightest thing I'm carrying on my shoulders, Di. Now, you said west? Lead on."

The rain and flooding had already altered the landscape as they walked, and Diana found that certain landmarks she had spotted and remembered for the future had been lost; the gnarled tree in the shape of a horseshoe she was certain lay on their path was gone, swallowed up by the swampy water or washed away. It gave her a feeling of uncertainty, one she had felt all too often in the arena, a feeling that had initially been irksome, and now was offensive and privately embarrassing.

 _In life or death, Diana, there is no room for uncertainty,_ she thought to herself, altering her course slightly. "There is only certainty," she continued under her breath, "or death." When she had first heard the words, she had been but a child, and they had held little meaning to her games and training she was undergoing. Yet Antiope had repeated them on many occasions, and slowly they had seeped into her veins, altering how she acted and how she lived.

She cast a glance back at their camp to find it was gone, hidden under a swirling mess of tree debris and mud. "We can only look forward, never backward," she said sternly, looking away from the camp they had left behind, and forging onward, the water sucking up at her calves, and then creeping over her knees, slowing their progress down considerably.

"Are you sure we're going to right way?" John asked beside her, and a stab of doubt darted through her, aimed from her wounded shoulder right into her heart. Diana hesitated, pausing in her strides, glancing over to him. The water was up to his thighs, and she could see even beneath the hood of his outfit, the anxiety on his face. John Constantine was a man used to hiding in the dark. _You cannot hide from the tides, only face their force with a malleable power._

"Higher ground lies that way," she answered firmly, determined to show strength, pointing straight in the direction they were headed. "The Gods' know how far we have to travel to reach it. We must continue on. There is nothing for us behind."

"How many miles to Babylon?" John questioned, adjusting his axe and nodding at her words. _Trust,_ she thought, doubt worming its way into her heart. She was the leader of their sad excuse of a pack. She was responsible; once, she had thought of responsibility with great excitement. The idea of a people looking to her for guidance. Antiope's words of warning had done little to wane the emotion, but the look in John's eyes as he followed her was enough to quell the excited child within her receiving its wish.

Diana's sword had begun to sink below the water.

Here, she hesitated again, watching the water in front of her shatter with rain droplets, debating whether the ground seemed to be sloping downward just a little bit too much to account for her natural sway. _Come, Diana, everywhere is deep water now,_ she thought. For the last four days she had been avoiding the murky depths, aware of creatures that lurked in deep water. If her ocean home could produce monstrosities, she saw no reason to presume this swamp would be any different.

Forging through the area seemed to most logical thing to do, and yet still, she hesitated. _Life or death, Diana. Be certain_.

"I am certain," she said, resuming her walk, hearing the crinkle of fabric as John tilted his head toward her. It was a relief to realize the ground below her feet seemed to be growing closer to the water surface, and she let out a small sigh, striding more purposefully forward, looking back at John, giving him a small little smile.

"We will reach dry land soon." Her tone was so sure, and so certain.

"Dry is a very loose term, I think," John replied, but he had a smile of his own to give her, a little twitch on half of his face, which made it all the more bitter as Diana took a step forward, and her foot met nothing but water. _Orpheus._ She staggered in the water, and her shoulder went under, struggling for balance and a bottom of the swamp that didn't seem to exist. John followed half a heartbeat later, not realizing what had happened until it was too late.

Almost instantly, there was a pull at her lower legs, and Diana had the familiar feeling of being pulled by a rip current away from higher ground. _Away from safety._ Rip currents were not her people's territory; they were there for the divers to navigate the seas. Most at home used them to their advantage, allowing them to quickly travel further away from the boat they had dove off. She knew what to do with them, but she did not relish them in the same way Curry's minions seemed to feel.

Beside her, John had begun to thrash, struggling against the tide in a vain attempt to get back to the ground they had been standing on moments before.

"John," she called over the rain, her arms outstretched, trying to maintain a gentle thread in the water as her sword weighed one side down disproportionately. He didn't seem to hear her, his movements erratic, on arm splashing out, the other uselessly holding on to the axe. "John!" she shouted, a little louder, then, " _Constantine!"_

His gaze snapped back to her, eyes wide under the hood, whites showing.

"You need to relax," she tried to explain, moving her arms in wide circles.

"Relax!" John shouted, swallowing a mouthful of dirty water as he did so.

"Yes, relax," she repeated, closing the distance between them, one of his feet connecting with her as he kicked out to stay above water. "Ease your mind and relax, and then you'll float."

"How can I..." he trailed off as she grasped his axe-wielding arm, her grip strong. She pulled him away from where they had come from, and into the current.

"You will tire too quickly if you fight it. Let it take you on its path, and we will prevail," she ordered, desperately looking to see the trusting look in her companion's eyes. It took a moment for it to appear, and she had agonizing seconds of wondering whether he would follow through with her words, or strike out on his own path. She gave another small sigh of relief as John leaned back slightly in the water, his free arm outstretched, the other grasping her forearm so they drifted, arms clasped together tightly.

Diana was not leaning back though. Her legs were treading the water, frog-legging out with steady, even strokes, following the currents path while maintaining them on some semblance of a course. Her grip was tight on her ally, the only betrayal that she was not as relaxed as what he was attempting to emulate. _Be certain,_ she echoed Antiope's words, propelling them to the left to avoid an upcoming tree trunk, all the time trying to reach down to toe touch some ground.

John's balance failed him on occasion, and he coughed and sputtered more than once as water cascaded over his face, entering his nose and airways. Each time, like a child of Four, he clung to his more experienced partner, threatening to drag her down with him as he thrashed.

Diana's shoulder ached, and still the rain kept pouring.

 _We may yet enter Atlantis before ever reaching Babylon,_ Diana thought grimly, tilting her gaze up towards the sun, noting where it was sinking down indicating afternoon. Her legs felt like lead, worn down by the weight of herself, John, and the weapons they carried. More than once she thought about dropping the sword, but the thoughts of it falling into the wrong hands made her keep it on her hip.

"I don't think..." John huffed out, "the current...is taking us on the right path." She nearly let go of him as a tree stump poked up between them suddenly, catching her arm and trying to break their chain. Beneath the waterproof fabric, Diana could feel the low burn of a scrape. Her hood dropped down, but it was pointless to try and keep it up anyway, her hair slick against her head and neck.

She adjusted her grip on the other teen as he dipped under, water streaming from his face. For all her talk of relaxing and just floating, John looked exhausted, the tension of keeping a hold of their supplies and her arm no doubt taking its toll.

"Over there," she yelled back, thrusting her head to the side, her legs finding strength somewhere to kick towards the tree still standing in the midst of the flood. The water swirled around underneath as John aided the cause and helped propel the pair over. Diana reached out as they passed the tree, hooking her arm around the trunk, her legs swinging in the current. She clung to it even as John floated away from her, their arm chain pulled to its maximum length.

She didn't think her muscles had ever ached this much, not even when Antiope had thrown her off the cliff and made her swim back to shore. She met John's eyes, and this time, when she saw the look of trust in his eyes, it made her feel like she was being stabbed a thousand times by Jonathan Crane. She had led her ally down this path.

She had led her _friend_ down this path.

Diana didn't have many friends.

"It's okay, Diana," John called to her, his voice cracking slightly, and Diana's nails dug into his arm to maintain her grip on him, to stop him from being swept away, or from doing something as foolish as letting _go_. She shrugged a little to get a higher grip on the tree she had anchored them to as the water rose up to her chin.

 _I am_ not _drowning,_ she thought harshly. _My place is in the fields of Elysian,_ not _with Kaldur's drowned gods._

The thought of spending an eternity of afterlife with Kaldur filled her with unequal parts dread and happiness.

John had already let go of her forearm, and the chain had lost a vital link, but Diana clung on.

"You are not being a self-sacrificing fool, John Constantine," Diana hissed. "I did not bring you into our alliance so you could drown yourself."

"It was alright for Kaldur," John responded. "Do you think...do you think my soul will –" The miner broke off, and his gaze with it, as it moved away from Diana's to just off to her left. She was about to follow to figure out what had distracted his attention, when he reached out and snatched the object, holding it between them.

It was a plain black box, unadorned save for one decoration; Diana's lip curled in disgust as she recognized the symbol of the green question mark, her expression darkening as whatever pressure mechanism it worked under was activated by John's fingers. A small holographic question mark floated up in the air from the box, shimmering as the rain battered at it.

 **When is a boat not a boat?** The question mark asked, in the same voice as the launch tubes, and Diana's blood started to boil.

"You think this is humorous, this game of riddles?" she yelled up at the sky, her arm trembling as the current seemed to intensify, trying to drag John away from her.

 **When is a boat not a boat?** The hologram asked again.

"What's a boat?" John asked, mesmerised by the glitching question mark.

"It's a vessel, designed to travel in the seas, in open waters," Diana explained, as though the answer was clear, because to her it _was_. It seemed so foreign to see the blank expression on her friend's face at the word that had likely been Kaldur's _first_ word.

"So we answer the riddle, we get a boat?" he asked, and the box trembled in his hand.

 **Tick, tock, tick, tock.**

"So it would seem," Diana said grimly, glancing backward to search for the cause of the increased current strength. The way they had come from seemed more like whitewater-rapids, splashing over the tree stump she had injured her arm on. _We need more time._

"When is a boat not a boat," John repeated the riddle's words. Diana's heart was pounding, and she could feel her grip on him loosening, though he didn't seem aware, his gaze transfixed on the box and the prize it contained.

"We do not have _time_ for these frivolous mind games," she implored. "Boats are boats! They float, they transport, they do _their task_ , and then they are pulled in!"

"When is a boat...when is a –" John snapped his attention back to Diana, for the first time acknowledging she had spoken. Diana's nails scraped along his jacket, the current pulling him hungrily away from her. "When is a boat not a boat?" he asked her, his eyes lighting up, and he shook the box high above the water as her nails snagged, and she lost her grip on his arm, bellowing out, " _WHEN IT'S NOT AFLOAT!_ "

"John!" she cried out, letting go of the tree trunk as he was swept away, the box's top exploding and a small but rapidly expanding item emerged. The teen latched onto it even as it grew larger, and Diana swam towards it, her limbs dead from the hours of treading. John had already thrown the axe in and hauled himself up out of the water even as she reached it. She stretched up to try and find a handhold, and came up empty.

Rising out of the waters once more, her upper arm was caught by his grip, and she hung in the water for a moment, before John half-dragged her up into the vessel the box had rewarded them with. She collapsed on the bottom beside him, breathing heavily as he fell onto his back, coughing up the water he had inhaled since they had been caught up.

They lay there a moment, the water pooling around them.

"Are you not glad I didn't let you go?" she wheezed out, as they were tossed around by the current, too exhausted to attached themselves to the seats.

"Yes," he answered through coughs, "you never would have gotten this boat yourself." Diana shot him a glare, pushing herself up onto her hips.

"This is _not_ a boat, Constantine. This is a bireme."

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row


	78. Chapter 77: Never Run, Walk Away

**(A/N): Here we are with our Friday update! This time, we're taking a peek at one of our groups of ladies, with pekuxumi's Harper Row!**

 **Thanks as always to all our writers who reviewed and for the continued support for this story. And thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for sticking with us ;)**

* * *

 **Chapter Seventy-Seven - Never Run, Walk Away**

 **Day Six**

 **Harper Row of District Two**

 **Written By pekuxumi**

* * *

" _And when I got away, I only got so far._

 _The other me is dead._

 _I hear his voice inside my head…" - Slipknot, Dead Memories_

* * *

Harper wondered if Ophelia Sarkissian had already blown up a building or maybe tortured some poor, innocent soul into oblivion over the fact that district Two's female tribute was still alive when the sun set on the fourth day of the Avenger Games. Viper had to be spitting fire by now. So many good opportunities for one Harper Row to cease existing, and yet here she was, alive, going strong, and more determined than ever to make progress.

Because if there was anything Harper hated more than being stuck in an arena with murderous kids, it was being stuck in an arena with murderous kids in a terrifying, disgusting and generally overly dramatic storm that had drenched them to the bones. Though Jade, Caitlin and she had been lucky enough to find a long strip of solid ground, there was no shelter or even a single tree that would cover them from the harsh wind that was still going even though the downpour had finally stopped. Their soles stuck to the muddy ground and made walking harder; it was difficult to even keep their eyes open against the wind, and the water had seeped into their joints and skins and brains and left them numb and sad.

Okay, that last part might have had something to do with Harper not only dragging her new friends forward to find a resting place but also running away from the fact that she had just helped murder her district partner.

Harvey was dead.

She had _killed_ him.

Hell, he had deserved it. He wanted to kill her, to make her suffer. During their battle, his craziness and unpredictability had been visible miles away. To call _her_ a traitor, when _he_ had been the one chasing her... The Games hadn't been to his favor at all, and at one point, the crazy boy just snapped... Yet, Harper wasn't able to forget who he was behind the bandages, behind the craziness and the training center's brainwashing. The word 'traitor' clung to her like her wet cloths and stung like a tracker jacker bite.

They had destroyed the nice and clever boy and turned him into a mad killing machine. He had killed Cisco Ramon in cold blood, a tribute that was no threat to him at all. And he would have killed them all one by one if he had it his way, Two's way.

Maybe right next to Viper, Taskmaster was throwing a fit as well?

Admittedly, that thought _did_ make her smile the tiniest bit.

"Harper, come on!" Caitlin moaned behind her, again. As Harper was marching through the mud, Caitlin had tried to stop her numerous times. "We're going in circles, for all we know!"

"She's right," Jade joined in for the first time, quietly and decisive, and only then did Harper stop.

The wind hit her forcefully as she turned around. "Do you have a better plan?"

"Rest," Caitlin said.

"Food," Jade added not a second later.

Harper swallowed deeply, fighting against the urge to keep moving. _Hold still_ , she told herself, breathing in deeply. _You can't run away anyway. Listen to them_. It took all the self-control she could muster up to turn her full attention to her allies and not to the memory of how easily her knife had glided into a human being. But then she nodded. "Where?"

Her two teammates relaxed visibly, and Jade scanned the area. "There are trees over there," she announced finally, and simply began to walk towards them. Harper rolled her eyes at the bossy behavior but made sure to follow quickly when even the exhausted Caitlin jumped into gear and mumbled something about 'cooked roots'.

The solid ground turned into deep mud and then ankle-deep water, but by that time, the three girls had grown accustomed to the difficult terrain. Harper just hoped no leech would bite her legs in the deeper waters they approached; otherwise, she'd probably die of grossness. Or the leech turned out to be a mutated super-leech that not only pumped poison into her but also exploded when touched and took her leg with it. In a golden, glittery explosion, of course, for the Capitol to enjoy more.

It was strange and sick, but working herself up against the general weirdness of nature and the Gamemakers' crazy sense of humor calmed her frayed nerves down a little bit, it almost felt like normalcy.

Unfortunately, normalcy also meant being aware of other tributes trying to kill you. Harper had had her fair share of meeting up with tributes who then decided to rather kill her, and her current alliance was a nice exemption to that rule. Still, she mulled it over as she followed Caitlin and Jade and focused on their backs: she needed to be aware of them as well. Jade had made it perfectly clear that she knew the rules of the game, knew that she only survived if they died, and Caitlin...

Caitlin was tricky. Harper focused on the blonde head a few feet in front of her. In the Capitol, Harper had observed her and her district partner closely, singling them out as threats to her potentially unique engineering abilities. They were both clever and seemed, from what Harper had been able to gather from afar, like genuinely good people. While the Ramon boy had died early in the Games, Caitlin was still going strong, especially considering that she had met a giant, flying scorpion monster that had attacked her (not too far away from her glitter-bomb-leech, was it!?) and helped to take out a well-trained Career.

While Harper had had a hard time simply keeping it together for the cameras, Caitlin had decided to give the Capitol a show and forcefully kicked the dead boy in the ribs once more, surely as a special present for her friend's family. Maybe it was her bias towards Harvey, but something about Caitlin's face afterward worried her. They all had shared small smiles of relief over killing an obvious threat, but Caitlin hadn't stopped there. She had smiled sharply, her grin wide and her eyes sparkling.

Harper didn't know what normal behavior in the arena looked like... but Caitlin had given her the creeps back then. She had reached for the dead tributes' knife collection, giving Harper a heart attack, but then had fairly distributed them to her allies, holding the blade in her hand and extending the handle to them. Harper was sure she had seen Jade grip her knife tightly until Caitlin had tucked hers away for good.

It had also been Caitlin's idea to strip poor Harvey of his jacket and boots. Jade slung the fabric around her injured thigh, carefully avoiding letting the bloody parts too close to the wound, and Harper had gotten the boots. They were stored in Kaldur's backpack for now — Harper wasn't sure what to do with them yet, but the laces alone would surely come in handy at one point, and maybe Harper could find out some way or another whether the soles were conductive or not. And even though they were too big for either of them, Harper would rather walk around a swamp in too-big shoes than barefooted.

Jade had reached the trees by then and stopped short, eyeing the branches wearily. No tribute was in sight, though the wind had the branches shaking, and the movements didn't do a thing to calm down the three girls' nerves. Harper, deciding to take a step back from this wonderful opportunity of fueling her paranoia, rather concentrated on the tree's unmoving roots, which protruded through the water's surface like dead, thin limbs.

 _So much for deflecting paranoia._ She was just about to make a comment when a dash of bright green color came to her attention.

"Careful," she whispered, and Jade and Caitlin immediately tensed up and directed their glances to where Harper had focused on the unnatural green peeking between the stems and roots. Harper's first thoughts went to Jack's green hair, but the color was too different.

Jade approached, silent and careful but relaxed when she gained a better view. "It's safe," she announced, and the other two hurried up to see better.

"A question pod!" Caitlin exclaimed in delight, and Harper couldn't help but groan loudly at the prospect of more poetry.

Indeed, behind the trees closest to them, a big box with a green question mark lay in the middle of some sort of clearing. The trees grew in a ring around it, close enough to each other to camouflage the green with green until a tribute stood almost right in front of it.

Jade and Caitlin quickly slipped through the stems; Harper followed behind, decidedly less enthusiastic. When she saw that Caitlin was aiming straight toward the pod, she reached out and held back Jade, calling for the blonde girl further ahead.

"Caitlin, wait!" Her ally turned around, perplexed. "This is weird."

The last pod Jade and Caitlin had stumbled upon had contained the medical supplies that came as a blessing from the skies. Of course they were happy to find another one, but the hair on Harper's neck stood on end at the weird situation. This pod was big, bigger than Harper herself, and almost as wide as a car. Her chariot would have fitted in easily.

"It's huge," Jade observed as well, growing more wary by the second as she, too, scanned their environment. "Huge and hidden."

"We're far away from the center; it's probably some sort of weapon for those tributes that ran away first thing and don't have anything to fight with," Caitlin thought aloud, and smiled when she noticed Harper and Jade's confused expressions. "I paid attention to the distances we covered. It's just a guess, sure, but we haven't seen any other tributes, and I never walked in the direction of the Tesseract since I left."

Harper nodded, impressed. Even though no one knew the shape or the dimensions of the arena, she felt distanced from the action as well. Edible vegetation had become sparser soon after they left Harvey, which hinted at the Gamemakers trying to steer runaway tributes back to the center regions.

"A good weapon for a hiding tribute would make them more confident to engage in a fight," Jade agreed. "Or maybe it's some sort of tent?"

"For those who were quick enough to reach it before the storm started?" Caitlin's gears were turning, and she started to convince even Harper. "If it's shelter, we'd be able to get a good rest, finally. No one would be able to get in here quickly!"

"Let's hear what it has to say," Jade decided, and Caitlin beamed and stepped closer to the box.

Immediately, the question mark lit up. Was it a motion sensor, or had the Gamemakers installed some sort of audio channel to hear their decisions? As a crackle from the box' speakers was heard, Harper diverted half of her attention to the ground to look for cables or traces of anything electronic. How did they order the box to open when the riddle was solved?

The cackle turned into a voice, and Harper dismally recognized it as the same one that delivered the tracker jacker riddle.

" **Never trust this fellow's grin. His teeth are sharp and coarse,** " it said, slow and pronounced. " **His blood's as cold as icicles, and he'll show you no remorse."**

Harper's thoughts snapped to the riddle as soon as the words reached her ears. _Teeth_? Remorse? "I don't like this," she hurried to say loudly, making sure her teammates heard her. This was a warning.

Jade shared her concern and unconsciously took a step back. "Harper's right. It sounds bad."

Caitlin, deep in her thoughts, furrowed her brows and turned back toward them halfway. "Sounds almost like a beast, doesn't it?"

"Lets go." Harper urged them on, her gaze never leaving the box. " _Please_."

"No! It might be a warning like the tracker jackers!" Caitlin made sense, unfortunately. The jackers had been out there regardless of the tributes' riddle-solving abilities, so maybe they had already triggered a trap by stepping into the ring of trees. "Maybe the device to protect us is within?"

"What's going to protect you against a pack of wolves or whatever?"

But Caitlin's mind had seen the problem and was already lured in to find the solution. "Not wolves.. their blood is warm..."

Harper swallowed, unsure of what to do, and realized that Jade had already a knife in her hand again. She fumbled to pull out her own — _Harvey's_ — though she didn't know if a knife would help much with a bear or whatever...

 _No_ , she thought, suddenly, freezing in her movement, _it has to be a reptile..._

"It's a _crocodile!_ "

Just as Caitlin shouted out the answer and whirled around to watch what happened, the box clicked and fell apart.

With a loud splash, the wooden sides fell into the shallow water, but the noise was canceled out by a deep, guttural roar of the gigantic mutt inside.

The girls jumped back in pure instinct. The huge crocodile that suddenly towered over them roared once again and then wasted not one precious second longer and pounced.

Caitlin had been the closest, the most curious. Immediately, the reptile threw its head to the side and snapped its mouth shut in one fluent movement, sinking rows of sharp and long teeth into the blonde girl's thigh as she desperately tried to scramble away. Blood was flying almost at once.

Her high, piercing scream made Harper's ears ring, but as the monster rose, dragging its prey up and then slamming her back into the ground, panic took over, and she whirled around, darting away. Jade, she recognized as she reached the line of trees, was right at her heels, running from the terrible noises of ripping flesh and her ally screaming in terror.

In a rush of breathtaking panic, Harper realized that the gap between the two trees she was standing in front of wasn't big enough for her to slip through. Frantically, she looked to her right and found one big enough close by. Precious seconds went by, seconds during which she almost made out Caitlin trying to scream her name beneath the roars, as she climbed over a mess of roots, almost had her foot stuck between, and fell into the knee-deep water outside. As she scrambled on her hands to get away further, she felt the ground shaking with the beast's movements as it jerked Caitlin around and apart, her blood-curling screams burying themselves deep into Harper's memories.

Jade wasted no time behind her, but cursed heavily as she tried to make it over the roots. _Injured,_ Harper's brain managed to spit out. _Arrow. Thigh._

Without thinking, she grabbed Jade roughly, shakingly helping Jade as she crawled over her obstacle, obviously in pain. Not able to twist her body around like Harper had seconds ago, Jade almost remained stuck between the stems.

 _It's not a shelter._ It suddenly hit Harper full-force as Caitlin's screams ebbed away into the sounds of tearing and cracking. _It's a cage!_

Behind Jade, Harper now had the full view of the clearing and saw how the crocodile towered over a bloody, torn human body. Blonde strands of hair hung from its snout and in red clumps between its teeth, one leg still pushed its prey into the mud while the claws of its forelegs were tearing through the fabric of Caitlin's clothes, burying themselves deeper into blood and flesh as it ripped away layers of inedible material.

Before Jade finally fell through and pulled Harper away from the sight once for all, Harper realized how humanoid the mutt was sitting, moving, behaving. Its arms were shaped differently than those of a crocodile, the muscles were defined, the joints moving freer. Was a crocodile supposed to be smart enough to separate clothing from flesh? With its limbs? _Oh my God, what is this thing?_

The sound of a cannon made her flinch back towards her flight.

" _Run,"_ Harper breathed, realizing that this mutt wouldn't have as much trouble waltzing through the wall of trees as they had. In her mind's eye, the beast was sitting on its two hind legs and started to pounce forward, targeting her in a crazy, unnaturally fast sprint.

She still held Jade's hand and was jerked forward when her ally started to run for real. Panicking more with each loud step that might catch the monster's attention, the girls ran back to the strip of solid ground they came from. There was almost no opportunity to hide, and the water slowed them down too much.

 _We walked right into their trap_ , Harper thought as her memories reeled back while running for dear life. _The circle of trees, the box in the middle. Nowhere to hide and nowhere to run._

All she could hope for was that the mutt remained distracted by Caitlin.

Caitlin, who was now dead.

If she hadn't been that close, if that crocodile hadn't managed to get her right at the beginning, it would have chased them around the ring, and they wouldn't have had the time to search for an opening wide enough.

If the mutt hadn't torn Caitlin in half almost immediately.

Her third dead ally.

And she was running right back to the place where she had killed her district partner.

Her surviving ally was still right behind her, but now that she listened closely, she heard Jade's pained gasps. _Still hurt_ , her brain reminded her.

Harper slowed their crazy run until she came to halt. Jade stopped next to her, hands pressing against her injury in pain, as the running and the fear and the sickness of it all made Harper's stomach churn, and she vomited bile and water into the mud with a splash.

Staring at her shoes but seeing Caitlin's limbs askew and her hair dangling from sharp teeth, Harper's thoughts stumbled, ran in circles, and stumbled again over the fact that _her third ally_ had died.

 _Cullen wasn't so wrong crying over the other tributes who have to deal with you._

Her thoughts sounded a lot like Harvey Dent all of sudden.

...Great.

"Shit," Jade commented accurately as she had regained her breath and grabbed Harper's arm. "We need to get further away"

Harper's answer was to break into a run again. This time, though, she wasn't only running away from the crocodile mutt but from Kaldur's disappointed eyes, Harvey's voice, and Caitlin's beautiful, blood-caked hair.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt


	79. Chapter 78: Unnatural Shores

**(A/N): Here is our Tuesday update! We're taking a little break from the arena again, this time with a peek at our Tahiti program and a familiar face ;)**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who have reviewed this and previous chapters. It's always heartbreaking to lose a character, isn't it?**

* * *

 **Chapter Seventy-Eight - Unnatural Shores**

 **Undisclosed Tahiti Location**

 **Kaldur Ahm, formerly of District Four**

 **Written by robbiepoo2341**

* * *

" _You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty."_ — _Mahatma Gandhi_

* * *

These were not the halls of the drowned kings.

Where was the salt on his lips? Where was the feeling of weightlessness that came with the water that was his home? Where was _Tula_?

No, this was not the next life. But if that was the case… where, exactly, was he?

Kaldur's senses were coming back to him slowly, one by one, each one of them ringing with unease, an almost heaviness, a disconnect from his own muscles and body. This was _wrong_ , all of it — he simply didn't know _how_ yet.

He was too dry. He was too heavy. And there was a light buzzing — not the same as the constant thrum of insects in the swamp he had only just left, but artificial, the hum of a light above him.

His vision finally came back to him, along with most of his consciousness, and he would have sat up if not for the fact that he immediately met the edge of a leather strap when he tried to do so. He frowned at the sensation and blinked a few times, focusing down the length of his body. He was pinned down to a white bed, his wrists and ankles tied down, straps over his shoulders and hips to keep him further restrained.

Kaldur frowned. _What now?_

But now that he had stirred from the slumber that was not death, it seemed his questions would not go unanswered long. A man whose entire appearance suggested that he knew nothing of struggle entered the bright room, wearing an encouraging smile that it seemed to Kaldur was out of place in his too-white surroundings.

Nothing in this place was natural. It was bleached — and not by the sun. This ... this was crafted by hands that cared nothing for the elements, inserting themselves into the world and carving out their scars with no thought to anything else.

The man beside Kaldur gave him that same smile as he stopped alongside the bed. "How are you feeling today, Mr. Ahm?"

Kaldur raised an eyebrow at the address. None in the Capitol had yet afforded him that kind of courtesy — which begged the question: where was he that these people broke from their hatred of the waifs beneath them? "Kaldur," he said.

"What?"

"Kaldur Ahm, or Kaldur will do," he said, still regarding the man carefully. He had absolutely no frame of reference for the man or for his surroundings, and he was doing his best to hide his unease at the situation. An introduction that would put the conversation on more recognizable terms, he hoped, would at least ease some of that discomfort — though he doubted he would completely relax in a place where they found it necessary to tie him down and then lie to him by smiling as if this was perfectly reasonable.

After all, it was not necessary to use words in order to lie.

"Alright then, Kaldur," the man said, his voice enthusiastic and warm and not at all suited to the task he had been sent to accomplish of speaking to a captured and restrained diver from Four. "My name is Agent Billy Koenig. How are you feeling?"

Kaldur regarded the man for a long moment. He was portly, with enthusiastic lines to his face that suggested the smile was genuine, but that was the only thing in the room he could say was real. The white sheets, the technology that far exceeded Kaldur's understanding, none of it belonged to the soft man in front of him. It was incongruous, suspicious.

He did not trust it.

Finally, Kaldur took a breath with lungs that felt none of the heaviness that he expected to feel, considering how he had left the arena. "Lost," he said at last.

That seemed to surprise the man in front of him, who frowned slightly, his head tipped to the side. "Come again?"

"You asked me how I feel, and that is my answer: I am lost," Kaldur said. He looked down the length of his body and then back up to the man in front of him. "These are not the halls of the drowned kings, nor is it an aisle of torment … at least, I believe not. I hope it is not," he added, though the idea floated through his mind like flotsam and jetsam from a wrecked ship, crashing and colliding with the other thoughts.

It would certainly make sense — the restraints, the lack of any natural elements, the absence of the sea. But Kaldur had always lived his life with honor, and he had even asked Diana to send him to his grave as an Atlantean. There was no reason for him to find himself on an aisle of torment.

Was there?

Agent Koenig smiled a bit wider at that. "It's not an aisle of torment or anything like that," he said. "Welcome to the Tahiti Program."

For a moment, Kaldur simply blinked, and then, slowly, he shook his head when he realized Koenig was waiting for a reaction. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

Koenig paused and then let out a bark of a laugh. "Of course not," he said before straightening up importantly, his shoulders rolling with his neck. "This is where tributes from the Games are resurrected to fight a more important battle — against Thanos and his regime."

Kaldur raised an eyebrow at that. He would be dishonest if he said he didn't approve of the goal — after all, he had been saying since the beginning that the Games were such small pittance compared to the true atrocities that should be resisted. He had spent his entire Games experience doing his best to resist the Capitol and their oppression. He had taken every opportunity to fight Thanos and his ilk in any way he could, even to his own detriment

And yet…. There could be worse things than even the Capitol.

"You mean to tell me," he said, slowly and clearly, "that you have snatched me from the rest I earned to fight a war that I would have joined willingly had you merely _asked_?"

Koenig's encouraging smile dropped slightly. "Well, yes…" He drew the last word out slowly and seemed surprised by Kaldur's reaction

Kaldur watched the man for a long time before he let out a breath and leaned his head back against the bed underneath him. "If your cause is so desperate that you resort to murder and perversion of the laws of nature themselves, you should consider what it is that has led you to so grave a blot on your souls."

Koenig shook his head. "No, no, we're getting off on the wrong foot here," he tried to explain. "This way, Thanos and his people don't know you're alive. You can be more effective if there aren't any eyes on you." He smiled again. "Secret rebellion and all that."

"Yes," Kaldur said evenly, then looked down at his restrained arms. "I see your cause is liberation."

Koenig opened his mouth and then closed it again, and Kaldur was perfectly willing to wait in silence for the man to give himself more rope to hang his cause with. But when instead there were faint sounds outside the door, Koenig went from the attempt at warmth to a more businesslike expression, his back straight, his hands going to his tie to straighten it and the lanyard around his neck.

Kaldur recognized the signs and turned his attention to the door himself, wondering who exactly was in power here — and he was not surprised in the least when it was the Head Gamemaker, Nick Fury, who strolled through, with his most recent Games victor beside him.

Kaldur almost laughed when he saw them both. "Ah, so even victors do not escape your clutches," he said, shaking his head to himself. "Unsurprising, since even death is beyond your respect."

If he had hoped for a reaction from the man running this sham of a show, however, he was gravely mistaken. Fury's attention seemed to be instead on the young victor with him, who looked simply incensed when he saw Kaldur, though Kaldur could not think of any offense he had offered toward the young man, or even Seven itself.

"Why the hell is he tied down?" Logan asked, turning toward Fury will a full glare.

 _Ah. Then this is new for him as well,_ Kaldur thought, watching the two newcomers with a careful gaze. He was sure there was some kind of interplay beyond his understanding, an understanding between the men, or some kind of test. Better not to wander into untested waters than to get pulled into the riptide of others' actions.

"Standard procedure," Fury said, his gaze on his victor as though Kaldur was mere scenery. "Not every tribute wakes up reasonably."

"Maybe 'cause they shouldn't be reasonable to the same guys that killed 'em. Let 'im up."

"Woah, hey, that's not SOP," Koenig said, holding up both hands.

Kaldur almost smiled. It was plain to see that, of the three free men in the room, Koenig had the least power. And yet he was not afraid to look at both of the others as if they were insane for going against the little rules he lived by. He was determined to impose his own order on a disordered world. He was not, therefore, entirely powerless.

"We have to know where each tribute stands first before we can release them," Koenig added in explanation when Logan turned a glare his way.

For a long moment, no one moved, and then Logan advanced toward Kaldur, who continued to watch the young victor with intense interest. Fury might have all the power officially, but it was clear Logan was bursting with his own, unwilling to kowtow to unreasonable demands. That in itself was encouraging, even if Kaldur still had very little for a frame of reference here.

"Outta my way, or I start breakin' things. And I don't mean lab equipment," Logan growled Koenig's way. So his power was more physical than official — and yet judging by the look on Koenig's face, that was clearly more than enough to have weight in this room of seemingly mismatched individuals and artificial light.

"You can't do — can he do that?" Koenig looked from Logan to Fury, though when the director of SHIELD looked entirely inscrutable, it was clear Koenig had no idea what to do.

"You gonna try and stop me?" Logan asked, though he didn't wait for Koenig to rise to the bait as he started undoing the restraints holding Kaldur down.

By that time, Kaldur couldn't restrain the smirk as he was finally able to sit up and helped with the restraints around his ankles. "Let them try," he said. "With death behind me, I seem to be able to defend myself once more. I'd welcome the chance to exercise these unearthly muscles."

"You might wanna start with someone able to fight you," Logan pointed out.

Kaldur turned an appraising look Logan's way. "So there is honor in Seven too," he said before he took in a breath and looked between Logan and Fury. "And how is it that you came to be part of this glorified slave trade?"

"I won." Logan let out a small breath. "For whatever that's worth."

Kaldur shook his head lightly. "There are no winners," he said. He pushed himself to his feet and was surprised at how steady he was, considering the fact that he had only just been in little control of his own faculties — he'd been _carried_ by a daughter of Hippolyta, after all. He thought he could remember her hands on his back, but he could not feel them. The memory seemed not to match his muscles.

"You have no idea," Logan agreed before he offered Kaldur his hand.

Kaldur took the outstretched hand for some leverage and support, but only for a moment. The tile under his feet was too cold and clean, and he had been so looking forward to the sands of the seas and his return to Atlantis.

At last, he turned toward Fury. "You are a fool," he said, the anger clear in his voice as he tipped his chin up. "Do you know what you stole from me? From any others you have snatched from their reward?"

Fury nodded once, though he had no remorse in his gaze as he held Kaldur's. "And do you know what I've _given_ you? A chance to free Four from the Capitol — and to overthrow Thanos and his rotten spawn?"

But Kaldur would not be satisfied with promises from a would-be king. "If I am to fight for Four, it will not be under the flag of SHIELD," he replied evenly. "What difference will it make if my people serve Thanos or serve you — when either would be tyranny?"

"That's not the plan at all," Fury replied, matching Kaldur's even meter. "It's my intention that every district be allowed to govern themselves, with no royals overseeing them."

Both of Kaldur's eyebrows shot up at that declaration, but when Fury simply held his gaze, he paused to consider the man in front of him. He had absolutely no reason to trust him; this was the man who had orchestrated the deaths of _children_. This man had no soul and plucked the souls of others from their next lives, and he expected loyalty?

He crossed his arms and turned to Logan. "And you believe him?"

Logan took a moment to draw up his answer. It was a tricky question. "I've seen enough in my time here to know that somethin's gonna change either way. I'd rather be on the side that doesn't kill you if you disagree with them."

Kaldur laughed hollowly. "Then you are on the wrong side. I am living proof. Or… perhaps 'living' is too strong a word." He gestured to his own body, which still felt strange, somehow. New.

"Maybe," Logan conceded. "But I'm gonna do everything I can to put an end to the way it is now — or die trying."

Kaldur held Logan's gaze for a long time, sizing up the victor in front of him. He had no reason to believe either of them, but Logan, at least, seemed honest and sincere. He had no deception in his gaze — and he had been genuinely angry at the restraints. That was difficult to fake effectively.

Finally, Kaldur took a deep breath and turned to Fury. "You will take no more souls," he said, his chin tipped up. "These Games, this process — it stops now. Or I will stop it."

"This is the last Games," Fury replied evenly. "And the revolution has already been put into motion."

Kaldur said nothing for a long time, simply watching the depth of darkness in the eyes of the director. There was a storm there, though whether it was a maelstrom or a mere summer shower, Kaldur did not yet know. "I will fight for Four," he said at last. "I will not fight for you, but I will fight."

"Diana Prince is still in the Games," Fury told him.

"That is unsurprising," Kaldur said, unwilling to rise to the bait so easily marked before him. He was no simple fish, no matter what others would call him. "She will win — and she too will fight for Four. Not for you."

"That's what I'm hoping for," Fury replied. He gestured to the wide-eyed SHIELD agent that had been shooed off earlier. "Agent Koenig will answer your questions and show you around. I have other matters that need to be addressed."

Kaldur smirked to himself. "Yes of course. Let the serfs speak among themselves while you play at godhood," he said.

Fury gave him a dry look before he made a point to call Logan's attention. "We have things to discuss."

Before Logan could leave, however, Kaldur reached out to rest a hand on his arm. "When this war begins," he said in a low tone, "if you need aid — I will stand by you. Do not think Fury is your only option."

Logan held his gaze for a long moment and nodded. "Then I look forward to bustin' a few skulls with you."

Kaldur released his hold on the young victor and watched him leave with Fury before he turned to Koenig once more, who was now regarding Kaldur with slightly narrowed eyes. It was likely the man was uncomfortable with Kaldur's frank language against his director, but Kaldur cared very little for the opinions of any who would sanction kidnapping souls from eternity.

"So," Koenig said at last, awkwardly. "You have questions."

"Yes." Kaldur held his gaze and admired the man for not flinching underneath it. "I will not waste your time or mine in a frivolous attempt to ask what it is you want from me. I know it is war, and you seek footsoldiers. I have no problems meeting Thanos' unjust men on the field of battle." He paused, unconsciously licking his lips, where there was still no sea salt. In fact, his mouth felt as if it had not tasted the ocean at all.

How could they take even that from him?

"I do not pretend to understand the process that brought me back," Kaldur said at last. "But I still cannot help but ask: how? How can I be here when my very body was failing me — how long ago? It cannot have been long enough if Diana is still in the arena."

Koenig nodded along to all of Kaldur's questions before he gestured for Kaldur to walk with him, handing him a lanyard with an ID card on it. "You need to wear this at all times," he said.

"That was not an answer to any of my questions."

"No, but it's the rule around here," Koenig countered, and Kaldur smirked as he put the lanyard around his neck, his bare feet still a bit unsteady on the tile floor as he walked. This was Koenig's attempt to hold onto what power he had, and Kaldur was not so cold-hearted as to remove it from him. "It's only been a couple days since you died in the arena, to answer your question."

"Then you must have made deals with Death itself," Kaldur mused, his gaze roving the hallways, which were again, too pristine, too artificial. There was no _life_ in these halls

"No, no," Koenig said, almost cheerfully. "Your old body is back in Four for a proper sendoff. We grew the new one for you—"

But Kaldur froze where he was in the middle of the hall, unable to contain his abject horror at what he heard. "My… what?"

Koenig turned to face him with a look of surprise. "That's what I was trying to tell you," he said, gesturing to Kaldur. "We downloaded your memories into this—"

"You _tore my soul from me_ ," Kaldur breathed out, unmoving, his breath caught in his chest in a way that finally felt familiar. How fitting that his first feeling of familiarity in his body after death was one akin to drowning.

It made sense at last. The lack of sea salt on his lips, the feeling of his muscles, the lack of any callouses from spears or nets. He was a newborn carrying the soul of a man long dead. A perversion of nature and all that the gods intended.

"You're still you," Billy said. "All the memories that make you who you are-"

"I should have gone to rest with my body — _my_ body," Kaldur repeated, his voice raised, uncaring who in these halls of the damned heard him. His hands were in fists as he glared at the SHIELD agent before him. "I should be with Tula!"

"Well, you aren't."

Kaldur stared at the man in front of him for some time, almost overcome with what he was hearing. This — this _replica_ of a man who had died was not his body. It didn't know the sea. It was not the same body that had beaten itself against waves and lost itself in the ocean depths.

This was no Atlantean body. This was a creation of the Capitol. A mutt.

And they had trapped him inside it.

Kaldur felt the rush of blood in his ears that was so much like the roar of the ocean, and yet those ears, those _new_ ears, had never felt the water against them, had never popped under water pressure, had never listened to waves crashing against the shore or fishermen calling out to each other under the orange light of dawn.

He could also hear Koenig speaking about others in the "program," but Kaldur for the first time lapsed into inattention, his eyes closed, his heart racing, before he simply followed the agent into the room he was indicating without comment. His head was spinning. He felt _ill_.

He strode through the open doors in what he could only describe as a daze, still struggling to come to terms with this body — _not his_ — when he stopped short seeing the other young man in the room.

Thor Odinson.

Kaldur froze for only an instant before a disbelieving laugh escaped him despite his every effort otherwise. "Of course," he breathed out. "SHIELD would not waste the son of the first victor."

Thor rose from his seat at what was clearly a cafeteria but was currently devoid of all life but Koenig — the two false copies with stolen souls notwithstanding — and gestured for Kaldur to sit with him with a smile that looked like Odin's but held far more genuine warmth.

"Agent Koenig told me that they would be raising a man of Four today," Thor said as Kaldur sat across from him, studying the heir of Odin's family name and wondering how, in this last year of living beyond his time, Thor had been able to reckon with the offense against the old gods that SHIELD had committed with their very souls.

Kaldur shook his head. "I cannot say that is what they did," he said. "I can only say that I am here."

Thor nodded in perfect understanding. "Aye, but your heart is still of Four," he said. "And in my reckoning, that is worth more than all of SHIELD's science combined."

Once more, Kaldur shook his head. "This body knows nothing of the ocean. I fear when it comes my time again, the halls of the drowned kings will not recognize it."

"You think too little of the gods," Thor replied. "They are just. They know your heart." He watched Kaldur for a moment. "You must be one of Arthur Curry's men."

"Kaldur Ahm," he said, extending his hand to the blonde seated across from him. "I am a diver, yes."

"Thor Odinson," Thor replied as he took Kaldur's hand and then smiled a bit wider. "I am not."

Kaldur smiled despite himself. "Yes, I know," he said. He looked around the room at the sharp edges of the tables, the too-bright colors of the foods there. "I am surprised to see you here, an ally of SHIELD's, after what they have done."

"There are good men here, with good hearts," Thor said. "Corruption may sit at their edges, but their goals are admirable, and I do believe that they intend to keep their promises of freedom."

"This..." Kaldur said, gesturing around the room, which was now devoid of the nondescript SHIELD agent, who must have slipped out rather than listen to their discussion of honor, which clearly was above his understanding. "This is not freedom."

"No," Thor agreed, nodding seriously. He took a deep breath as he studied Kaldur. "We have been done wrong, Kaldur Ahm. All of us here have been denied our rest in Valhalla. We are all indentured to SHIELD. And yet I believe these men when they say these things will not be so once Thanos is dethroned and the districts are free."

"Then you are a fool," Kaldur said evenly.

"Not a fool but a man of faith," Thor replied. "I have faith in the friends I have made here and in the good men I have come to know."

Kaldur shook his head. "I never thought I would see the day when an Odinson would bow to SHIELD."

Thor let out a laugh that sounded like his father — he looked more like Odin from the passing year, so it seemed these false bodies could age as if they were natural. "I bow to no one," Thor said. "I simply respect those who deserve it — and do my best to do what I can with what I am given." He gestured to himself. "This body may not be mine, but it carries my heart in it, and thus, it is my own. I will use it and this second life to bring judgement down on the Capitol and any who would take its place in oppressing the people of this land, and I will stand by any who would do the same."

Kaldur watched Thor for some time, his lips pressed into a thin line as he considered it. "I would fight as well — for Marvel and for Four itself," he said at last.

"Then I would be honored to call you my ally, Atlantean," Thor said.

At that, Kaldur couldn't quite stop his light chuckle. "Something else I never thought I would see — the son of Odin treating a diver as an equal."

Thor waved a hand. "I have no claim to power here, and I do not want it in Four," he said. "If you stand against Thanos, you are my ally, and if you are a warrior true, you will be my friend. That is all."

Kaldur regarded Thor carefully for a long time. He was not sure he could believe this vastly different philosophy from a son of Odin when it was Odin himself that taught him that everything around them was about power, every action rang with it, every struggle was defined by its existence.

Thor was more like Mera, who had believed in the tides of the seas, who had believed that each wave was unique. She had always said that strength lay not in power but in friendship, the way fish in a school were protected from the sharks.

And Kaldur… Kaldur found now that he believed both of these philosophies. He had his friendship with Garth; he had his struggle with the Capitol. And now, he had the promise of both from Thor himself.

Finally, he nodded and stretched out his hand. The two young men clasped forearms, and Kaldur met Thor's gaze. "When this fight is won, we will go to Four, and it will be united," he told Thor, not releasing his grasp.

Thor met Kaldur's gaze and broke into a grin as he nodded his agreement. "Aye. I believe it shall."


	80. Chapter 79: No Justice

**(A/N): Happy Friday, and happy March! Here is our Friday update, in which we check in on what's left of the Justice League with John Constantine, written as always by BstnStrng13 :)**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed. We love hearing what you loved and what works so that we can keep doing that!**

* * *

 **Chapter Seventy-Nine - No Justice**

 **Night Four**

 **John Constantine of District Twelve**

 **Written by BstnStrng13**

* * *

" _Life isn't fair. It's just fairer than death, that's all._ " William Goldman, _The Princess Bride_

* * *

John blew on the tinder and watched the sparks dance before they slowly grew into flames. The small fire crackled as it consumed twigs from an old woodpecker's nest, casting flickering shadows on the ground. He'd been lucky to find the nest — to find anything dry, really. The rain may have stopped, but it had done a damn good job of soaking everyone and everything while it had fallen. This small grove of trees on high ground was the driest spot they'd seen in hours, and it still felt dank.

After a few minutes, he cautiously fed the fire some larger pieces of wood, careful not to douse it with too much wet material. He'd wondered whether the fire was a good idea — it could draw attention at night — but Diana had seemed confident that the trees were clustered so tightly that the two of them would be hard to spot. He trusted her judgment in this, as he trusted it in so many things. And, anyway, he _needed_ the fire; he needed something bright — something that would help him at least imagine what it was like to be dry.

Di must have been thinking along similar lines, because she crouched close to the flames and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to comb out the water. John found the action mesmerizing. She looked strong and athletic and, despite the dirt and masculine clothes, very beautiful. The dark circles under her eyes, however, reminded him that she was also probably exhausted. Not that she would like him pointing that out, of course. He suspected she would shrug off any expression of concern.

He realized he was staring and forced himself to tend to the fire before she caught him. He pushed another branch into the flames and then set a small pot of water to boil. They still had purification tablets in Clark's pack, but he figured he would save those for the times they didn't have the luxury of sterilizing with heat.

It was weird, but hanging onto Clark's stuff made him feel like Kent was still with them. John wasn't ready to accept that the big, strong tribute from Five was gone.

He sat down, keeping his eyes on the fire. There was a time when he'd thought of camping as fun. Back home in Twelve, he and his sister used to sneak out and spend the entire night talking by a fire. When their father had a new bottle of whiskey and changed from being a mean, sober bastard to an even meaner drunk, it was easy to slip past him and head for the woods near the boundary fence. It was against Capitol rules, but he and Cheryl never seemed to get caught, probably because the Sentinels didn't care very much. When it came to subversives, John and Cheryl Constantine were small potatoes.

* * *

 _At some point during the night, John would always ask Cheryl about their mother, and she would always give him the same answer._

" _John, I was barely two years old when she died, I really don't remember her."_

" _But you must have gotten to know her a little. You must at least have an impression of her."_

" _I think she used to sing me to sleep, sometimes. She had a soothing voice. And I remember Dad was different when she was alive. He used to smile."_

 _Sparks would fly from the fire and waft toward the stars._

" _Cheryl, I'm so sorry."_

" _What on earth for?"_

" _For screwing it all up. For being born. Mom would still be here if she hadn't had to give birth to me."_

 _At that point, she would give him an annoyed look. "That's just stupid, John. You didn't ask to be born. Bad things happen, and it isn't always somebody's fault."_

" _But it's not fair_ — _she didn't deserve to die, and you didn't deserve to grow up without a mother."_

 _She'd laugh. "You're too old to expect life to be fair. If life were fair, the Capitol would pay for coal, and we'd be able to eat a decent meal. If life were fair, Thanos would be the first one in the Games with a knife in his gut." She'd shake her head. "I love you, but you need to grow up, John._ Fair _is a child's word."_

 _He'd stare at her. He didn't like it when she lectured him, although a little voice in his head told him that she only did so because she loved him._

 _Then, her face would soften. "But don't grow up so much that you stop doing your magic tricks. They always make me smile. I hope you've got a new one to show me now."_

* * *

There was a loud snap — much like the sound a twig makes when someone steps on it.

John's heart started pounding, and Di leapt to her feet, her sword in her hand. Memories of Crane finding them yesterday with his hallucinogenic gas flashed through John's mind, and he instinctively held his breath, taking small sips of air only when he absolutely had to. He and Di peered anxiously into the dark, beyond their circle of trees, searching for signs of an approaching tribute.

But there were no signs; just the ever-present hum of insects and the drip-drip-drip of water falling from the rain-soaked trees.

A second snap made John realize that the noise had come from the fire. The flames were reacting to damp spots in the wood. He allowed himself to draw a deep, full breath.

"It's the fire," he said in relief. "Di — it's just the fire. There's sap in the wood, and it makes a cracking noise when it burns."

Di looked at the flames and then at him. She gave him a brief smile and, after a minute, sat back down. The smile turned into a grimace as she pulled her sword close to her side.

John instantly felt a pang of worry. Between nearly drowning in the riptide and searching for dry ground, he'd managed to put her fight with Crane out of his mind. Her look of pain reminded him that Crane had gotten in a couple of strikes before she'd taken his life. "How's the shoulder?" he asked.

She glanced down at it with a detached expression, almost as if it belonged to someone else. "It hurts," she conceded, "but I can still wield a sword. It will not be a great impediment."

John thought she would have said the same thing if Crane's knife were sticking out of the wound. He knew she wouldn't like it, but he asked anyway. "Can I..." He hesitated. "Can I look at it?"

She met his gaze and gave him a small nod. He had a feeling she was agreeing just to humor him.

He crouched next to her and gently pulled the collar of her shirt away from her neck. He peered down, careful to keep his gaze confined to her shoulder and away from the more interesting body parts a few inches lower. The wound had stopped bleeding, but it was deep in spots, and it definitely looked dirty. Mud and silt clung to the lips of the cut.

"What is your diagnosis, Dr. Constantine? Is it a mortal wound?"

He looked up at her quickly. She wasn't smiling, but he thought he detected a slight crinkling at the corners of her eyes. He shook his head. "Is that a joke? Because I can't tell with you. We should develop some kind of signal when you're teasing me so I'll know. Maybe you could wink or tug on your earlobe or something."

She still didn't smile. "You didn't answer my question," she said.

He sighed. "No — I don't think it's mortal, but it could definitely use some cleaning so that it doesn't get infected. Zeus knows what was in that flood water." Her eyebrows went up and he grinned. "Gotcha. I'll bet you never thought you'd hear _me_ use 'Zeus' in a sentence."

She rolled her eyes. "Just cleanse the wound, John."

"Right."

He wrapped his jacket around the handle of the pot and retrieved it from the fire. He dipped one finger into the water to test the temperature and winced. "It's pretty hot."

"All the better for sterilizing. Proceed." She gripped her collar and held it out.

"Sure thing, Boss." He knelt over her and was about to pour when she held up her hand.

"Wait," she said. John quickly returned the pot to an upright position, cringing as some of the hot water sloshed over his hand. Di leaned over gingerly, and John heard the sound of fabric ripping. He bent forward to see what she was doing and then straightened in sync with her as she held up some cloth from the leg of her pants. "So I do not add a bloody tongue to my list of afflictions," she said calmly, stuffing the fabric into her mouth. Then, she pointed at the pot and nodded.

John bit back a laugh at her dry words, knowing it wouldn't be an appropriate time. "Right. Let's try this again," he said and then trickled the nearly boiling water over her shoulder. She flinched slightly and then remained still, with a stoic expression on her face. He gently tried to rinse away the mud with his fingers, hoping that he wasn't making the wound worse. After a minute, he sat back.

"That's better," he said. "It looks pretty clean. Sorry about all the water, though. You were just starting to dry out by the fire, and I've gotten you all… I've poured a pot of water down your shirt." He flushed as he heard his words. _Very smooth, John_.

She removed the cloth from her mouth and arched one eyebrow. "Thank you," was her only response.

John returned the pot to the fire, and the two of them fell silent. He wondered if there was any chance they were being broadcast back home at this moment, and if they were, if Cheryl was watching. Two tributes sitting around a fire wasn't exactly exciting viewing, but he and Di were an unlikely alliance, and he wouldn't put it past the Gamemakers to play that up.

He could imagine what they would see. Diana Prince — trained from birth for leadership and at one time an odds-on favorite to lead the Careers — was skilled in multiple forms of combat. Even now, with dirty clothing and a spot of mud on her cheek, she looked confident and regal. Her dark hair shone in the firelight, and her fingers were long and graceful. Constantine, in contrast, had no talent for fighting other than scrappy stubbornness. His first reaction when Crane had appeared had been to perform a vanishing trick — not exactly the stuff heroes were made from. And his blonde hair, unruly at the best of times, was no doubt sticking out in multiple directions, like a worn-out straw broom.

Thankfully, he'd acquitted himself a little better during the storm. He'd been able to solve the riddle and earn them a boat. He hadn't entirely been dead weight.

He looked once more at the dark circles under Di's eyes. It was the fourth night of the Games, and she'd slept far less than he had. All of the crap that had happened — Kaldur's death, Clark's death, killing Crane — had to be getting to her, particularly given her overgrown sense of responsibility. Not to mention that Crane had done his best to mess with her head using both his words and his friggin' fear gas. She deserved some relief from that stiff upper lip, John thought, not that she would ever say so.

He decided to risk it. She'd let him clean her shoulder. Maybe she would let him help with other aches.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She glanced at her shoulder and gave him a confused look. "You just tended to the wound, John. It will be fine."

He shook his head. "I wasn't talking about your shoulder. I meant, are you alright _here_?" He tapped his fingers on his chest, over his heart. "You've carried the team on your back and kept everything inside for four days now."

Her eyes widened at the question. He couldn't tell if it was in surprise or anger. She stared at him for a long moment. "John..." she began, hesitantly.

He held up his hand. "And don't give me your _responsibility is my heritage_ speech, Di. You're still human — at least, I'm pretty sure you are. You have the same right as the rest of us to hurt and feel fear."

Her blue eyes were luminous in the firelight. "I..." she said slowly.

The cannon boomed, and the anthem starting playing.

She turned away from him and gestured toward the sky. "We should watch. We need to remain aware of who has fallen and the threats that yet endure."

 _In other words_ , John thought, _you'd rather watch the damn lightshow than talk about your emotional state._

He nodded, not willing to push her, and reluctantly peered upward. He hated the nightly tally of the casualties. It was getting longer as the Games went on, and he hadn't become immune to the pain of seeing faces like Gar's or Cisco's. They were innocent faces, belonging to kids who didn't deserve any of this crap. That the Capitol was happy to sacrifice them for a political message disguised as entertainment felt so unfair.

 _You need to grow up, John._ Fair _is a child's word._

The anthem continued playing, and one by one, the tributes appeared, with Slade Wilson leading off. John wasn't sure whether it was a fluke of the weather or a new trick devised by the Gamemakers, but instead of simply projecting their faces against the sky, the fallen tributes now seemed to shimmer and materialize out of the clouds in a grotesque, twisted dance. They looked like wraiths, reminding those still living of the fate that awaited them. It made a shiver run down John's spine — no doubt exactly what the Gamemakers had hoped for. He did his best to remind himself that these were visual effects; they weren't real ghosts.

To John's surprise, Slade Wilson's spectral image was followed by that of Harvey Dent and then Caitlin Snow. He felt a gleam of satisfaction when he saw Harvey. The two-faced maniac wasn't going to be able to hurt anyone else. Caitlin's picture was quickly followed by faces he had already seen; Cisco Ramon, Kaldur, Clark, Jervis Tetch, Jonathan Crane, and — lastly — Gar. Nine tributes gone. Fifteen remaining.

 _And you're one of them,_ he reminded himself, trying to rally his spirits. _Four days and you're still breathing, while Careers like Slade Wilson and Harvey Dent are gone._

"Harvey and Caitlin," he said to Diana. "They're the two latest — they died today. I'm surprised about Harvey. He struck me as someone who wouldn't go down easy." He was immediately ashamed of himself for speaking so casually. This was not who he wanted to be — someone who could talk about murder lightly.

She smiled grimly. "Harvey was a fool," she said, "with a weak mind. I suspect his coin gave him poor advice, and he elected to heed it." She stretched her slender legs toward the fire, her back slumping ever so slightly.

And then she yawned.

The small, all-too-human gesture made John want to smile. Even Diana Prince had her limits. _She really is tired,_ he thought _. Hell, she deserves to be. She practically lifted me out of the water for half the flood, and that was after battling Crane._

"Why don't I take first watch?" he proposed. "I'll wake you in a few hours."

She didn't argue, which only went to prove how fatigued she really was. After a minute, she stretched out on the ground, piling leaves under her jacket for a pillow. A few minutes more, and her breathing became deep and even. She was asleep.

 _And then were there two_ , John thought, reflecting on their alliance. Well, three really, because Kara was still alive somewhere — but since they were no longer together, he didn't think that counted. Crane and his fear gas had wreaked havoc on the team. It had split them apart, and in doing so had contributed to Clark's death. John didn't know exactly how Clark had met his final moments, but he had to believe the guy would still be breathing if the alliance had remained intact.

John felt bitter anger toward Crane over Clark. He had liked Kent; the word _decent_ came to mind every time he thought about him. Rumor was that Clark had volunteered for the Games in his last year of eligibility in order to protect a friend. Rumor was that he had a girlfriend back home and wouldn't give the female tributes a second glance, no matter how much they flirted. Hell, Clark couldn't even bring himself to _swear,_ John thought; he _fudged_ and _sugar-snapped_ when he was upset, and then grinned apologetically for using such language. The guy had the strength to bend swords, yet blushed when he had to take a whiz near the girls.

 _Decent._

And Clark was his mother's only child, John remembered. His dad was gone; and the kid was probably her sole source of support. It seemed wrong that Clark, with a mother who loved him very much, was dead; while John, who had no mother at all, was still alive.

Fair _is a child's word._

He stared into the flames. _At least_ , he thought gloomily, _Di got Crane before he could get her_. _And she had no choice. It was self-preservation, not murder_. There was some measure of satisfaction in both facts.

John didn't feel the same pain over Kaldur's death as he did for Clark's, even though he believed the water-man was also a good guy. John hadn't interacted much with Kaldur during training, and the tribute from Four was already fading from his burns when he'd stumbled into their alliance. Still, Kaldur had shown John something about dying with dignity. He'd set aside his differences to make peace with Di, and he'd chosen to leave the Games on his terms. That had to irritate the Gamemakers — that Kaldur had denied them a more gruesome spectacle. John respected Kaldur for his decision and hoped that if the situation called for it, Di would do him the same service. He would prefer his life be taken by her out of kindness to dying at the hand of a sick sonofabitch like Jack Hamill.

Although he would prefer not dying at all.

John reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out his token — the watch that his mining supervisor had given him on Reaping Day. The silver case gleamed in the firelight. He held it up to his ear and was surprised to hear it still ticking. He'd figured the thing had gotten soaked in the flood. He opened it and watched the second hand sweep a smooth, even circle around the face.

* * *

" _Whatcha got?"_

 _John looked up from his seat. The tribute standing in front of him was green; green curly hair, green skin, green eyes. And he was small. John wondered if the kid had even made it into his teens. He looked like he should be home playing with his friends._

 _The sarcastic response he had been about to deliver died in his throat._

" _It's a pocketwatch," he said to the kid, instead. "My mining boss gave it to me right after I was reaped."_

" _It looks old. How does it work?"_

 _John nodded. "It_ is _old. It doesn't even use a power source. You just wind it like this," he turned the stem a few times, "and it'll run for a couple of days. Then you need to wind it again."_

 _The kid grinned. "That's cool." He took his eyes off the watch and held out his hand. "I'm Gar. District Ten."_

 _John shook the hand. "John. District Twelve."_

 _Gar sank onto the bench next to John. His feet barely touched the ground. "How come you're not training?"_

 _John shrugged. "I'm not really good at fighting," he said. "I'm better at disappearing and hiding." He probably shouldn't be admitting that, but there seemed to be no harm in telling the kid._

 _And Gar nodded seriously. "Me too," he replied. The two of them paused to watch a girl fire an arrow with perfect accuracy into a target. "Your ma and pa must be really worried then," Gar added._

 _John shrugged once more. "I don't have a ma," he said. "For that matter, I don't really have a pa either."_

 _Gar raised his eyebrows. "Neither do I. Do you think that's why we were reaped?"_

" _Maybe."_

 _They sat in silence for a few minutes. Then, Gar bounced off his seat. "Gotta go. Thanks for showing me the watch."_

* * *

John's eyes were suddenly watery. He glanced quickly at Di, not wanting her to see him in tears, and was relieved to find her still asleep. He wound the watch and returned it to his pocket.

He wasn't sure which he should be more embarrassed about: crying for Gar, or the fact that he didn't have tears for _all_ the fallen tributes. Because, in truth, he was relieved that Crane and Dent were gone, and Tetch being dead didn't bother him all that much either. They were cruel bastards, excited at the idea of murdering their fellow tributes. Yet in his heart, he knew that they — like everyone else — were simply products of the Games. They'd been twisted and molded into becoming killers, because that was what their districts wanted. In the end, the Capitol got everyone's soul. It was just that it felt doubly unfair for innocents like Gar and Cisco.

Fair _is a child's word_. But then, Gar _was_ a child, so maybe he had a right to expect some fairness.

John ran his fingers through his hair. It was almost dry, and he wondered how many hours he'd been keeping watch. Then, he wondered how many more _nights_ he would be keeping watch like this.

It was funny how not getting a full night's sleep could start to wear on you. It didn't seem that big a deal at first; but as time went on, it became more and more tempting to close his eyes and take his chances. He reminded himself to be grateful, because any alternative he could think of was worse. After all, District Three didn't need to keep watch any longer; both Cisco and Caitlin were gone.

And he wasn't just keeping watch to preserve his own life.

He glanced over at Di. She hadn't stirred once, and he decided she should sleep a few hours longer. The smudge was still on her cheek, and he was tempted to clean it off — but didn't. Given her reflexes, there was a chance she'd take his hand off with her sword in her sleep.

Despite his fatigue and sadness, he grinned at the idea. Then, he stared back into the fire.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt


	81. Chapter 80: Helz-a-Poppin'

**(A/N): Welcome back to our Tuesday update! This time, we're taking you to one of our amazing alliances of fierce ladies, with Miran Anders' Helena Wayne.**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who have reviewed. As the story goes on and the characters really get fleshed out, we always like to see people getting more and more attached ;)**

* * *

 **Helz-a-Poppin'**

 **Dawn of Day Five**

 **Helena Wayne of District Seven**

 **Written by Miran Anders**

* * *

 _"That's the good part of dying;_

 _when you've nothing to lose, you run any risk you want."_

― _Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451_

* * *

The sun gave a dim and dismal glow to the swamp, shining weakly through the dripping moss that hung in tatters around what looked ― with three women sleeping in it ― like some kind of gothic, waterlogged bedroom that had only recently surfaced from the deeps.

The clouds had been flashing with silver and gray when they took refuge in these sturdy branches, having been blown and flooded far into the night. Now, the water was slowly but steadily receding, and Helena took a deep breath of the saturated air. She frowned down through the branches in the dim early light and realized that the brake of trees they had sheltered in was now on solid, albeit soggy ground. She carefully navigated down the trunk and shivered a bit in the breeze. While it was nothing like the winds that had blown through the night, her clothes were still soaked, and it chilled her. She stretched carefully, and tried to get the kinks out of her neck and back.

A makeshift rope of vines was slung across her chest, and she took a few minutes to find a stout piece of broken wood, tie one end to it, and throw it over a sturdy looking branch a little way over her head. Taking both ends of the rope, she put her weight on it. First slowly, and then a few bounces. _Okay. That should work._

Helena took a deep breath and drew her legs up to a ninety degree angle, breathing slowly. Then, she leaned forward, flipping her head down and straightening her legs so that she was spearing down toward the earth. _Sorry, Grayson, I'm not going to hold that one as long as I'm supposed to. Because if this rope goes, so do I._ For a few minutes, she did an abbreviated version of the acrobatic calisthenic positions that she and her brother did to warm up. Well, _she_ warmed up with them, anyway. She suspected that Dick was essentially slumming it when he did something so simple, but he never said so. He just smiled and did them with her, encouraging her and giving her tips on form. _Of course, I do the same thing when I'm helping him with target practice. Helped,_ she thought, tasting the past tense reluctantly. _I used to help him._ Finishing up with something like a sigh, Helena flicked the rope off of the branch and recoiled it, looking around their haven.

Even down at ground level, the moss cloaked a good part of their tree's frame, although some, along with the branches they had been attached to, had apparently been washed away in the flood. The shredded remains dripped murky water into the swamp, a counterpoint rhythm with the drops that the early morning breezes were shaking off the higher branches. With all the runoff, it was impossible to tell if it was still raining or not, but it was certainly better than last night.

Helena took advantage of the early morning calm to scan the debris-laden water for more vines. A few good long ones were partly visible, tangled into fallen branches. She picked them out to separate and braid into rope for her growing coil later. _We've been lucky with most of these trees, but some of them don't have low branches. Could make a real difference if we need height in a hurry again._

They got _really_ lucky with this particular stand of trees. Four or five had grown up so close together that they had merged to form a kind of wall, with a large collection of the knobby pillared 'knees' and plenty of odd protrusions to hang on to.

Pamela had actually been the one to explain why it seemed to happen fairly often in the swamp. She said that because the cypress seeds couldn't germinate underwater, they needed a dry season with exposed soil to grow ― so there were always batches of trees the same age growing together, like this living wall. She also knew that the knobby knees were kind of like part of the trees' root system, growing up into the air so the tree didn't drown, in addition to stabilizing the surprisingly tall trees. _Good thing the wave didn't hit our wide side. Could have knocked it over, no matter how sturdy the base is._

A few large rocks were situated around the base of the trees ― probably what was left behind after decades of water rising and falling in the swamp had eroded all the lightweight soil. Helena pondered the damp surface of one for a moment before she chuckled quietly at herself. _Right, Hel. Like you could be any more wet right now._ She brushed it off sarcastically and sat, leaning back against the trunk of the tree. It was good to not have to hang on to anything, and she closed her eyes, relaxing her arms and back.

She knew sleep wouldn't come, not once she'd put her feet on solid ground, anyway, but after last night, letting her muscles rest without hanging on to the tree was a luxury. The breeze picked up again, sighing wearily through the trailing branches and raising goosebumps on her arms.

 _I'll probably be steaming by noon,_ she thought ruefully, shaking her head slowly as she considered their current domain. A quiet sound behind her let her know at least one more of their little team was awake and had shimmied down the tree as well. _Shimmied_ being the operative word, in this particular case.

"Mornin', swamp!" Harley called out before she turned to Helena with a grin. "Looks like we survived, huh?"

"Oh, yes. Another day in paradise." Helena opened her eyes and turned to nod to Harley, whose still drenched and sadly drooping pigtails contrasted with her bright eyes and already crimsoned lips. "You manage to get any sleep?"

"Oh, 'bout as much as usual. Maybe more than sometimes."

Their eyes met briefly, and Helena nodded. The blond stretched luxuriously and looked away, trying to fluff her bicolored hair rather unsuccessfully. "Wanna knock off for a little, dollface?"

"Nah. I'm awake now. Thanks." _Besides, I'm afraid you'll try to run off and find him again, and I won't let you run right into probable suicide._ She had seen the look in Harley's eyes as the storm raged, and knew that she was wondering if her insane boyfriend was alright. _Well, at least she knows he's not dead._ Not dead _yet,_ anyway. _But if I get close enough…_ her right index finger curled in a tight spasm, and she exhaled slowly. _If I get the chance, he's mine._ The breeze stiffened for a moment, chilling her to the bone and sparking memories of the storm in the night.

* * *

 _The wind was howling through the swamp, making the trees dance and lashing the rain so hard it stung like hail. Thunder rolled, lightning flashed. The three girls moved slowly through the water, trying to keep near the trees, stopping every few yards to make sure they were still together._

 _"We've got to find some shelter!" Helena yelled to be heard above the roar of the storm._

 _"Ya think?" Harley's voice was just as loud, and more obviously annoyed. "This rain is doin'_ nothing _for my girlish good humor!"_

 _Pamela, who had been keeping her head down as they slogged through the storm, trying to stick to the treeline, suddenly froze. "Wait!"_

 _The other two girls turned and looked at her. "What's up, Red? You got a cramp or somethin'?"_

 _"No!" Pamela's eyes grew wide as she stared into the distance, then turned in a circle, looking at the trees. "We need to find higher ground!"_

 _In a prolonged flash of lightning, Harley and Helena looked at each other, then back at Pamela, who seemed to be trembling slightly, her eyes wide. "What's going on, Pam?"_

 _"The trees! They're trembling!"_

 _"Of course they are! I've never felt thunder so―" The rest of Helena's sentence was cut off by an opportune crack and rumble. Pamela frowned, shaking her head._

 _"But it's almost like the trees are shaking because they're ... frightened. Like something is… I don't know." She looked around again, frustration playing across her features. "It's not right. Something's not right."_

 _"Look, Pam―" The water, which had been rising steadily until it was at their knees, abruptly began to recede, sucking at their boots. Helena looked down, disbelieving. "What the hell―"_

 _It quickly dawned on her that if the Gamemakers could create a storm like this ― and she strongly doubted that this weather was a natural occurrence ― they could certainly do whatever they wanted with the swamp. Including move the water around. And she could only think of one reason for the water to be receding while the rain was still coming down in buckets. In another flash of lightning, she glanced around quickly, then pointed. "Run! That way!"_

 _They sloshed through the swamp with the water level dropping so fast it pulled at them like an undertow, even though the rain continued to pour. Harley stumbled in the dragging current, and they grabbed her arms and pulled her up so fast she almost shot out of the water. The lightning had stopped, and in the sudden darkness, they got to the wailing trees that Helena had pointed to as quickly as they could, helping each other to scramble up to the lower branches before heading higher. In the tattered shelter of the vined and mossy branches, they could actually hear each other, and their eyes grew accustomed to the stormy night._

 _"Wow. Think this is safe, Helz-a-poppin?"_

 _"Who knows? But maybe I'm not the one to ask." They both turned and looked at Pamela, who was still breathing hard as she positioned herself on a higher, thick branch. She looked back down at them and was surprised by the attention._

 _"What?"_

 _"The tree. Is this safe?" Helena asked._

 _There was barely a pause for her to lay her hand on the tree before her response. "Yes. But get up as high as you can." Over the sounds of the storm, a distant roar became louder and louder, until Helena could feel the deep, roaring vibration in her chest._

 _"What's happening, Helz?"_

 _"Not sure, but I think ― hang on!"_

 _She cut off abruptly as lightning flashed again, and a huge wave came rushing through the swamp. It bent the trees and pushed a flotilla of debris ahead of it, stripping the lower branches from the ancient cypress and leaving their perch shaking wildly in its wake. Birds screamed and exploded from the quaking trees, only to reverse direction a moment later, seeking shelter from the pouring rain._

 _Helena stood on her perch and hugged a second branch to steady herself. "Ho-ly_ crap."

 _"Just in time." Pamela was staring angrily down at the swirling water, unconsciously stroking the tree in a comforting manner._

 _Harley nodded. "Yeah. Looks like we're up here for the night, folks."_

 _The three stared down into the soup of broken branches, leaves, and dead birds that floated in the dark, greenish-black water beneath them. Then, they tried to find secure places to rest, settling into heavy branches angled near the trunk._

 _Helena untangled her jacket, which she had tied into a kind of knapsack sling, and pulled out some wet bundles. "Soggy leftover duck. Anyone hungry?" She passed the leaf-wrapped meat around, and they hung on and ate their first decent meal in hours._

 _Pamela checked her pockets. "I've got some berries that survived." She pulled out a forlorn handful of slightly-squashed berries that stained her skin with juice._

 _They both turned and looked at Harley as she reached into the front of her shirt. She seemed to be struggling to get hold of something ― and when she finally pulled out her hand, her mutated spider was sitting on it, drier than they were._

 _Helena rolled her eyes. "Seriously?"_

 _"What? I wanted my lil' baby to be safe, isn't that right, Petey? Who's mama's pretty boy?"_

 _As they hung on and ate, the wind kicked up again, and a thick fog blew in with more rain. Helena shook her head. "Good thing we got up here before the fog hit."_

 _"Good thing we got up here before the_ flood _hit."_

 _Helena sighed and bit off another piece of meat. "I wonder if they managed to kill anyone last night in the ― what the_ hell _is_ that? _" She pointed with the bone of the duck leg, which became ominously fitting._

 _Shivering through the clouds and fog, bluish white lights were swirling, focusing and unfocusing in slithering waves on the moving canvas of the vapor. Ghostly faces appeared as trembling, shifting images, eerie phantoms in the suddenly haunted night. The knobby pillared knees of the trees took on an even more alien cast as the fog and lights played over them, making them look more alive than they should. Then, the wind and fog stilled, and through the muted sounds of the storm, they could make out the faint strains of martial music._

 _Pamela's voice, tight and deathly quiet, carried in the sudden silence . "It's the nightly report."_

 _"Real nice, wait'n to see if the flood did any dirty work for 'em."_

 _Helena threw the bone through the Marvel insignia, causing it to momentarily swirl in on itself. "Assholes."_

 _When it ended, and Hamill's ugly face hadn't appeared, Harley stared out into the fog for quite a while. Helena couldn't really tell if the girl was relieved or not. All she knew by the end was that she hadn't seen her brother's face, and that District Seven had survived unscathed once more. For a long time after the show ended, she hugged the tree trunk and stared out into the black and starless night._

I wonder if it was a good idea to split up after all. We would have done so well together… but that's the problem, isn't it? We would have had fun. He would have _made_ it fun. And then we'd come to the end, and... So… this was the only way… right? _She let out a sigh that the still blowing storm swallowed and took a few moments to tie her jacket around herself and the trunk of the tree as a safety belt. Then, with nothing else to distract her, she closed her eyes._

 _Helena Wayne, the extraordinarily tough loner, the rich girl, the_ sister… _wept quietly into the calming presence of the tree until she lapsed into an unsettled sleep._

* * *

This morning, sitting against their tree, Helena was less worried for her sibling. She had time to focus, between uneasy bouts of sleep, on what a practiced survivor he was. While she had a broken place in her heart because her mother had died, he had lost _both_ his parents, seen it happen. And he was still the most cheerful person she knew ― even though at this point in their lives, she could see right through the act when it was one. It seemed to her that sometimes Dick felt like he had to keep everyone else happy, just so they didn't worry about him. And of course, he was part of their family now, and always would be... but still. She knew from experience that there was always a spot near the heart that ached when it rained.

No, she didn't worry what Dick had done to survive the flood and the storm. She _did_ wonder where he'd managed to herd his little flock to, and how they were doing now. For a moment, her expression grew even more solemn. _I guess we won't be able to sit by the fire with Alfred's hot chocolate and cookies, laughing about how we got out of this one, eh, brother?_ Her sigh floated softly out into the dawn. That is, until something black and furry climbed over her hand.

"Holy―" She repressed her first reaction and turned to Harley. "Excuse me, but if you don't want your little friend to end up paddling in the swamp, get it off me. Now."

Harley spun to look at Helena, splashing the dregs of pigtail water into her face. "Oh! Petey! I wondered where you'd gone off to, you sweet little green-faced cutie!" She scooped up the mutant spider and cuddled it to her cheek. Helena gave a small shudder in spite of herself.

As hard as she tried, and as well as she controlled it, they still bothered her.

"You got something against spiders, Helz?"

Helena rolled her eyes. It wasn't even worth correcting her Harley about the name; she'd figured that out quick enough. And _Helz_ was even worse than _Hel._ It made it sound like there were two of her. "Just not that fond of them, Harl-Z-Q." She pronounced the three syllables with exaggerated exactitude. For a moment, their eyes met, and something like a grin passed between them.

"Maybe you never gave 'em a chance."

"Oh, they had their chance to impress me. And don't get me wrong, I appreciate their place in the food chain. Anything that eats mosquitos can't be _all_ bad."

Harley let out a low chuckle. "My lil' Petey should be livin' on caviar, not these awful swamp skeeters." Her expression brightened suddenly. "Hey! You think we could get caviar from any fish here?"

Helena stared at her. "Caviar?"

"Yeah! You know, fishy eggs?"

Young Miss Wayne blinked several times, imagining what kind of roe they would find in the fish that inhabited this swamp. A vision of Alfred biting into a water cracker and grimacing in horror brought a smile to her face. "Ah, not sure about that, Harl. We'll have to keep our eyes open."

Harley cuddled the mutant spider to her face once more, making kissing noises. "You hear that, Petey? We're gonna get you some _real_ food!"

Helena watched for a moment more before she had to look away.

Spiders. _Why did it have to be a spider?_

* * *

 _It was summer, bright and hot and beautiful within the walls of Wayne Manor. Helena and Dick were playing in the small creek that wove through the backwoods of the estate, in a slightly deeper pool that had formed where a tree had fallen years ago and partially blocked the flow of water. Now, every summer, they delighted in building up the natural dam, moving big rocks and pulling other big branches to add to it. Its three feet of depth was referred to as 'the swimming hole'._

 _At age eleven, a dam was an amazing way to control the world._

 _"Hel, grab that end." Dick pointed to the small tree they were maneuvering, and she pulled it into place. "Nice!"_

 _They paused to look over their work and decide what to do next. Helena pulled her ponytail tight and frowned critically. "How about a couple more rocks?"_

 _"I don't know… don't know if it'll make any difference at this point, unless it rains."_

 _Helena looked at him, a large, flat rock gripped in her hands already. "What about this one?" She half threw and half dropped the rock in his direction, angling it so that it projected a sheet of water in his direction._

 _For the next ten minutes, the water war waged mercilessly. It only ended when Helena had clambered up, laughing and sliding, onto the big trunk that based the dam and held another rock in her hands over her head like a rather short and vengeful water goddess. "I swear, Grayson, I'll―"_

 _"Hel!"_

 _She froze, realizing his tone and seeing that he was staring at her leg. She looked down and let out a little gasp as she dropped the rock. A sleek-bodied black spider was on her shin, its long legs making it about three inches across ― although it looked much larger on a young girl's leg._

 _"Don't move. I think it's just a raft spider. It shouldn't―"_

 _But at that moment, the spider, not listening, began to skitter up her leg. With a cry that was more angry than it was frightened, Helena skimmed it off her leg with the flat of her hand, while at the same time leaping from the log and running toward the shore. She slogged through the water and kept going once she was out, only stopping when she was a good ten feet away from the gravel bank. She hunched over with her hands on her knees, breathing hard. Dick appeared at her side moments later. "You okay?"_

 _"It… I just…" She shook her head, and finally, in the overwhelming wake of adrenaline, the tears came. She squatted on the ground and tried to swallow them back but couldn't. Dick watched her for a minute, trying to figure out how to help._

 _"It was big." This seemed to cause another shudder in his sister, and he frowned. His head tilted to the side as he squatted down near her. "It was cool how you got rid of it. I mean, it was scary, but you just karate chopped it off your leg and it flew about ten feet!"_

 _She glared up through watery eyes. "Did it fly this way?" They stared at each other for a long moment before they started to laugh, and she managed to stand up again._

 _"It was really cool, Hel. You did great."_

 _She smiled at him and shrugged. "I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want to squash it and get spider guts all over my leg." They both smiled at that, although she stopped first, looking abruptly serious. "My stomach feels weird."_

 _"Did it bite you?"_

 _"No. I just feel all… weird." She gave a little tremble and frowned._

 _"Probably just 'cause it scared you. I don't think I ever saw_ anything _scare you like that."_

 _They stood quietly for a minute or two, staring at the creek, as Helena imagined how disappointed her father would be in her fear. Finally, Dick said, "Wanna head home? Probably lunchtime. Might help your stomach."_

 _Helena sighed out a breath. "Yeah. Let's go."_

* * *

It took a couple years for Helena to realize that she learned a few things about herself that day. One, she really wasn't afraid of many things.

Two, when push came to shove, she acted without letting her fear stop her.

And three, arachnophobia was something it appeared she would _always_ struggle with, although damn few people ― other than her brother ― knew it.

Helena smiled quietly to herself, remembering. Then, she turned to where Harley was cooing to her spider and shook her head. A third voice sounded from a higher branch.

"If we're going to watch the sunrise, why didn't you call me?"

Harley gave Pamela a huge smile. "Mornin' Red! We wanted to let you get alllll-a your beauty sleep."

The girl regarded them both coolly in the dim light. "I'm as able to stand watch as either of you."

There was a frosty edge to her voice that Helena recognized. She'd used it herself often enough. Looking at Pamela for a long, almost uncomfortable moment, Helena nodded. _I know that act. The anger at being underestimated. She's smart. I should have known better… lesson learned, Hel._ "We actually haven't been awake for long, Pam."

Pamela, perhaps feeling a bit overwhelmed by a Wayne in full study mode, moved around to climb down the trunk of the tree. "I'm going to find us something to eat."

"Make mine steak n' eggs!"

"Eggs Benedict, if you're taking orders."

"And Petey wants caviar!"

Pamela glared back up at them, but the grins they were sporting softened her mood quickly. "I'll see what's left after the storm."

"Be careful out there. Sun's not really up yet."

Pamela turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised. "Like I'm not going to notice that?"

Helena paused and grinned at herself as much as Pamela. _Way to not underestimate, Hel_. "Been a long night. Anything's possible."

Pamela shook her head and turned to walk out into the dim light of the swamp. She paused to look down in the water and picked up a few small objects. Eyeing them carefully, she popped one in her mouth.

"What are you―"

The girl grinned smugly. "Tupelo fruits. Small, with big pits, but sweet." She tossed them a few and nodded. "I've been looking for them. Looks like the flood sent some our way. This is what they look like, so you know."

Harley clapped her hands as Helena fielded the offerings. "Peachy!" The other two girls began searching in the water nearby for more of the tiny fallen fruit as Pam turned and walked away, still grinning. She had only gone about twenty feet when they heard a gasp.

They looked up from their search immediately. "Pam? You okay?"

"Just… get over here." Her quick, nearly whispered delivery had them grabbing their weapons as they jumped up to follow, keeping to the shore as much as possible.

When they reached Pamela, she was standing stock still in water to her knees. She was staring down into the debris-laden swamp, her eyes almost glazed for fear of blinking.

"What? What do you ― oh."

"Still not seein' what gotcha so edgy―"

The redhead slowly pointed to a spot about ten feet ahead of her. At first, it looked like a alligator was breaching through the broken twigs and scattered leaves. Then, it lifted its jaw, and the teeth appeared.

 _Lots_ of teeth.

"That's no alligator," Helena said.

"If that's a gator, it's been hittin' the steroids. Hard."

"Crocodile, then? It doesn't seem like crocodiles would be indigenous―"

With a sharp movement that sent them all jumping farther backward, the creature stood, vaguely humanoid in shape, but with ridged, armored skin that made it look more like a crocodile. And of course, the teeth.

"Hang on. What's that on its mouth?" Pamela asked

"More teeth?" Helena asked.

"A leaf?" Harley offered.

"That's not a leaf." Pamela pulled at the fabric of her shirt. "That thing tore someone's shirt off."

The creature gaped at them and opened its mouth in a growling roar. Then it stood up. Again.

Evidently, it had been standing in deep water, because as it moved towards them, they realized it was at least eight feet tall.

"Holy crap." Helena muttered, cocking her crossbow and eyeing the creature carefully. "Where do you suppose its hide is thinnest?"

"Don't know. Eyes?"

"Bad angles. Can you make it look up?"

Pamela slapped at her pockets. "I think so―"

"Oh, you're not gonna kill 'im! He's precious!" Harley stepped toward the monster as both Helena and Pamela barked for her to stop. "He's just a big ol' sweetheart of a croc!"

"It's a killer, Harl. Look at its teeth. It's got shreds of the same fabric we're wearing and ― oh, _boy_." Helena bit the word off. As the creature growled and shook its head at them, the piece of fabric tangled in its oversized mouth unrolled and dropped a distinctly human hand into the swamp. At least, most of one. Pamela covered her mouth, and even Harley looked disturbed for a moment. "Well, now we know why it hasn't attacked us. It's _full._ For God's sake, Harley, _it ate a tribute._ " Helena swallowed hard in spite of her stern tone.

"I'm sure it was an accident, wasn't it, Killer?" She said the word as if it were the most innocent of pet names, and the creature appeared to be confused by her actions. It growled again and snapped its jaws several times in growing agitation.

"Harley, get _away_ from there."

Something in Helena's tone seemed to anger the beast, and it began to move toward her, letting out a threatening roar. Harley pulled its arm.

"Come on now, Killer, you don' wanna bug the rich girl."

The creature suddenly seemed to remember that there was another human hanging on to him. He turned and stared at the blonde, then brushed her off with a force that could have killed her if she'd landed against rock instead of in the water. The movement looked oddly familiar.

"Pam, do it now!"

The redhead yelled and threw the remains of her duck, lobbing it over the creature's head. As it reared back to snap it out of the air, Helena dropped to one knee in the water and fired a bolt deep into the front of the monster's neck, aiming up into its head. Blood spurted as it squirmed, unable to pull the bolt out again with its mutated hands.

Still, it managed to fix horrible eyes on the two of them and lunge forward. Helena was attempting to reload her crossbow when an angry voice startled her.

" _No one brushes me off_!" Harley Quinn rose slowly and unsteadily from the swamp; a vengeful siren of the deeps, wielding her bat like a mace. She staggered toward the beast in a dangerous daze. "No one can treat me like that, numbskull! You got that, you big gorilla? No one!" Shouldering the bat, she swung for all she was worth and caught it in the back of the knees as it struggled, causing them to buckle so the creature fell on its face into the swamp. "You think you're better than me? You think that?" The bat came down on the back of its head, and then on the back of its neck, and it stayed down. Strangled, bubbling sounds became more erratic as she kept pounding. "No. One. Not. Even. You!"

Pamela began to move toward her, but Helena stood and put an arm out. "Let her."

"But she's―"

"And it's already dead. It was as good as dead when I shot it." Helena watched as the back of the monster's head slowly turned to green-tinged, bone-flecked, bloody meat. "Let her."

Eventually, Harley stopped, panting as she blew the loose strands of hair out of her face. She dragged her bloody bat behind her in the water and staggered a couple steps toward the other women. "I showed him. I…" Abruptly, her anger fell, and she dropped the bat, putting her hands over her eyes. "I showed him. I did. I really..." A strangled sob shook through her frame.

Pamela put her arms around her and held her for a minute before gently leading her back to their tree. Helena retrieved the bat from the water and followed them, slinging her crossbow over her shoulder as she examined Harley's weapon.

"You showed him, Harl," she said, looking at the fragments of skull still embedded in the wood. "You really did."

Helena followed the two other women at a slight distance, her bow ready. Soon, the queasy feeling of adrenaline processing through her system made her stop and take a few deep breaths of the humid air. _I wonder who that thing took out. Or how many._ She gave a little shudder and stretched her neck, turning to look back at the site of the kill. In her mind, she heard Dick saying that she did great, that it was really scary and she did great, and it made her chuckle a bit.

 _Amazing how brave you can be when you know you're already dead,_ she thought with more than a bit of sarcasm. _Seriously. What is there to lose?_

"You okay?" Pam's voice called back to her. "See anything?"

Helena shook her head and started walking again. "No. Nothing." She smiled grimly. "Nothing at all."

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt


	82. Chapter 81: Aftershocks

**(A/N): Here we are, back with our Friday update! This one takes us back to the Teen Titans, specifically Kory Anders, written as always by Unlucky Alis.**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who have reviewed. Those reviews really do keep us going and mean the world to all of our writers. Keep 'em coming!**

* * *

 **Chapter Eighty-One - Aftershocks**

 **Day Five**

 **Kory Anders of District Twelve**

 **Written by Unlucky Alis**

* * *

" _It's harder to heal than it is to kill."_

\- Tamora Pierce

* * *

Kory had given up on trying to get comfortable halfway through the night. Yesterday's downpour, plus the crushing humidity, had practically glued her clothes to her skin. The back of her neck was slick with sweat, and her damp hair kept catching on tree bark, long grass, and even the zipper of her jacket whenever she tried to shimmy into a more comfortable position.

She couldn't say any night in the arena had been particularly comfortable so far, but curled up beside Dick, she never really cared. Tonight, however, sleep eluded her.

Kory's hand drifted from her lap down to Dick's. Their fingers were barely touching when his hand slipped forward and their fingers intertwined. She looked at Dick's face. Even in his sleep, she could see traces of concern there. She squeezed his hand, and he smiled softly.

It was moments like this that made Kory wonder how much of their experience the Capitol was really showing. There had been that incident right after Thea joined their alliance, when a hidden camera avidly watched Kory and Dick as they were kissing. But that was a different kind of moment, still intimate, but not the same. But there was something simple and pure about just holding hands. Their palms were sticky with sweat and would only get warmer as time passed, but Kory had no intentions of pulling away.

She dragged her free hand through her hair, trying to get rid of some of the tangles. She should have asked Noh-Var to cut her hair before the Games started, but it hadn't crossed her mind at the time. If it came down to it, she could always just cut it off with one of her knives.

Beside Kory, Raven shifted in her sleep. Kory had never thought the stoic young girl would be a fidgeter, and there was something amusing about it. The first time Kory saw her in person, during the opening procession, she looked so much bigger with her billowing cloak and stony expression. But watching Raven nuzzle the crook of her elbow reminded Kory that she was still just a child. They all were.

Leaning down, Kory rested her head on Dick's shoulder. It wasn't long until sunrise, and if they ran into trouble during the day, she wouldn't be much use if she was too tired to fight. She was just starting to relax when she her it: a soft whimpering.

Kory sat upright, her immediate thought that one of the girls was having a nightmare. Raven looked relaxed, but Thea had a tight expression on her face. Her eyebrows were scrunched together, lips pressed into a tight line. Leaning over Raven, careful not to disturb the dark-haired girl, Kory reached out to lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Thea didn't relax, but she turned into the touch, revealing the makeshift dart sticking out of her other shoulder.

Kory jerked her hand away just in time for another dart to land in the tree beside her with a solid _thunk_.

"Ambush!" she shouted.

Dick's eyes snapped open immediately, and Kory jumped to her feet, pulling Raven with her. The younger girl lurched but easily regained her footing and blinked away her sleep.

"Where?" Dick asked, his staves already in hand.

Kory ripped the dart from the tree and pointed in the direction it came, then reached down to grab Thea much the same way she had Raven. The young archer didn't look asleep anymore, but she was frozen. The moment Kory's hand touched her arm, Thea started screaming.

"No! No!" Her head swivelled back and forth, eyes wide and searching. "Ollie! Tommy!"

Kory swore as she hauled Thea to her feet, but Thea twisted and squirmed until Kory let go, then took off into the trees. Rounding on Raven, Kory shouted, "Help Thea; stay with her! This is the work of tracker jacker venom."

Raven nodded and ran after their ally, while Kory spun around, her knives finding their way into her hands. Dick hadn't gone far, only a few feet into the water, and was down on his hands and knees. That was all she needed to see to know he had been hit too. Kory bolted past him, then ducked behind a thick tree.

She didn't know how many attackers there were, but she figured there were only two at most. Otherwise they would have performed a full-frontal assault by then. She could hear splashing, Dick struggling through the water, rising to his feet, but there was something else. Faster, more urgent, and heading in the direction Raven and Thea had gone.

Kory took off. There was no point being stealthy; it would only slow her down. Their attacker certainly knew that.

Up ahead, she saw a flash of dark hair and pale skin, possibly Raven. Then, the girl looked over her shoulder, a wicked grin on her face, and Kory saw her blue eyes. It was the girl from District Six, the one Raven said would be out for her.

Kory felt her face heat up as her anger mounted. Raven's attempt at running away proved Kory had already failed the younger girl in some way, but never would she let anything worse, like this attack, happen to her. As soon as she was close enough to Angela, Kory whipped one of her knives forwards. Her aim wasn't perfect — she was better with her fists — but the blade sliced Angela's thigh.

She tumbled forward as she put weight on her injured leg but recovered surprisingly quickly, back to her feet with Kory's knife in hand by the time Kory caught up with her.

"You can't protect them," Angela spat out. "How does that make you feel?"

"I will feel well enough, soon," Kory said. She had only one goal now: kill Angela Hawkins III. She lunged, aiming for Angela's injured leg. Angela was quick, Kory remembered, and the Warlords had drilled into her what to do if she faced a faster opponent.

 _Slow them down, then eliminate them._

Kory expected Angela to try and avoid the attack, but instead, she went offensive and mirrored Kory's attack. At the last second, Kory ducked under Angela's knife, driving her fist into the other girl's stomach and swinging her arm around to stab her from behind.

Angela dropped, and Kory's momentum made her swing too widely. She stumbled, while Angela took her chance to put some distance between them.

"You should have gotten yourself better allies. That other boy only lasted what, five minutes? Pathetic." Angela sneered.

Kory ground her teeth together, readying her next attack, but was distracted by the sound of Dick's voice drifting through the trees: "Helena, where are you?"

"So weak!" Angela's shout snapped her attention back to the matter at hand, and Kory looked to her assailant just in time to jump backward. Angela's movements were purposeful and precise as she slashed and jabbed, forcing Kory back, giving her no room for a counter attack.

Kory's shoulder bumped against a tree, and she spun away as Angela lunged. The knife in her hands sank into the bark. With a swift tug, Angela freed it, but not before Kory was able to position herself and swing her leg around, delivering a sharp heel kick to Angela's jaw.

As Angela stumbled, Kory ducked low and stabbed her knife into the wound on Angela's thigh. Angela screamed, and Kory twisted the blade, driving her shoulder forward at the same time to send them both into the water. Kory landed on top, leaning one arm down on Angela's throat.

Angela's eyes widened, and her arms flailed as she tried to push Kory off, scratching at any exposed skin she could reach. But Kory was stronger. She ripped her knife from Angela's thigh and plunged it into her chest, the blade sliding smoothly underneath her ribs to penetrate her heart.

Angela's grip on Kory's shoulders tightened for a moment, her nails breaking through the skin and drawing blood, before falling limp. No longer supported by her own muscles, Angela's head sank under the water from the weight of Kory's press.

Kory waited a moment before easing off but didn't move yet. She stared at Angela's now lifeless corpse pinned beneath her. Kory was prepared to kill from the moment Ian called her name. It was unavoidable, the only way to survive the Games. But she thought she would be more… devastated when it finally happened.

Instead, Kory felt an odd sense of clarity. It was kill or be killed; she couldn't waste time fretting over morality when her life and her allies' lives were at risk.

" _Helena!_ "

Dick sounded closer now, and Kory withdrew her knife from Angela's chest. She rose to her feet and was hovering over the body when Dick stumbled into view. There were several darts dangling from his jacket, either caught in the fabric or the skin beneath, jostled loose during his shaky walk, but not enough for them to fall away completely.

"Dick," Kory said softly, and his beautiful blue eyes snapped to hers. The fear and panic within them quickly changed to anguish as his gaze dropped to the body in the water.

"Helena…" he said again, quieter this time.

"Dick, focus on my voice, alright?" Kory said. She stepped forward, water splashing over Angela's chest and washing some of the blood away. The area around Kory's feet was quickly turning red. "Helena's not here. She's with her own allies. And we need to find ours. Dick?"

He wasn't listening. His shoulders were shaking, fists clenched tightly, and he stumbled forward. Surprised, Kory stepped away from Angela's body as Dick dropped to his knees beside it. His hands sank into the water, and he cradled the dead girl's head, pulling it into his lap, grief and tenderness obvious in the way he stroked her hair. "Hel…"

"Dick, whatever you're seeing, it isn't real." Kory crouched down beside him, one arm reaching around his shoulders to hug him, because they fit so well together; to comfort him, because her own experience with tracker jacker venom still haunted her; to pull him away, because the two youngest members of their alliance were gone, and they needed to stick together and find the girls.

Kory squeezed his shoulder, leaning forward to give him a light kiss, when Dick suddenly lashed out. One of his staves smashed against her cheek, knocking her backward, and Dick dropped Angela back in the water as he stood.

"You psychotic clown!" he shouted, because to him, it wasn't Angela floating by his feet. It was Helena. And clearly, he was convinced that Jack had killed her — and that Kory herself was him. "I'll kill you, do you understand?" he almost snarled at her. "Hard to laugh when I tear your head off!"

Kory rolled away as Dick leapt forward to attack again. He was swinging his staves wildly, stretching towards her. He flipped through the water, quick and nimble, but he was missing that grace Kory loved so much. He was wild, crazed, and angry, and he wanted to kill her.

At Dick's next swing, Kory lashed out, the edge of her blade catching his stave. She jerked her arm back, ripping the weapon from his hands, and tossed them both away. Dick stumbled after it, and Kory took the opportunity to grab his outstretched arm, twisting it behind his back and forcing him to drop the other stave. He threw his elbow back, striking Kory in the face. She kept her hold on his arm but jerked backward.

Dick jumped up, kicking off Kory's middle to flip around, and she lost her grip, falling back into the water. Kory rolled, landing in a crouch, and huffed. It wasn't good enough to just defend herself and hope she got the opportunity to subdue him; she had to fight back. It was the only way to stop him before he could hurt himself, or her.

The fight was messy. Dick was yelling — for Helena, for Jack — spewing threats. He wasn't just fighting Kory; he was fighting his own mind, ducking away from attacks that never really came, reacting to moves Kory wasn't making.

"Coward!" he spat out her way, then gestured angrily toward something she couldn't see. "What did you do, get _her_ to surprise my sister for you? Because I _know_ she can take you on by herself. Hiding behind — and _what are you doing_ still following him?" He turned an accusing glare toward the trees before he let out an angry noise and went back to Kory.

She fought hard, but she was still holding back; she couldn't help it. Dick was afraid, and angry, and in pain, and as much she didn't want him to hurt himself, she didn't want to hurt him either. But it wasn't working. Bound to his hallucination, adrenaline pumping through his veins, his energy, as erratic as it was, wasn't slowing down. Kory, on the other hand, felt every ache and bruise as she blocked Dick's attacks and made her own.

Kicking Dick away into the weeds, Kory had to resist the urge to drop to her knees. She couldn't fight him like this; she was just putting them both in more danger by prolonging it. As Dick flailed in the weeds, trying to get his bearings in the real world and still fighting his hallucinations, Kory closed her eyes. She slowed her breathing, letting her muscles relax, and gave in to her instincts.

She lunged at Dick before he could fully recover, delivering sharp, glancing blows to slow him down. He threw punches back at her, but they were wild and uncontrolled, easy for Kory to slip under now that she wasn't thinking, just acting.

Snaking behind him, Kory kicked out his knees. Dick latched onto her arms and threw her over his shoulders, and they both tumbled into the water. Dick rolled onto his back, grappling with an unseen opponent.

This was her chance.

Kory darted through the water, latching onto the first limb she could reach — his arm. Dick's focus snapped back to her. She trusted her instincts as they flailed in the water. A punch, a kick, a twist. Her hand still holding his wrist, his arm so conveniently stretched across her knee, her elbow slamming down on the trapped limb — followed by a sharp _snap._

It was the scream that brought her back to reality, and Kory stumbled back. Dick was gripping his arm at the elbow and howling, the tracker jacker venom exacerbating his pain. His forearm hung limply, an extra bend halfway to the wrist that hadn't been there before.

She ended the fight quickly after that, keeping Dick in a chokehold until he stopped screaming and stopped hitting her. For a moment, Kory sat with his head in her lap, her hands draped across his chest. Her stomach twisted, a hot ball of shame and regret sitting in her chest. She had lost herself in the fight, forgotten who she was, who Dick was. For a moment, she had actually _enjoyed_ the fight.

Kory felt sick. Killing Angela was a necessity, something she was prepared for. Hurting Dick wasn't.

Looking away from Dick, Kory scanned the trees around her. No sign of Raven or Thea, and they were too close to Angela's body still.

"Raven!" Kory shouted as she stood, carefully lifting Dick with her. She positioned his broken arm so it was cradled between them and carried him bridal-style back to where they had made camp last night, adrenaline still fueling her so that he hardly felt heavy.

"Thea!" she shouted again, the desperation leaking into her voice. She wasn't good at first aid. She could manage well enough, but fighting was her forte. She could only injure people, not heal them.

"Raven!" Kory's voice cracked as she set Dick down on the driest place she could find. Yesterday's rain had made sure there was very little of it.

She couldn't remember where Dick had left the packs, and she spent a couple frantic minutes searching for them. She took the rope — the tarp and bug spray were useless to her at the moment — then shimmied her way up a tree to the lowest branch. Using her knife, she hacked away at some smaller but sturdy offshoots, breaking off smaller pieces with her hands until they were the right length.

Kory ran back to Dick, casting him a woeful glance as she took his broken arm in both hands. There was a loud crack as she tried to set the bone, and for a moment, she thought she had only broken the limb again, jerking her hands away from his skin like it was fire. But rather than another break, it looked almost straight.

Positioning the two branches on either side of Dick's arm, Kory cut the rope into smaller segments and quickly tied the makeshift splint together.

When she was finished, Kory scrutinized her work closely, a worried frown set deep into her features. Her brash actions had just severely limited Dick's fighting capability. He wouldn't be as agile now, the flips and tricks he used to stay light on his feet severely hindered by a broken limb. He wouldn't be able to use his staves, and—

Kory's head snapped up. The staves, her other knife. She forgot about them. With a nervous glance, Kory surveyed the trees, listening for any movement. It was eerily quiet. She couldn't leave Dick alone there. She packed away their few supplies, tying the bags around her arms, and crouched in front of Dick. It took longer than she would have liked, but eventually, Kory was able drape his arms over her shoulders and hook her own arms under his knees. If she leaned forward, she could walk like this without worrying about him falling.

Her movements were slow and deliberate as she returned to where Angela's body had been, calling out for Thea and Raven the whole way. One of the branches for Dick's splint kept rubbing against her cheek as his arms swayed, but she didn't stop to reposition him. Kory almost missed the gap in the trees where they had fought. Angela's body was gone now, but it was the red in the water that helped Kory find it. She set Dick down and searched the area. She found the weapons quickly, tucking the staves into her waistband and returning the knives to their spot on her hip.

Kory quickly cleaned herself off, washing away Angela's blood, wincing as she stretched her sore limbs. When she was done, and Dick was once again on her back, she started shouting for the girls again.

"Raven! Thea!" Any other tributes in the area would immediately know Kory and Dick were there, but finding the girls was more important. With Dick out of commission, it was down to her to protect them. Yet with every shout, it seemed the marsh only grew quieter, mocking Kory and her efforts.

 _This wasn't supposed to happen,_ she thought, biting her lip in worry. They were a team. More than that, they were the family she didn't know she needed. The Games weren't supposed to tear them apart like this. Others, maybe. But not them.

Not them.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders


	83. Chapter 82: Pretty Poison

**(A/N): And we're back with our Tuesday update! We're peeking in at one of our powerful groups of ladies again, this time with the talented Abby Well writing Pamela Isley. :)**

 **Thanks as always to the writers who reviewed. As the Games progress, things get more intense, and we love to see your reactions!**

* * *

 **Chapter Eighty-Two - Pretty Poison**

 **Evening of Day Five**

 **Pamela Isley of District Eleven**

 **Written By Abby Well**

* * *

 _"Belladonna, noun._

 _In Italian, a beautiful lady; in English, a deadly poison."_

 _Ambrose Bierce_

* * *

The sounds of the swamp were beginning their sunset crescendo as the girls began to settle in for the night.

Nobody was talking. Helena was doing something with her crossbow that Pamela didn't quite understand — cleaning it, possibly — while Harley sat curled up into a ball by the small fire they'd built on higher, slightly drier ground in the shade of a large tree. Her adopted spider, affectionately dubbed 'Petey', was currently making itself comfortable on top of her head.

Glancing over, Pamela wondered what she was thinking; her blue eyes were glassy as she stared into the flames. It hadn't been long since she'd almost lost herself beating the hell out of a giant crocodile, until nothing had been left but a mess of blood and bone splattered down the length of her baseball bat. Said bat was now lying on the muddy ground by Harley's feet, stained perhaps forevermore.

Pamela thought about trying to engage her in some form of conversation but decided against it almost immediately. Harley clearly had some things that she needed to work out in her head. Instead, she turned away from the others and looked out into the green-tinted gathering darkness.

She had felt exposed, initially, in their little clearing by the fire, and had quickly retreated under a tree. Here in the shadow of its mighty branches, she was more at ease, and leaning against the trunk meant that there was less chance of something — or, more likely, some _one_ — sneaking up on her from behind. She had her knife clutched in one hand, though she had yet to use it for anything other than gathering plants to sustain the three of them and heal their wounds. She wasn't what anyone would have called confident with a blade; she could cut things cleanly, true, but that was when faced with a plant, something she knew well, where she could take her time with the task and thank it properly for the bounty it provided. When faced with another tribute, she didn't know if she'd be able to handle it well enough to escape with her life.

Perhaps it was time she began to think about a weapon she could use more effectively, something suited to her…

Most of the other tributes would be going on how she'd been in the early days of the Games: quiet, uncomfortable around people, more likely to run and hide than jump into the fray. While some of that was still true, it wasn't the disadvantage they would believe it to be. They wouldn't see her as a threat, which meant that she might have a better chance of avoiding a lot of actual combat — though not with all of them. She would have to choose carefully.

She blinked suddenly, realizing someone had been calling her name. Helena had apparently finished her task and was now standing up, armed with her crossbow and her empty pack. She had applied streaks of mud to her pale face and exposed arms in an effort to help her blend in with the shadows. In the flickering light of the campfire, it looked like she was wearing a mask. "I'm going hunting," she announced.

"Clearly." Pamela rose to her feet in one smooth motion, fluid as a creeping vine. "Be careful. Try not to give away your position this time, hmm?"

"You're the one who noticed a few leaves _slightly_ out of place," Helena retorted. "I doubt anyone else could, especially not in the dark. I'll be fine." She looked Pamela up and down slowly. "What were you thinking about just now? Not about to wander off, I hope."

Pamela narrowed her eyes at the implication. " _No_. I was thinking about weapons — right up your alley, I would imagine."

Helena shouldered her crossbow and placed a hand on her hip. Anyone else would have made the stance look stupid — she looked like a model posing for a Games poster. "What did you have in mind? Is there something you'd be comfortable with?"

"Nothing yet." She approached the fire but didn't sit down, preferring to stay on the same level as her ally. "Poison, maybe." There was an thoughtful pause.

"You know, some say poison is a weapon for a coward's arsenal," Helena commented, one eyebrow raised. There was a hint of question in her tone, almost as if she was testing something.

"I disagree." Pamela walked forward, passing Harley, who still hadn't moved, until she and Helena were almost nose to nose. "With poison, you have to get really close to someone. Not like shooting them in the back from a hiding place."

Helena narrowed her eyes. "What are you trying to say?"

"You're reading into things," Pamela replied smoothly. "You have your methods; I have mine. They just happen to involve a little less… hardware."

"Ah. You're one for the personal touch." Helena smirked, and the tension between them softened somewhat. "If you need help working out a delivery system, let me know. We should all be able to go on the offensive." She jerked her head toward Harley and spoke more quietly. "Keep an eye on her while I'm gone, okay? I'm not sure she's all here right now." She turned and moved silently into the trees, vanishing from sight in seconds.

In the ensuing quiet, Pamela sat down beside Harley, shifting around until she was comfortable. She didn't feel on edge, as such, but now that Helena was gone, she wouldn't have minded if Harley had her wits and weapon about her. Maybe they could set up a trap or two, to pass the time ... she knew Harley liked traps.

"Harley?" she murmured softly. "Harleen? How are you feeling?"

Harley blinked, and Pamela was able to see in her eyes the exact moment when she came back to the present. A dazzling smile spread across her face. "Hiya, Red. What's up?" She glanced around the campsite. "We got some alone time, huh? Helena's gone a-huntin'?"

"For the time being. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine, Red! Peachy keen." She reached up and plucked Petey off her head, cradling it gently. She played with it the way one might play with a hamster, letting it run over and under her hands and jump between them, stroking its abdomen while cooing nonsense words. Pamela watched silently — she had a feeling that Harley wasn't being entirely truthful, but she wouldn't call her out on it.

"I need your help with something," she said eventually.

Harley quirked an eyebrow. "Yuh-huh?" She deposited the spider onto her shoulder, then fished her lipstick from her pocket and applied a fresh coat without even thinking about it, like it was second nature.

Pamela watched her carefully, suddenly struck by an idea. _What if_ … She reached out and plucked the lipstick from between Harley's fingers, turning it to and fro, studying it closely. She might be able to… it would involve getting close, _really_ close, to another tribute, but if she was careful… "Harley. Do you think you could poison this?" She held the lipstick up.

"I dunno…" Harley's mouth scrunched into a thoughtful pout. "You gonna kill 'em with kisses, huh?"

"That's the idea, but we'd need to melt it down somehow, mix in the poison. We'd need a dish or something." The more she thought about it, the less likely it seemed that her idea would be able to come to fruition. Pamela bit back a sigh of frustration. "I don't know. It could work if we had equipment, but we're not going to find anything helpful out here." Maybe it wasn't meant to be, and she'd be better off just learning how to handle her knife better. How good would kissing someone to death really be, anyway? It was stupid to think she'd be able to do that; she might not be perceived as much of a threat by some of the others, but none of them would be very likely to let her get up close and personal to that degree. What a ridiculous plan.

 _Stop it_ , she admonished herself. _So it probably couldn't be done_ — _fine. Stop moping and move on. You don't have time to feel sorry for yourself._ She sat beside Harley in silence, the lipstick on the ground between them, trying to turn her thoughts towards other options. It was still hard to break the habit of instinctively shooting herself down, retreating inside the shell of insecurity she'd built up over time, but she was getting there. If she could distract herself with planning, she could usually hold it together.

The silence was companionable, and night fell quickly. The fire began to die down, until everything was near pitch black except a glowing circle of deep orange in the center of the clearing. The sounds of the swamp had lessened considerably, and aside from the occasional rustle of a snake in the undergrowth or a tree branch swaying in the breeze, all was still.

So, when the beeping started, it caught their attention immediately.

Pamela stiffened, raising her head to glance around the campsite with narrowed eyes, squinting in the dark. "What _is_ that?" she whispered. Beside her, Harley surreptitiously wrapped her fingers around the handle of her bat.

"Look!" Harley lifted the bat and pointed to something that was glinting as it descended through the trees from above. It was something silver, emitting a faint light and a rhythmical _ping_ as it made its way to the ground. It landed in the mud nearby with barely a thump and then was motionless, still pinging in the darkness. "It's a sponsor thingy!" Harley dove forward and scooped the silver box up into her arms, presenting it to Pamela with a flourish. "S'for you, Red! Lucky number eleven!"

Pamela took the box more gently, turning it between her hands. "For me?" _Why would anybody send me anything? Who would sponsor_ me? Mystified, she rested it on her lap and opened the lid with careful fingers. Inside was a shallow dish that could fit snugly into the palm of her hand, and a tiny, delicate spoon like something from a doll's house. She removed each item from the box and laid them on the ground in front of her, and it was only then that she noticed the piece of black paper lying at the very bottom.

 **Uatu is calling you Poison Ivy** , it read, the words written in white to make it easier to see. The writing was unfamiliar, very neat and regimented, even though there were no lines on the paper to keep the words in check. **My advice? Earn the name. Show them what you're made of.**

It was signed **Falcon and the Birds of Prey** , the first name in the same neatly-ordered hand and the addition much more flamboyant, all loops and curls. Pamela wondered if Starling had been the one to insist on signing the note too, imagining the verbal sparring between stylist and victor until Sam conceded. It made her smile.

She turned her attention to the items in front of her, examining them carefully. The dish appeared to be made of something like china, which she wasn't especially familiar with, but she knew enough to know that it was relatively heatproof. The spoon could be useful for a number of things…

Then, she got it. "It's a crucible!" she said aloud, wonderingly.

"Wazzat?" Harley asked, leaning over Pamela's shoulder, baseball bat swinging by her legs like a pendulum.

"We can use it to melt things down over the fire." Pamela's mind was whirring as she pieced together the puzzle in front of her; if they used the metal sponsor box to rest over the fire, then put the dish inside, they could melt the lipstick together with something deadly. The tiny spoon could be used for mixing… it was perfect. Well, maybe not perfect — it wasn't everything she would need — but she could definitely make do with what she had. She tossed her head back and looked up at the sky, and though all the cameras up there were invisible, she knew her silently mouthed 'thank you' would be seen by Sam. "Let's get to work," she said to Harley.

The blonde immediately saluted and put on her best 'eager but serious lab assistant' expression. "Sure thing, Red. Whaddaya need me to do?"

"Take your lipstick; melt it down in the dish," Pamela instructed, already rummaging in her many pockets. "Then we can add some nightlock juice." She fished out the last few berries from her pants pocket and held them out for Harley to see. They shone deep black against her green-and-brown-stained skin.

In the midst of scraping the lipstick from its tube with the spoon, Harley shot her a curious look. "Nightlock, huh? You're gonna have to be careful not ta swallow it."

"I know." _Nightlock, nightshade, belladonna, taste its tang and you're a goner_ , she thought, remembering the rhyme from her childhood. She knew every single one of its names, even the Wakandan translation (though she'd never used it), and they all had one thing in common: they were warnings, invoking images of nightmare terrors, shadows moving in the darkness and the deceptive beauty of a deadly animal, to keep curious little fingers and mouths from grabbing and eating. They were named well.

Once Harley had managed to dig out the majority of her lipstick from its tube and deposit it into the bowl, Pamela carefully crushed the berries against the rim with the tip of the spoon and let the juice run down into the mixture. Together, using Harley's bat to carry the sponsor box by hooking the parachute strings onto its length, they placed the dish in its protective shell into the midst of the campfire. Small flames licked at the sides of the metal but didn't touch the crucible, and the lipstick soon began to melt and mingle with the poisonous juices.

"Don't breathe it in," Pamela warned Harley, taking a step back. They sat together as far from the fire as they could without leaving the safety of their clearing — and waited.

The night grew darker still, and soon some of the bioluminescent fungus growing in those parts, primarily _amarillia_ , began to make itself known, glowing sporadically in patches near and far. Pamela briefly entertained the notion of gathering some to use as a light source, especially as they would have to put the fire out in order to retrieve the melted lipstick. She rose slowly to her feet, murmuring at Harley to keep an eye on the fire before heading to the outskirts of their clearing.

Quietly gathering fungus, trailing her fingers over each sprout to feel for the best ones, was almost like being back in her garden — she might have felt at home, were it not for the darkness and the constant need to keep checking over her own shoulder in case of another tribute or a different threat. She still hadn't gotten the image of that giant crocodile out of her mind.

Shaking her head, she began to gather up what she wanted, using her shirt as a makeshift pouch. When she returned to the campsite, she found that, without being asked, Harley had fished the crucible from the fire and poured the tainted lipstick back into its tube, leaving it to cool and set by driving it into the earth so it could stand upright. Pamela thanked her with a smile as she spread the glowing fungus around them, illuminating their faces with delicate blue.

"One question, Harley," she said once she was satisfied with the placement — it was certainly easier to see each other now, and it would be more difficult for other tributes to spot them. The only downside was that Helena might have trouble finding her way back to them, but Pamela trusted the huntress's instincts. "How are we going to test it?"

Harley cocked her head to one side thoughtfully. On her shoulder, half-hidden by her hair, Petey appeared to do the same. Then, she grinned, which thankfully, the spider didn't mimic. "Kiss me," she said suddenly.

Pamela stared at her. "Harley, no. That could kill you." She turned away, picking the lipstick up and spinning it between two fingers. It was such a small, inconsequential thing; but then, she knew how the tiniest things could do damage on a terrible scale. One speck of pollen from the wrong plant in the wrong place could devastate an entire ecosystem.

Inside the tube, the lipstick had already hardened enough to be worn, and she very carefully applied a thin coat to her lips. It didn't taste any different, but she found that she was automatically keeping her mouth slightly open to avoid swallowing any poison.

"Aw, come on." Harley tried again, shuffling closer on her knees. "How else are you gonna test it? Kiss ya hand? That ain't a kiss like you'd give a person."

"I…" Pamela paused, her red lips pursed as her mind tried to process how bad an idea Harley's suggestion was. They may have been about to shape words, but they never got the chance, as Harley suddenly darted towards her and planted a kiss onto her mouth.

Pamela froze. She didn't dare move, her hands stuck halfway to pushing Harley back. When Harley realized she wasn't going to do anything, she leaned forward, meaning Pamela had no choice but to grab and brace herself against her, or they'd both fall over. She kept her mouth shut, lips pressed together, not daring to allow the tiniest bit of saliva into the mix to swirl the poison over Harley's tongue. If she didn't swallow any, it wouldn't hurt her...

 _I won't._

She shoved Harley away, shuffling backwards across the ground. The tube of lipstick had fallen into the mud again and was sticking up between them, the deep red glowing in the light of the _amarillia_. Slowly and methodically, Pamela reached out and picked it up, then turned the bottom so the lipstick disappeared out of sight.

When she looked up, she saw Harley was smiling. "Well," she said chirpily, "you ain't a goner."

"Neither are you." _She didn't swallow the poison. I didn't kill her._ Pamela let out her breath in one long sigh, not realizing she'd been holding it. She felt heat rush to her face, flooding her pale skin pink underneath its green tinge, and her hands had curled unconsciously into fists. Her manicure was no longer immaculate, but her fingernails still dug deep into the skin of her palms as she tried to speak rationally. Her fear had subsided; her anger had not. "Harley, that was foolish. You could have died."

"But I didn't, right?" Harley shook her head, pigtails swishing. Petey seemed not to share her flippance, as he slowly crawled over her shoulder and out of sight, some animal instinct of self-preservation kicking in. "Though you weren't kissin' like you normally would, I bet. Why'dja hold back?"

"It's _not funny_ , Harley. Do you hear me?" Pamela scrambled abruptly to her feet, green eyes flashing and red hair glowing strangely in the blueish light. "What if you had, hmm? That would have made _me_ the one who killed you. You don't get to decide that. You _do not_ get to decide what I do!" Breathing hard, she took a step closer. "You could have _died_ ," she repeated, her voice sharp and cutting, tongue like a thorn. "Did it occur to you that maybe I wouldn't want that to happen? How dare you take your fate and put it in my hands, give me no say, no—"

"Red…" Kneeling in the mud, Harley held up both hands in surrender. "Calm down, honey…"

Pamela's eyes narrowed dangerously, and she cocked her head to one side, as if she hadn't quite heard what couldn't possibly have been Harley telling her what to do again. "How could you do something like that? How could you do that to me?"

Harley's bottom lip was quivering. "C'mon, Red, you knew what you were doin', yeah? I didn't know you… I didn't think it would—"

"You didn't think. You _never_ do, because you just don't care, do you?! This is all fun and games and laughing while you smash someone's head in with a bat, right? You make friends with giant crocodiles, you fall for psychopathic clowns, and you don't care if you're killed or if I'm the one to do it! Y _ou don't care at all!_ " She was shouting as loud as she dared, still hyper-aware that anyone could be nearby, but she couldn't stop the anger from coursing through her veins and spitting venom from her mouth. "Dammit, Harley, I was right where I wanted to be! I got plucked from my garden and thrust into the limelight, for what? Victors, escorts, stylists, trainers, tributes, all bossing me around, acting on my behalf, and I get no say in what happens to me! I'm sick of it! This arena has made me realize I don't have to do that anymore, and _still_ people insist...even you! You are the first friend I've made in two years, and you may not care if you live, but I don't want you to die! I don't — why are you looking at me like that?"

Harley was almost crying, blue eyes shining with tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks, bottom lip trembling. She blinked, and a single tear made a bid for freedom, carving a path through the remnants of her makeup. "Well… yer kinda scarin' me, Red…"

It was like she'd flipped a switch — all Pamela's anger evaporated as she fell to her knees, her hands sinking deep into the muddy ground. She needed to feel the dirt between her fingers. "I'm…" _What am I doing? How could I… after everything she's been through_ … "Oh, god, Harley, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have—" She choked on her next words, feeling tears now spilling down her own face.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. Don't cry, Pammy." Harley crawled towards her and wrapped her in a faintly damp hug, letting one hand run up and down Pamela's back in a soothingly repetitive motion. "I get it, I shouldn't'a done what I did, it wasn't funny. I didn't mean to scare ya."

Pamela sniffed, clearing her throat and reaching up to wipe her face, the gesture adding streaks of mud to the collage on her skin. This was the first time she'd been embraced by anyone since she'd had to leave her parents behind on Reaping Day, but she didn't feel uncomfortable with Harley's arms around her. It was… nice.

They broke apart slowly, shifting away from each other. Pamela glanced up at the sky and saw nothing but stars — there would, hopefully, be no more rain tonight. The air was a little fresher after the storm, but only a little; the swamp's humidity was creeping up again, making her long hair stick to her neck and forehead. She peered around, spotting some long grass nearby, and plucked a few blades so she could twist her hair up into a bun with her mud-slicked hands.

"So you just not gonna talk to me now?" Harley asked. She had curled herself into a ball again, hugging her legs. Petey was resting on her right knee, occasionally twitching a limb. "I'm kiddin', Red," she added when Pamela frowned at her. "Be quiet if you wanna."

"I… don't," she replied, still fiddling with her hair. "You just saw what happens when I don't talk about things." All her feelings had bubbled up and burst forth, out of control. She remembered training to be a gardener back in Eleven and watching grainy, sped-up footage projected onto a wall, showing the life cycle of a sunflower. The seed rocked and shook, tiny roots curling their way into the earth, before all of a sudden, a triumphant sprout erupted from the seed and pierced the ground above, making itself known to the world. She wondered if that was what was happening to her; she was growing, and changing, and making herself known.

She hoped it didn't put too big a target on her back.

Harley was watching her; she could feel her gaze on her skin. "Go on," she murmured with a tiny smile, "you're clearly burning with curiosity."

"I'm really the first friend you had in two whole years?" Harley asked. "What happened?"

Pamela reached out and plucked more blades of grass, twisting them around her fingers and braiding them together — she needed something to do with her hands while she dredged up the past. "There was a man," she started.

"Ha! Typical."

Pamela shot her a look but carried on. "His name was Jason. Jason Woodrue. He was older than me, and smarter, and he moved in a whole different circle. I didn't know why he was with me, but he would always tell me that I was more than I thought I was. He told me I was beautiful; he was always saying things like we'd be together forever, that he couldn't imagine being with anyone but me. I went along with it all, and by the time I realized… it was too late. I figured out that he didn't really want _me_ ; he wanted someone to make him look good. He'd been lying to me, trying to make me think I was too good for the garden so I'd give up on the work I loved to be a doll for him." Pamela stared out into the darkness, her eyes vacant as she replayed images of the past in her mind: herself, young and naive, and _him_ , tall and handsome and utterly enthralling. "When I tried to confront him about it, he dropped me in the dirt. I didn't want to be his accessory, so I wasn't good enough."

* * *

 _"But you could do so much more, Pamela! Don't you understand that? I could help you do so much more!" He wasn't quite shouting at her, but he was getting there. His hands had already run through his hair a dozen times, making it stand on end in countless different directions. He always did that when he was annoyed._

 _"What's wrong with that I want to do? Why is that not enough?" she shot back, glaring at him._

 _They were supposed to be having a nice time. It wasn't curfew yet, she'd finished her shift for the day, there was a picnic blanket on the grass and a hamper that he'd brought… but she would probably never know what it contained, because now they were arguing. They'd never argued like this before, stinging words flying between their mouths, hands clenched, eyes flashing fiercely. She'd never been this close to his face without it being the prelude or conclusion to a kiss._

 _He scoffed at her. "You want to be a_ gardener! _That's not the job for someone like you! You should be_ — _"_

 _"Don't you dare tell me what I should and shouldn't do," she hissed, her voice dangerously low. She was tired and stressed after a long day in her garden; she had no patience for his presumption. "You are my partner, not my boss. You don't get to tell me what to do with my life, Jason!"_

 _"I know better than you!" he yelled, and he really was yelling this time._

 _Pamela fought the urge to smack him. "What, because you're older than me?"_

 _He let out a growl of frustration and stalked forward across the damp grass, forcing her to back up, encroaching on her space like an unwelcome weed. "If you would just listen, for god's sake_ — _"_

 _She shrieked at him angrily; no words, just vicious noise. "Shut up! Shut_ up _!" With some effort, she sidestepped his advances and got herself on more even footing, far enough away that she wouldn't feel his spit flecking her skin when he spoke. She took a deep breath, inhaling the perfume of the wildflowers growing around them, rooting her heavy boots in the grass to keep herself steady, and raised her eyes to meet his gaze head on._

 _"I am not one of the little flowers in your lab, Jason," she began, breathing hard. "You can't cut me, bend me, shape me,_ train me _until I look and behave how you want. That's not how a relationship works."_

 _He wasn't trying to interrupt and tell her how wrong she was, which she took to be a good sign._

 _"I'm happy to support you, but that's not_ all _I want to do with my life." She was trying hard to sound calmer, more rational. Screaming would get her nowhere. "I love you, and I want to make you happy; I just won't do it at the expense of my own goals. There's so much I could do in the gardens! I could work my way to the top, I know I could_ — _make things better, more efficient…"_

 _"Pamela," he interjected smoothly, reaching out and taking hold of her shoulders. He smiled, and she felt herself relax, taking another deep and calming breath. Maybe it would be alright, maybe he would finally see her point of view… She smiled back at him more cautiously, the softness in his eyes a welcome change from his outrage and overbearing arrogance._

 _He said her name again, leaning close so she could feel his breath tickling her neck. His hands slipped down from her shoulders to her wrists, long fingers encircling them completely, as he dropped a soft kiss just below her ear. In spite of their fighting, she shivered at the delicate contact and weakened ever so slightly. "I'm sure you could do all that and more, but don't you see how much better it would be if you were by my side instead?"_

 _The illusion shattered instantly, and Pamela saw red. Hadn't he been listening to a single word she'd been saying? How could he be so stubborn? How dare he disregard her like that? She tried to wrench herself free of his grasp, but he held on, and a tiny flash of panic made her heart jump._

 _Was he going to hurt her if she didn't do what he said?_

 _"Let go of me," she ordered, tugging. Her voice sounded more pleading than she wanted it to._

 _"Don't you see, love? This is what's best for us," he was saying, speaking as if she hadn't uttered a word. His tone was still smooth, the pitch unchanged, like he was absolutely sure of the outcome and didn't need to raise his voice any more to get his own point across._

 _"No, Jason! It's what's best for_ you." _Pamela wrenched herself painfully from his hands and squared her shoulders. "Read my lips," she snapped, glaring up at his face. His mouth was quirked up as if he were about to smile, which incensed her even more. She growled. "I am not going to be some society girl for you. I won't let my whole life revolve around dresses and smiling and looking pretty. If you want my support, you have it, but you have to understand that I have my own life too!"_

 _There was nothing more she could say without repeating herself. She was close to tears in her frustration and hoped fervently they wouldn't spill down her cheeks. He didn't like it when she cried in front of him._

 _He didn't try and touch her again, not when she was thrumming with nervous energy and her body was coiled with tension like a snake in the grass, which she was grateful for. She thought that if he reached for her, she'd probably hit him. Instead, he ran his hands through his hair one more time and sighed. "You're really set on that, aren't you?" he asked._

 _"Yes…" replied Pamela hesitantly._ What's he getting at?

 _"It's such a shame," he went on, "you can't see that I'm doing all this for you. I didn't think you could be so naive." His mouth crept up into a sinister smile, and Pamela noticed a glint of something nasty in his eye that she'd never seen before. It reminded her of summer stormclouds, pulsing with dangerous energy and the potential to destroy everything you'd worked to grow._

 _She shivered again._

* * *

Harley's eyebrows shot up. "That's bull, Red; you gotta know that."

"I didn't at the time. I was alone, and I realized that I didn't know how to function without him; he made me into mistletoe, and I couldn't survive without his support. He had changed me without me realizing, and I didn't know who I was anymore." She swallowed hard and clenched her teeth with the effort of refusing to cry over him one more time. "I shrank away from everything, for a long time. I didn't have anything but my garden, and then I got chosen for this circus, and then I met you…" Her lipsticked mouth curved into a smile.

"You an' me, we're somethin' special," Harley agreed, grinning. "Helena too."

Pamela nodded. It was true that she perhaps felt a greater connection with Harley, but she couldn't deny the respect she felt for Helena's skills and intelligence. The three of them made a surprisingly successful partnership. "It's why I got so mad when I saw how _he_ would treat you," she said, the name of the accused not needing to be spoken. "He wanted you, but only so nobody else could have you. That whole dog-in-the-manger thing makes me sick. It's so unfair to you, when you're as clever and capable as you are. You should have someone who values you."

Harley sniffed loudly, then giggled. "You say the sweetest things, Red."

"Someone has to."

"I'm… sorry I scared ya before."

"And I'm sorry I scared _you_ ," Pamela reassured her, shaking her head. "I overreacted. Just, you know, if you want to kiss me again, maybe don't do it while I'm wearing poison on my mouth?"

"Kinda sounds like you want me to try kissing ya' again," Harley remarked coyly, one eyebrow arching up as her mouth slid into a smirk.

Pamela was spared from answering, as faint footsteps began to approach the clearing. The wind had died down, so it was easy to tell which direction they were coming from, but still impossible to see who it was in the darkness. She got to her feet and drew her knife, taking up a defensive position slightly in front of Harley without realizing. Behind her, there was a tiny thud as Petey was deposited on the ground and Harley stood to back her up. The footsteps grew closer, but were spaced further apart, as if whoever it was was deliberating carefully between taking each step.

"Easy there, dandelioness," came a familiar voice from the shadows, accompanied by a limp and decidedly dead bird carcass landing in the clearing by Pamela's feet. "It's just me."

"Helena. We were wondering where you'd got to."

As she emerged slowly from the trees, Helena's shrewd gaze scanned the campsite, taking in the glowing fungus, dying fire, and abandoned metal box, before settling on their faces. The light was too dim for her to see them properly, but the last remnants of Harley's makeup made it clear to her that at least one of them had been crying. "Evidently." She approached the two of them, crossbow in hand, and three more dead birds in the jacket-tied bag slung over her shoulder became visible. They would eat well that night. She glanced around their campsite again. "Anything interesting happen while I was gone?"

"At least one thing," Pamela said in a placid tone as she sheathed her knife once more. She stepped aside to welcome Helena back to the campsite with a sweep of her arm, reaching down to collect the dead bird by its neck. By the time she'd straightened up, she had already decided that Helena didn't need to know everything she'd said to Harley; it wouldn't make any difference to their plans from here on out. Instead, she gave her a winning smile. "I have a new name."

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders


	84. Chapter 83: Compliance Sucks

**(A/N): And we're back with our Friday update! This time, we're going to take a break from the arena and look at some of the Tahiti tributes... with Canucklehead Cowgirl providing the voice of none other than Deadpool!**

 **As always, thanks to our authors who have reviewed and also to Slim Summers2002 for your reviews on the latest chapters. We love to see them! They always make us smile.**

* * *

 **Chapter Eighty-Three - Compliance SUCKS**

 **Secret TAHITI Facility**

 **Wade W. Wilson, Formerly of District One**

 **Written By Canucklehead Cowgirl**

* * *

 _The only difference between the sane and the insane is that the sane have the power to lock up the insane._ — _Hunter S. Thompson_

* * *

"Ow, _dammit,_ " Wade whispered, only to immediately cover his mouth and bite his lip, sure that he was busting himself out as his curse echoed in the ductwork.

"Not supposed to leave a _trace_ … but one more _stupid_ whack like that, and I'll have a blood trail that _Tanaleer Tivan_ could follow," Wade muttered under his breath, pausing a moment longer. "Heh. If he _could_ move." He was grinning and nearly giggling once again before he started wiggling through the narrow space. _Good grief, I hope no one has any reason to bring him back in Tahiti. I'll strangle him myself with Fury's intestines if it gets to that._

It was a tight fit, shimmying through the sheet metal ducts that were the _only_ covert connection between the Tahiti program _proper_ and the dark, twisted world of brainwashing that Amanda Waller found to be warm and fuzzy and welcoming.

"I can't _believe_ I have to go back here to the crazy lady," Wade breathed out before he did a quick triple-take peek out of a vent, only to slowly proceed forward, holding his breath until he could see … that … no one was in that room.

He let out a _woosh_ of breath and paused to dig into the pouch at his hip. He'd been scrambling through the metal ductwork for hours trying to get this far. He just had to confirm that he was still heading in the right direction. Which in and of itself was a little silly.

 _They said it'd be a straight shot. No reason to be concerned…._ he thought to himself. "You know, except that it wasn't. And so far it's been right, left, right, straight, left, left, right just to avoid the stupid _traps_ that some moron set up here." He drew in a deep breath and then rested his head on his hands for a moment before he pressed the comm link in his ear. "Can you hear me, God? It's me, Deadpool."

" **Listen, I know I've got a godlike physique, but can you maybe focus on the mission for five minutes?"** came Wade's partner's voice over the comms, Clint's half-amused half-annoyed tone unmistakable.

"You know, it's just so gosh-darn lonely up here," Wade said as he reached into one of his pouches and removed a red marker and started to write on the inside of the ventilation duct. ' **D-Piddy wuz here'**. "And besides, I needed a location check. I think I'm lost again."

" **You're not lost, you're just … three grates closer to Waller's office than you are supposed to be.** "

Wade grimaced and did his best to 'scream' at a whisper before he capped up his marker, tucked it away, and started moving again. "Why are they trying to funnel me to her? That's just … worse than death. Like. A lot worse than death." He paused and tipped his head. "Did I ever tell you about the purple-cloaked babe?"

He had known going in that traps were a distinct possibility, and also that said hypothetical traps would likely be horrific if he encountered them in the cramped space, but he hadn't expected to have to deviate from the original plan _quite_ that much.

"That nutbag broad takes way too much after her father," Wade muttered as he thought of the traps, stopped, and pointed one finger at nothing as he addressed his comm buddy. "If I get sucked into a fan, and turned into ceviche, I am _so_ going to haunt Fury's foot locker!"

* * *

 _Nick._ Freakin' _. Fury._

 _Wade was sure that meant he was moving up in the food chain of black ops, paid killings, and general dark shenanigans, seeing as he'd started out in the bowels of hell with Amanda Waller and her ilk. So when Uncle Phil took him through some secret windey passageways and layer on layer of very fancy and expensive looking security measures…_

" _Where are we going?" Wade asked in an almost childlike tone as he pressed in over Coulson's shoulder, looking around them as they hustled_ — _wide-eyed at the almost familiar dark and twisting passageways. "I thought I was doing alright as teenage heart throb 'Ryan'. Was there some line I crossed?" He snapped his fingers and nodded to himself. "Was it because I tried to help nourish that one skinny, frail-looking lad? Because I swear to you, I was sure he was starving."_

" _He was a vegetarian, Wade," Coulson said as they moved at a quick clip. "That means they don't eat meat."_

 _Wade stared at him for a moment, looking flabbergasted. "OH!" he threw both hands up in the air and let his shoulders drop as he covered his heart with one hand. "Oh. You mean it was a_ choice, _the … super skinny... Oh. That explains why he was so pale and unable to defend himself."_

" _He was eleven years old, Mr. Wilson."_

 _At that, Wade didn't seem to have much of an argument and instead clasped his hands behind his back as he took a few longer strides to catch up with Coulson. "So that's on the 'ill-advised' list. Got it. Bygones and whatever ..." He paused for just a moment before clearing his throat. "So … where are we going, really? Because it looks a lot like you're sick of my impish charm and devilishly handsome good looks_ — _and while that on its face is just …_ crazy ... _I really don't want to go back to that jackhole on the other side of your charming not-zombie-program, please, Mr. Coulson, sir… or … ma'am if you prefer."_

 _Coulson turned to give Wade a dry look but didn't comment further as he simply held up his lanyard and scanned his palm to access the next room. Where Director Nick Fury was waiting._

" _Mr. Wilson," Fury said, stopping to tip his chin up at the two of them as they approached. "As I understand it, you weren't overly impressed with my daughter's reprogramming efforts in her branch of the program."_

 _Wade stared at him for a moment, and when he finally started to answer, it was very slow, and picking up speed with every word. "That … would be an understatement of vast and immeasurable proportions, big man with the eyepatch of power," Wade said before he looked at Coulson with his head tipped to the side and pointed at Fury. "Can you believe this guy?"_

 _Coulson held his gaze but didn't respond in the least as Wade did a full body roll toward Fury. "An-ny who … that shouldn't come as any kind of a_ shock _. That woman has horrible people skills. Thinks she's in charge of everyone all the time."_

" _She is head of that branch," Fury pointed out._

" _Well yeah … but … isn't there a vote or something?"_

 _Fury glared Wade's way for a moment before he pushed a file folder across his desk. "If you're amenable, I have a very important job for you."_

" _Sounds … not creepy at all," Wade deadpanned._

" _I need you to get into Task Force X and find out what you can about their hidden assassins and just who exactly is pulling their strings." He gave Wade a more solemn look. "I know it's not just Waller."_

" _Oh." Wade stared at him for a moment with both eyebrows raised. "Crap."_

* * *

"Stupid mission. Stupid Fury. Stupid _Waller._ " Wade was clearly grumbling to himself and not expecting any response. "What was the reason that I had to go so far around the horn on this one, pray tell, feather britches? Or is that over your head on the paygrade … or… lack... of paygrade."

Wade finally came to the spot he was supposed to slip out of the vents and into the hallowed halls of Waller's dreams. Of course, for all the turns and twists he'd gone through, he'd come out from the wrong direction. "Hey, Mister … you wanna double-triple check this spot for me? I think I'm where I'm supposed to be, but I really don't want to end up dealing with these creeps all on my lonesome. I'm way too pretty for this kind of prison."

" **You're fine. Would you rather try out a women's prison?** "

"No…. no, no, no, no, no," Wade said as he unscrewed the vent cover. "I'm not nearly tough enough for that." He pushed on the grate experimentally, watching and waiting to see if it was going to be a problem before he grabbed the bottom edge and managed to somehow gracefully flip out, landing on his feet in a crouch with both hands out to his sides, palms flat and hovering over the floor. "And it's tens across the board, except from the Russian judge, who is a little bit testy about the whole hair dye issue."

Wade took no time at all as he rushed over to the door on his tiptoes singing _The Pink Panther_ under his breath, only to peek down the hall in both directions before he made his way down to the room next to Waller's office.

They knew that she was paranoid — likely just as paranoid as her father about bugs, plants, any means to listen to her or record her conversations. And Wade also knew that her most important conversations didn't happen in the office, not when it was so likely that the office would be the target of those working against her.

But the room next door to it …

The board room was as sparse as anyone could have designed it to be. One large, flat table with nothing but the barest necessities to accompany it — and nowhere that one could even begin to stash a listening device. But that was what Wade was going to do.

The lab rats that worked for Uncle Phil had made something new for him to test out … and all he needed to do was to drill a hole into the side of the table where Waller sat at her briefings. They'd even been so kind as to supply him with a new, fancy, and very likely dangerous laser to do the drilling for him. He just had to be sure that it looked seamless and that there was no trace of him having been there.

Wade set to work — or at least set the device to work — and simply waited as the laser drilled its way into the side of the table. But while he waited … there was no reason not to look around. He traced his gloved fingers across the wall from one end to another, humming lightly to himself as he looked for something. He wasn't even sure what, but he was sure that this bad, bad lady was going to have something hidden away.

He'd gone around the room twice when the device at the table beeped, and he turned around quickly, then skipped over to the table and crouched down low to set the bug in place. But … when he turned around again, he noticed something odd in the dark room …

"Holy crap," Wade muttered. There, across the room on the wall perpendicular to Waller's office, was a sliver of light on the floor — coming from under the wall. He raised his hand to the earpiece and muttered quietly. "Gonna be a minute there, Hawkguy. Gotta take a peek here at Victoria's secret evil lair …and you thought she was hiding lingerie."

" **Deadpool …"**

"No, really, this'll just take a sec. Especially if what's going on is what I think is going on … and if it's something unsuitable for our audience, then I'll just turn tail and head on outta there," Wade replied as he crept forward.

He thought he knew what was behind the door, but the truth was, he had never seen how to _get_ to that particular room — or if he did … he didn't remember it. Too much time being drugged or tasered or just dragged in. He frowned at the wall, looking for some kind of a hidden switch that would open the hidden door.

But he knew that going in that way would cause trouble, and he'd be caught. And the last thing he wanted was to get caught breaking into Waller's nightmare room. He took a few steps back and looked at the vents in the room and decided to try something else. With a little work, he pulled himself back into the ductwork. And started down a path that was not on his route.

" **What are you doing, Deadpool?"**

"Hush, Jiminy," Wade whispered. "No time for a conscience right now." Clint's voice came through the comm, but again, Wade hushed him as he crept forward. He checked several times — and ended up taking ten minutes to disable a trigger plate that was nearly seamlessly hidden in the ductwork before he got far enough down the trunkline to find a vent that fed the hidden room.

It was a much more comfortable-looking room than Wade remembered … of course, the last time he'd seen it, he'd been in the chair that faced the screen where a wicked, rippling pattern was flashing a seemingly random sequence. He couldn't see yet who was tied into the chair, but if he could get just a little further ….

Wade froze as he heard the oh, so familiar lilt to the jackhole's voice as it echoed even up into the ductwork.

"Patience is most definitely a virtue," the tall, bespectacled blond man said in a smooth, even tone. "I believe in second chances. Even third chances. I want you to become a _valued member_ of our organization."

Wade's head was spinning as he listened to the speech. The fractured memories of what he'd endured himself in that chair so many times nearly took his breath away. His ears started ringing, fuzzing out the man's voice as he tried to keep from hyperventilating. "Oh, shi… _Damnit._ "

" **What's wrong?"** Clint asked over the comm. " **Deadpool? You're freaking out, aren't you? Come on, bud I can't go in after you. Get it together."**

Wade had his hands over his ears — which cut out what Whitehall was saying — but not Clint. "Okay, okay, okay …" Wade was whispering. "Okay. I'm okay."

" **Whatever it is that's going on in there, you got a mission to finish,"** Clint said, which really just helped Wade focus a lot better than Clint had expected — and with a prime directive that he'd chosen for himself.

"Got a mission," Wade repeated quietly as Clint agreed with him, trying to talk him through it.

But Whitehall's voice made it through again as soon as Wade removed his hands from his ears.

"Surrender, and you will find meaning. You will find release. Take a deep breath, calm your mind. You _know_ what's best. What's best is you _comply_. Compliance will be rewarded…" Whitehall's calm, almost soothing tones were hard to miss.

"I _re-eally_ hate this guy," Wade said at almost a growl as Whitehall continued his mantra.

" **You know that's not what you're there for."**

"Officially," Wade said in a low tone that was unmistakable. "But this is so what I want to do."

"…. Are you ready to comply, T'Challa?" Whitehall asked, and that was all that Wade needed to hear as he burst out of the grate and made a wild lunge for Whitehall.

Almost belatedly, Whitehall raised his arms in defense, but Wade had the momentum, and he cracked the evil doctor in the jaw hard enough to break it, which at least made speech hard for Whitehall.

"Whatsamatter?" Wade growled out. "Cat got your tongue?" He made another overly dramatic leap toward him, and this time at least, Whitehall was prepared. A lamp missed Wade's head by a fine margin. After that, it was relatively quick, as Wade drew a short blade and stabbed him through the heart.

Whitehall fell with a breathy sound of pure pain, but that didn't really stop Wade, and he let out his frustrations kicking and curb-stomping the doctor for a good several minutes after he was dead, only stopping when T'Challa made a guttural sound in the back of his throat that drew Wade's attention.

"Oh, right," Wade said, out of breath and scowling. "Company."

When it was all said and done, Wade was panting and standing over Whitehall's twisted up and badly beaten body, and T'Challa … T'Challa was still in the Faustus machine. Wade looked up and around the room slowly. Considering where Whitehall was in his speech, he probably hadn't been in the room long — which meant that it would be a while before anyone came looking for him.

He took a few steps forward and waved a hand in front of T'Challa's face. "Hello in there," he said quietly, waiting for a reaction that simply wasn't going to happen. "Alright … um ... "

Wade cleared his throat and put on a fairly accurate Capitolite accent, doing his best to mimic Whitehall's lilt. "Don't surrender," Wade said. "Ah … Take a deep breath, don't listen to creepy doctors that have stank breath … you know what's best. What's best is that you _rise up and rage against the machine_. Fight the Capitol and anyone else that says you need to comply. In fact," Wade put one hand on his hip and grinned to himself. "The next time someone tells you 'compliance will be rewarded' — scratch his eyes out."

Wade nodded to himself, starting to get a little steam going. "Think for yourself — think of your people, Prince-Black-Panther. No more compliance."

" **What the hell are you doing?"** Clint asked in his ear over the comms. " **Who are you talking to?"**

"Um… a friend," Wade said as he flipped off the machine and started to remove the restraints and devices off of T'Challa that kept him from turning away from the hypnotism machine. "I'm … ma-a-aybe gonna be a little late, sweetheart."

" **Deadpool-"**

"I mean, it's not going to be easy to go through the vents with my plus-one... "

" **What the hell did you do now?"** Clint asked, though Wade could hear that he was gathering up his equipment.

"Nothing that requires help yet…. I mean. _Hold position_ , _Hawkguy_ ," Wade said with his chin to his chest and trying to sound authoritative as he started to shove T'Challa into the ductwork. "Not exactly sure on how long it'll take me to get out of this."

" **Want to give me an** _ **idea**_ **on what it is you're doing?"** Clint asked.

"Um … I did? When I _said_ I had a plus one," Wade replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. With a hard shove, he pushed T'Challa further into the ductwork with a clang and then hoisted himself up and into the ducts with him. He took care to put the screws back exactly as they had been and then sat there for a moment, hunched over and not at all sure how to handle this.

"So … quick hypothetical," Wade said as he tried to rearrange the semi-conscious now-ex-Task-Force-X subject and climb under him. "How would _you_ move a body in my situation because I'm going for the shimmy and shake method and glad that we're both in some pretty thin fabric?"

He smirked to himself, knowing that Clint wouldn't have a solid answer — and seeing as he had already been crammed into the ducts on his own, this … wasn't going to be any fun getting out.

" **Listen, zombie jokes aside, if you bring home a body, I swear…"**

Wade did his best falsely nervous laugh for a long moment, then petered out. "Well, I'm going to add 'marathon belly-crawl piggyback ride' to my resume of skills," Wade said as he scooted forward using his elbows. He paused as he started to navigate a turn. "Or maybe I won't. If I do, then everyone might want a ride, and you know how that works out… I'm saving those for you, Hawkguy." He paused as he pulled T'Challa's arm over his shoulder where he could keep him in place. "Well. And maybe that Spider Boy if he doesn't get his webbing wadded up."

* * *

As Wade worked his way through the ducts, Clint watched his progress on the screen, updating him every now and again when a new alarm would sound or when he needed an extra navigational marker that he was going the right way.

It was already over three hours past when Wade was supposed to emerge from the ductwork when Clint rushed over — fully clad head-to-toe in black — to help carry T'Challa onto the transport. "Can't say I never brought you anything, sugarlips," Wade said as Clint hauled T'Challa over his shoulder and hustled toward the waiting transport.

Clint shook his head at Wade. "What _happened_ back there, seriously?"

"Take a body, leave a body … or is that penny? I can never remember. Anyhow." Wade waved it off with one hand. "I took a body _and_ left a body. It's a win-win, really."

"No, seriously," Clint said.

Wade nodded at him openly. "I am serious." He gestured to T'Challa. "This is Operation: Save the Panther."

"It was operation 'bug Fury's daughter'."

"I did that too — but he's an _endangered species_ , Hawkguy." He looked at Clint meaningfully. "Black Panther. _Black Panther._ "

"Yeah, okay, listen, if you're just going to go snatching anybody with an animal codename—"

"No, no no," Wade said. "You don't get it. He's … he's like Wakandan royalty. Or … as close to it as they get. Didn't you pay attention to everyone's backstories?"

"Yeah, I know, I listened to all the hubbub during our Games. So what's the deal? Why snatch him from Waller when the whole point was to go in covert?"

"First of all, Mr. Hawkguy, I'll have you know that outside of a missing prince and a fresh corpse, there is no sign I was there. I disabled cameras. I didn't crap in the foliage in her office … even if I wanted to."

"You know she'll sweep for bugs as soon as she sees the _body_."

"Which is a really good thing then, because the bug that they had me put in won't even turn _on_ until after a sweep. That's what the nice boy with the curly hair and the funny accent said anyhow." Wade smiled sedately. "He's lovely."

Clint scrubbed a hand over his face as he got T'Challa settled into the transport. "Okay. So. Now what, genius?"

"So now, we release him into the wild where he belongs," Wade said, clapping his hands once.

"You and I both know we can't do that. Tahiti protocol. We're _dead_."

"Oh, _screw_ protocol," Wade said, looking totally irritated. "Listen. They had this guy hooked up to Waller's flying monkey's brain drain machine. Come on, Hawkeye. That's crap even if you didn't have to deal with it."

Clint stopped outright and took in a deep breath. "Why didn't you just _say_ that, you lunatic," he said as he headed for the cockpit. "Where are we dropping him?"

"Think District Eleven would be too obvious?" Wade asked.

"I think…" Clint let out a slow breath. "Coulson's going to want to know what was happening. But we won't take him to the Triskelion."

Wade started to nod slowly. "He'll probably want to know that their head head shrinker is dead too, so that whole … brainwashing thing shouldn't be as efficient as it was a few hours ago."

Clint nodded. "You find anything else while you were back there? Moats and evil lairs I should know about?"

"Well … I found him in the dungeon. No lingerie at all, which was a little disappointment, if I'm being honest," Wade replied, eyebrows up as if he was talking about something much more benign as he nodded his head. "That was right off of Waller's office. I knew they had a room like that, I just … couldn't remember where it was."

"You gonna be okay?" Clint asked.

Wade made a scoffing noise. "What, me? Come on. I'm _fine._ Their stupid stuff didn't work too well on me, remember?"

"Yeah, but I also remember how screwed up you were when Coulson tried to put you on the regular missions side of Tahiti for a hot second."

"Awww, shucks," Wade said with a broad grin. "I didn't think you cared."

"Shut up and call Coulson," Clint said, shaking his head at Wade. "We need to set up a debrief and get this guy home."

Wade nodded his head and hit the radio call to talk to whoever was on duty at the time. "Breaker breaker, we've got Three's company coming in hot — do you copy?"

Clint rolled his eyes somehow with his whole body. "We're coming in plus one and we're not looking to land in the usual spot. Can we get a redirect?"

Wade looked at him incredulously. "That's exactly what I said. Why do you have to repeat me?"

"I'm translating, Wade. This is my life now. Babysitting and translation."

"In that case, can I get an extra story when you tuck me in tonight? _Por favor?_ I'm pretty sure that's Chavez for 'story or I breaka-you face."

But before Clint could respond, a totally unamused voice came in over their channel with instructions on how to proceed.

…..


	85. Chapter 84: Two in the Hand

**(A/N): Here we are with our Tuesday update! This time, it's back to the arena with Jason Todd, written by Savy160.**

 **Thanks as always to those who reviewed; we were pretty excited about Wade coming back too!**

* * *

 **Chapter Eighty-Four - Two In The Hand**

 **Day Eight**

 **Jason Todd of District Six**

 **Written by Savy160**

* * *

 _"You can't undo what you've already done, but you can face up to it." - Frank Coleridge, Silent Hill: Downpour_

"On a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero." – the narrator Fight Club

* * *

He could still taste the blood in his mouth. His fingers were wrinkled and as white as snow as he pushed the deadened overgrowth of brush away and waded through the endless marsh looking for a drier place. Any place would do. After _days_ of nonstop rain and the life-threatening humidity, the freakin' sun had finally come out!

Jason paused as an overturned tree blocked his path. Hoisting himself up and over, he grunted as his left palm slipped, causing the rough bark to peel back tender flesh. Jason sighed as he stared down at his skinned palm. Just what he needed. More blood loss.

"First the tracker jackers, then the psychotic clown, the friggin' rain, and now this. I don't even have a friggin' cigarette. I hope you're happy, Tim. I finally quit smoking," Jason grumbled to himself before the realization of what he mumbled sank in. "You and Artemis had better be alright when all this shit is over with."

Jason kept making his way through the ravine before coming to a stop at an embankment. He dug his calloused hands into the mud and silty soil and slowly pulled himself out. Jason sank at least a foot down into the muck as he slowly inched his way back onto solid ground. Pausing, Jason wrinkled his face in disgust as he noticed the fat, slimy bloodsucker attached to his thigh where he'd snagged his pants on a branch and ripped part of the fabric clean off.

Still wishing for his cigarette and lighter, Jason settled for rubbing his index finger back and forth over the leech. The creature curled into itself and wriggled around before releasing its hold. It fell to the ground, and Jason promptly squished it with an irritated glare. Little droplets of blood splattered onto the soil from the wound on Jason's thigh and from the creature on the ground below. Checking himself over, Jason released a muffled curse when he came into contact with one on his neck. Plucking the slimy creature off, he frowned at the leech before slowly squeezing. Blood bubbled back up from the creature's mouth just like how he'd squeeze the last bit of toothpaste out of a tube.

"Could've been worse. It could have been on my balls," Jason mumbled before dropping the lifeless bloodsucker into the mud.

Jason kept moving slowly before pausing as he heard voices up ahead. Slowly drawing his dagger, Jason crept closer. _Just kill them and get the hell out of the area. No friends here. There are only survivors. It's nothing personal. It's just survival._

Gently pushing aside some twisted and gnarled vines before peering out, Jason found a couple of tributes from Seven and Twelve. Kory knelt over Dick gently, wrapping a makeshift bandage of torn cloth along with a couple of sticks around his arm, trying to make a splint of some sort. The exotically beautiful redhead gently ran her long and nearly perfectly manicured, except for the dirt and blood, nails through Dick's raven hair before hesitating. Kory withdrew her hand and bit her lip before dropping her hand back down into her lap. Jason took note of her guilty expression. Dick just lay there in unconsciousness, softly mumbling words of nonsense with his face scrunched up in pain. Jason was momentarily mesmerized at her ability to make the simplistic and uncomfortable clothing work. _Okay, she's insanely hot but she's still a threat. And she's also wrapping his arm wrong._

It'd be so easy to pick them off right now. Two less people to worry about. Or, well, Dick would be easy. Kory would be extremely hard to kill. No way in hell that she wouldn't go down without a fight. He could take her out from behind. Just one quick throw of a knife, and it'd be all over. Then he could deal with Dick. He wasn't even awake. Just a quick little suffocation or a knife through the heart, and he wouldn't feel anything. It wasn't like Kory or Dick meant anything to Jason. She was just a gorgeous and busty distraction, and Dick was just a thoughtful goody-two-shoes that didn't deserve to die. Okay, none of them deserved to die. No one in this freaking arena deserved to die, except for the Joker, but they would.

It's not like Jason hadn't killed before. He'd taken out the child molesters and the rapists and the pimps who mistreated their hookers and whoever Red Skull put a personal hit on for Jason to take care of. But this? This was wrong.

 _Kill or be killed. At the end of the day, blood is still going to be spilled._

 _But... not right now._

Jason took a step forward. A small twig snapped under his weight, creating a crunching noise which may as well have had the same frequency as a land mine going off. He internally groaned as Kory whipped around in Jason's direction. Jason barely had the time to roll out of the way as a small dagger embedded itself where Jason's head had been only seconds before.

"Woah! Easy there, Princess! I come in peace!" Jason exclaimed, holding his hands up in surrender.

"What do you want?" she hissed.

Her overly large emerald green eyes flared in anger. Jason could have sworn her red hair was literally on fire from her fury. He also took note of the fact that she was taller than him. She was probably pissed enough to take him down and beat the shit out of him. _Well, this sucks._

Any sane man would have run or accepted his fate that he was going to die. However, Jason was not a sane man but the type to literally stare a cobra in the fangs and poke the pissed animal with a stick.

"You're doing it wrong."

Kori just blinked at him for about ten seconds before asking, "What?"

"Dick. His arm. You're doing it wrong," Jason said again. "I can help you."

Kory eyed Jason suspiciously. "Why?"

"Do you want Golden Boy's arm fixed properly or not?"

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't; just like I can't trust you either."

Kory glanced over at Dick warily before looking back over at Jason and nodding slowly. She dropped a death threat as Jason sidestepped her and knelt down next to the unconscious pain in the ass. He slowly began undoing all of Kory's hard work. Naturally, she stood directly behind Jason and breathed down his neck.

"Your neck is bleeding," she commented.

Jason shrugged. "Leeches. How long has his arm been broken?"

"Since last night. I bandaged it, but the wrappings came loose. How did you learn first aid?"

* * *

 _Jason stared down at the woman cowering in fear at Red Skull's feet. They were all the same. They'd cry and cower and beg. None of it mattered, though. Red Skull would just continue sitting in his leather chair beside the fire while drinking his prized alcohol and smoking away the best cigar money could buy while Jason stood beside the chair staring at the show. He'd always tell Jason at the end of the night that it was good for Jason to watch what happened to those who opposed him._

 _"You stole from me," Schmidt accused the woman._

 _"It will never happen again, sir!" the woman cried._

 _Completely immune to all the begging for acts of mercy, Skull merely turned to one of his guards and ordered them to break the woman's arm._

 _She sobbed, "P-please," before muttering nonsense about her sick husband and seven children._

 _"Wait!" Red Skull snapped._

 _With the exception of crying, silence filled the room as everyone turned to the master of the room. Red Skull slowly beckoned Jason forward, ordering, "You do it."_

 _Jason's eyes had never grown so wide. He stammered, "M-me?"_

 _"You. Break it, and I'll show you how to mend it. You'll need to know these skills."_

* * *

Dick groaned, bringing Jason back to the present. Kory cleared her throat to remind him that they were in the middle of a conversation. Jason shook his head to clear his thoughts as he absentmindedly ran his hand down the place where Red Skull had broken his arm.

"I… I've just had a lot of practice," Jason mumbled before asking, "What happened to him?"

Kory looked away in shame before her voice started to crack. "We were ambushed. Dick, Raven, Thea, and I were attacked by Angela. She had darts with venom, and she hit Thea with one. Dick was hit as well. Thea and Raven were separated from us, and Dick attacked me. I… I didn't want to hurt him, but I didn't have a choice. He thought Angela was Helena, and he just lost it."

"What happened to Angela?"

"She's dead," Kory said. Then, when Jason just nodded at that, she asked, "What about Dick?"

"What about him? He's alive, ain't he?"

Kneeling down on the other side of Dick, Kory reached out to stroke his hair but bit her lip in hesitation and immediately withdrew her hand. She looked at him with such longing and love it made Jason want to vomit. Honestly, the idea was to fight to the death, not cuddle. Yet, as Jason continued to watch her, he noticed there was an essence of shame and hesitation present.

After a moment, Kory asked, "Have you ever hurt anyone you love?"

* * *

 _His heart hammered inside of his chest as he fought to control his ability to breathe properly. Jason let his head fall back against the wall as he sank down against the door. He brought the handful of pickpocketed coins to his face. Thankfully, he was still faster than the Sentinel that had caught him stealing._

 _A couple of minutes passed before Jason pushed himself off the wall. He made his way over to the loose floorboard and slowly pulled the rotten board away, revealing the tiny pouch containing all the money the Todds had to their name._

 _Shock flashed across Jason's face; the bag felt lighter than yesterday. Quickly pulling the drawstring open, Jason nearly cried as he poured absolutely nothing into his palm._

 _No._

 _Jason flinched as the door to the tiny one-roomed shack opened, and Catherine stepped inside. She smiled down at her son before making her way to her nest of old blankets on the floor. Jason dragged himself across the rotting wood and gripped her arm._

 _"M-mom, please tell me you didn't."_

 _Catherine slowly produced a package of white powder from her pocket before explaining, "I need this, baby."_

 _Jason screamed. "You always do this! Always! That was for food! What the hell are we going to eat now!"_

 _Catherine merely glanced up with glossy eyes as she smiled at Jason. She slowly poured the contents of the package containing a few grams of her precious white powder into an old, rusted spoon. Striking a match on the side of the carton, Catherine gazed at the flame for a moment before transferring the flame to the bottom of the spoon._

 _Jason curled his hands into fists as anger flooded his body. The spoon hit the wood flooring with a clatter as clear, hot liquid splattered across the rotting wood. Catherine dropped down to her knees as she clawed at her precious drug._

 _"Jason! How could you!" she hysterically yelled._

 _"How could I? How could_ I _! How could_ you _! You always do this, Mom! We needed that money!"_

 _She looked up with tears in her eyes as she sobbed, "I needed that! I needed that!"_

 _"And I needed you! Where were you when Dad came home drunk and needed someone to take his anger out on? You'd just lock yourself in the bathroom and leave me to deal with him. Where were you when I was starving? Where were you when I was sick? Where were you when Dad got himself killed? You're never there! Never!"_

 _As if she'd only heard half of what he'd said, Catherine replied, "You shouldn't talk about your father that way, Jason. He was a good man."_

 _Jason's eyes narrowed. "He hit you. When I tried to stop him, you'd let him hurt me instead while you ran… And then you go and do shit like this. You stole the food money. These are the times where I hate you more than him… I wish you weren't my mother."_

 _The door slammed shut behind him._

 _Jason would find her a few hours later, lying in a puddle of her own vomit. Dead._

* * *

"We all hurt the people we love one way or another," Jason told Kory at last. "You can say sorry all you want, but it won't change what you've done. You can never take anything back. Once the damage is done, it's done. The only thing you can do is own up to your mistakes and move on. Life's too short to die with regret on your mind… Believe me, I know."

Kory tucked a loose strand of flaming red hair behind her ear before meeting Jason's gaze. Giving him a soft smile, she replied, "I'm impressed that something that deep came from your mouth."

"Don't get used to it, Princess."

"Surely you're nicer to someone other than me," Kory prodded.

Only three people came to Jason's mind. Not even bothering to respond, Jason tightened the makeshift bandage just as Dick let out a soft moan. Pressing two fingers against Dick's neck, Jason took his heartbeat. It wasn't hard to conclude that Dick was waking up.

Kori hesitated before reaching a hand down to cradle Dick's cheek before moving her fingers through Dick's hair. She continued to stroke Dick's hair as he slowly opened his eyes to take in Jason and Kory leaning over him. Dick blindly reached out until his hand grasped Kory's.

"Dick, can you hear me? Dick?"

Dick blinked at her before muttering, "Kory?"

"I'm here. Everything's alright," she soothed him.

"What happened? Where's Helena?"

Kory shook her head. "I don't know, but that wasn't her, Dick. It was Angela. She attacked us. Raven and Thea were separated from us. You were hit with some kind of hallucinogen, and you thought Jack had killed your sister, but he didn't."

"Jack didn't kill her?" Dick asked.

Jason spoke up. "No. The Joker was with me."

"Is he dead?" both Dick and Kory asked.

"Not yet… He tried to kill me."

"Why?" Dick asked.

"Well, gee, Dick, I don't know. I was under the impression that we were in the Friendship Games," Jason deadpanned, earning a glare from both Kory and Dick. "He's an asshole that needs to go down. He almost killed me, but Harley stopped him."

"Harley!" the couple exclaimed.

Jason smirked. "Yeah, the crazy bitch beat the shit outta him. No one saw that coming, amiright?"

"She should have done it long before then," Dick said, then shook his head. "We have to do something about Jack."

"Good. We're all on the same page… Well, almost the same page." Jason tipped his head to Dick's arm. "Looks like you're outta commission though."

Dick rolled his eyes. "I can still take you down. By the way, what _did_ happen to my arm? I thought Jack broke it."

Kory tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear. "Dick, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. When you were hit with the toxin, you watched me kill Angela. You thought I was Jack and that Angela was Helena. I broke your arm to stop you from attacking me. I'm so sorry. I'll understand if you never want to see me again."

Dick immediately took Kory's hands. "Kory, it's fine. This is the Games. You did what you had to; I know neither of us wanted to hurt each other."

The two kept apologizing to each other as they kept getting closer and closer together. Jason started making gagging noises before their lips could meet.

"Do ya freakin' mind not sucking face in front of me? This ain't some shitty romance story. This is life or death."

"Then don't watch," Dick replied and then made out with Kory anyway.

Jason flicked a small pebble at Dick's head in retaliation. Immediately, Dick turned to narrow his eyes at Jason, who innocently shrugged.

"Are you done yet? Can we go now?" Jason sweetly asked.

"Watch it, Jason," Dick threatened.

Jason smirked. "Or what, Mom? You going to send me to my room?"

Kory stepped between them and wrapped her arms around their shoulders. "Alright, children. That's enough. We're going to find Raven and Thea now, and we're all going to get along."

Jason shot Dick a bird behind while Kory's head was turned before he wrenched himself away from them. Crossing his arms, Jason immediately snarled, "No. We do not need any more people in this alliance. More people in a group make an easier target."

"We can't leave Raven and Thea alone. They need us," Dick argued.

Jason shook his head again. "We have to move on without them."

Dick grabbed Jason's arm with his good hand. Giving Jason this kicked puppy look, Dick asked, "Don't you have anyone you care about?"

* * *

 _"-And they lived happily ever after. The end," Jason read. He_ _shut the book and discarded it before gazing over to find Bizarro completely asleep. Tim had nodded off earlier, curled up against Jason._

 _Artemis smirked. "You're becoming soft."_

 _Jason huffed. "Am not." He_ _would have crossed his arms if it weren't for the tiny ten-year-old curled against his side. Bizarro lay beside the two, curled around his old ragged bear. The discarded storybook lay a few feet away._

 _"Such a good big brother," Artemis cooed._

 _Jason shot her a bird in retaliation, but she merely rolled her eyes._ _"Kid's only been here less than two weeks and he's already following you around like a lost lamb."_

 _"Oh please."_

 _"Don't act like you wouldn't die for either of them," Artemis chided him._

 _"I'd rather kill for them."_

 _Artemis walked away, leaving Jason to look after the two beside him. The worst thing was that Artemis was right. He'd die for all of them if it came down to it. Well, that was the second worst thing. The worst thing at the moment was that Jason couldn't reach his cigarettes due to Bizarro and the tiny kid next to him blocking the way._

* * *

Jason was caught completely off-guard. Tim, Artemis, and Bizarro… Well, it was just Tim and Artemis now. He would do whatever it took to protect his makeshift family. Jason met Dick's gaze and slowly nodded.

"Would you ever leave them behind to die?"

Jason answered earnestly, "No."

With that stupid kicked puppy look, Dick said, "Then help us find them."

"Fine… But I won't be happy about it!"

The three of them wandered around the bayou for hours. The sun had finally started to dip down under the horizon as three somnolent teens covered in grime, leeches, and bug bites came to a stop beneath a clearing. Jason shuddered as an overly large alligator disappeared beneath the murky water near them.

The party kept trudging onward to find higher ground and hopefully someplace drier. Jason led the way up an embankment before turning back to offer his hand to Dick. The acrobat struggled a bit but mainly pulled his own weight up mostly by himself.

Kory excused herself for a moment before ducking behind a tree. Jason and Dick were left staring at each other.

"You okay?" Dick asked.

Jason grumbled, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just seem tense."

"Gee, I wonder why. It's not like people are trying to kill each other or anything," Jason deadpanned, crossing his arms. "This is the Avenger Games, Dick. This is not the Friendship Games, the Hugging Games, or the Let's Share Our Feelings Games. You worry about not getting in the way with your broken arm, and I'll worry about not dying, okay?"

Dick smiled before laying his hand on Jason's shoulder. "I was only trying to help."

Shrugging Dick's hand off, Jason hissed, "Don't!"

"Fine."

Kory came back a little while later with an arm full of edible berries. The three of them ate in silence. Dick eventually settled back against some high weeds, with Kory nestled against him. Jason could barely make out the hand-holding. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he settled himself away from the other two with a knife in hand. Just in case.

Dick looked over Jason's way. "You know, you can move closer. We're not going to stab you in the back or anything."

"I'm fine, Broke Hand," Jason mumbled.

The words had barely left his mouth before the loud lightshow music echoed through the swamp. The images of the fallen tributes lit up the night sky. Slade, Harvey, Caitlin, Cisco, Kaldur, Clark, Angela, Jervis, Jonathan, and finally Gar were shown. Ten people were dead, leaving thirteen more to join them. Only one could live.

Needless to say, Jason felt nothing for any of them, except maybe Gar. If only he'd gotten there sooner, the kid might have had an easier death, but fate didn't want that. Clark seemed like a nice enough guy, but it was always the nice ones that died first. Jervis, Jonathan, and Harvey were just weird as hell. Jason hadn't really known the others, but he automatically disliked Slade.

Angela, on the other hand, had been his district partner. The bitch had tried to get under his skin and slowly peel everything back to try to fit inside. She wanted his secrets. No. She wanted everyone's secrets. Another reason Red Skull wanted her dead.

 _Well, he got what he wanted._

How much longer could he really hold out until he was forced to turn on Kory and Dick? Were Tim and Artemis even alive? The only question left was: how much longer until the sky claimed another?

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders


	86. Chapter 85: Omega Protocol

**(A/N): Happy Friday! We're bringing you once again back to the behind-the-scenes peeks, since, after all, things are really starting to heat up in our continuing push toward revolution! The ever-talented Miran Anders is the genius behind this particular Bruce Banner chapter.**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed and to Slim Summers2002 for your continuing support and interest!**

* * *

 **Chapter Eighty-Five - Omega Protocol**

 **Tahiti Science Wing**

 **Bruce Banner, formerly of District Six**

 **Written by Miran Anders**

* * *

 _"We know what we are, but know not what we may be."_ — _Shakespeare_

* * *

Bruce stared at the latest amnio-enzymatic enhancement results and chewed thoughtfully, picking out letters on the keyboard with the index finger of one hand as he held the remains of a hastily made ham and cheese sandwich in the other.

Unconsciously, he glanced from his monitor of notes to the bruise skimmed across his knuckles. The glance became a prolonged stare, accompanied by disjointed thoughts that — unfortunately for him — could not be ordered with even the most complex equations.

 _I can't believe I … it was just such a shock to see him after..._

He pointedly looked away from his hand, with its reminder of the anger he still held so carefully inside.

 _I thought I had this under control._ The thought made him choke out a bitter laugh. _Who am I kidding? Bad as my father… might always be..._

 _Still,_ he thought, _the guy thought he deserved it…_

The memory of their argument — of which of them _really_ had the right to feel guilty— made him shake his head.

 _Well… who am I, to argue with a victor? At least I stopped at breaking his nose. I could have done a lot worse..._

A grin finally softened his expression. He shrugged, took another bite, and tried to focus on his notes again.

Behind him, the lab door opened and closed quickly, and Bruce glanced at the clock as he spoke without checking to see who had come in.

"You _do_ know there're cameras. You can't hide in here, even at this hour."

He could feel the disappointed eye roll without turning his head. "Of course I know. I'm not _hiding_." Tony cleared his throat. "Jarvis, open my current files, will you? Make sure its the current ones. I have a lot of paperwork to do." There was a minute pause. "We both do, with all these changes."

Banner glanced up and grinned at that. Tony never had a lot of paperwork. Or rather, he _had_ the paperwork… he just didn't _do_ it. While he didn't know the actual key that Tony used to activate the system, he recognized the somewhat contrived delivery, and watched his partner sit at the computer until an inconspicuous blue LED flashed twice on the keyboard. He gave Bruce a thumbs-up and a smug look as he stood up again.

Bruce sipped from his mug and shook his head. Then he pointed toward the ceiling, his eyebrows lifting with a question.

Tony nodded. "We're clear. Audio and video." Then he spun to face Bruce, a challenge in his eyes. "Did you figure it out yet?"

"Nope."

"Not even trying?"

Bruce sighed. "I'm beginning to think it has something to do with the cadence of your sentences. Gave up on a strictly alphabetic code. I know you always mention your current files…"

"You're getting closer. Maybe next time."

"Not even sure I want to know. What are we doing this time?"

Looking off thoughtfully, Tony responded with, "I believe we are so engrossed in paperwork that we actually stay seated at our monitors for two and a half hours."

"Won't that be suspicious? We've been packing the chemical stores all day — well, when I wasn't checking on the results of the streamlined temporal lobe process. That was surprisingly successful. I finally had to send Parker to bed; he was falling over. You'd think you'd show _us_ sleeping, too, instead of still working."

Tony stared at him long enough that Bruce realized — contrary to his argument, they _weren't_ sleeping. And to be honest, he knew they were nowhere _near_ sleeping. He was, in fact, doing exactly what Tony clearly had the surveillance videos showing. "Well, I mean… "

Tony gave him a flat smile. "Seriously?"

"You're right." Bruce took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "But I know I won't settle down any time soon. May as well get stuff done."

"I don't know, Banner…" Tony leaned closer and whispered conspiritorily. "Maybe I should program your avatar to not make any sense whatsoever for the next hour or two."

"Okay, okay," Bruce said, standing to throw out his napkin, "but _couldn't_ it be construed as suspicious?"

"You're being paranoid."

"One of us has to be. And you know it's beyond you."

Tony paused. "There _is_ some truth in that."

They had been slowly, cautiously, making their own little _unauthorized_ changes. It was clear by now that they had tweaked so _many_ of the processes that they knew more about the systems than even Fury realized — and they were determined to take advantage of that. They had made the decision only a few months into their stay in Tahiti, during one of their outings in the 'dog run', as Tony sarcastically called their recreation area outside.

* * *

 _"Hey. Over here."_

 _Bruce and Tony had been hiking for half an hour, having been told they'd have a long break this weekend. This was as far as they had ventured in their little corner of the world, and they hadn't met a barrier yet._

 _Bruce looked away from the trees he had been enjoying and saw Tony was climbing up some high rocks._

 _"Really?"_

 _"Come on, big guy. I know you can climb. Besides…" He patted his pocket and shot Bruce a look that made him nod and follow._

 _They climbed until they found themselves at the top of a ridge, then walked along it until they reached a small, spring-fed stream that ran musically over several miniature waterfalls before it slipped off the edge of the ridge and tumbled to the ground some thirty feet below. Tony reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of playing cards, opened it, and stealthily slid a tightly-fitted device out of it and into his sleeve, almost as if he were performing a magic trick. He spoke loudly. "Hey, Banner. Wanna play some rummy?"_

 _Bruce lifted his eyebrows. "Sure. This is a good spot. Nice and sunny."_

 _Tony looked smug as he opened what looked like a three-inch umbrella of miniature spoons and plugged it into the end of the device. With a twist of his hand, the scoops turned perpendicularly to the central shaft. Then, he squatted by the stream and anchored it in place with a few rocks, adjusting it until the spoons were spinning freely in the falling water. He watched it for a few moments, adjusted it again, and glanced at Bruce with a shrug._

 _A few seconds later, a yellow LED lit up on the device. Tony stood up and silently jumped up and down, punching the air victoriously and mouthing 'yes yes yes!' Bruce tried not to laugh, but when the green light lit and Tony gave the thumbs up, he couldn't help himself._

 _"Are you sure it's working?"_

 _"Of course it's working! It worked in the lab. All it needed here was some power source. They have no idea." He shook his head, amazed at his own brilliance. "I'm amazing."_

 _"As I recall, I'm the one who suggested a miniature generator… and taught you how to play rummy so they'd get used to you carrying that pack of cards when we went out._ And _get used to us sitting quietly while we played."_

 _"Yes, but I'm the one who_ built _it to fit."_

 _Bruce lifted his hands. "You certainly did. While_ I _was doing your half of the lab work, I might add."_

 _Tony stared at him and deftly changed the subject. "Fine. Let's not waste time arguing. How should we do this?"_

 _They sat on some flat rocks near the stream to keep an eye on the tiny shielding device. "How long do you think we have?"_

 _"I sure of half an hour, but let's keep it short the first time test."_

 _"Agreed. No need to arouse suspicions."_

 _They had discovered, through some covert searching in the program files, that they weren't on video in their recreation area, but audio was saved religiously. Sitting by the stream, quietly playing cards, any surveillance wouldn't expect to hear more than the chorus of waterfalls._

 _Now that they had privacy to talk in, they weren't sure where to start. Bruce finally shook his head. "Okay. We're on the same page, right? This ends with us?"_

 _"Right. 'This' being the whole 'let's kill a bunch of kids and then recruit them to work for some oddly-run rebellion.'"_

 _"Right." They looked at each other. "So, how do we do that?"_

 _Stark looked thoughtful. "You know, we could just make enough accidents happen that the whole thing collapses."_

 _"Tony, if we do that, they'll just get rid of us and rebuild. Or worse, kill us off and figure out how to bring us back with our emotional memories wiped better." They both looked angry and a little unnerved at that thought, and Tony nodded._

 _"True. But we're agreed we've got to stop this somehow, right?"_

 _"We may be the only ones who can." Bruce looked thoughtfully at the running water, his dark eyes catching the sunlight. "Maybe what we do is_ not _screw up."_

 _"To what end?"_

 _Bruce shifted on the rock to face his cohort. "I've heard hints from Hank that eventually the whole place will get moved. When the rebellion hits, or whatever." He couldn't keep the anger out of his voice. "What if we make ourselves invaluable? We do phenomenal work; we make the process_ so _good that they trust us with anything." Tony nodded at him, and he went on. "And we start adding our own..._ improvements _to the system."_

 _"Ahh. Back doors, Easter eggs? Build our stuff in slowly so they don't notice."_

 _"Right. I can work the software, and you can rig the hardware. If they catch something, it won't make sense, because the end result has to work together. Mission is to disable the whole lab_ — _or at least make it impossible for them to do this ever again without us knowing... but in the meantime, we try to make this as safe and painless as possible for the kids coming through."_

 _Tony stuck out his hand. "I'm in." His eyes suddenly widened. "And I think I know a great way to help this work."_

 _"What's that?"_

 _"I make us a computer lab assistant. AI. They won't be surprised if I'm messing with something like that. It'll give us a way to coordinate."_

 _"And they probably won't mind, if it keeps you happy. As long as we keep working on the authorized stuff. Will it be able to tap into all of the processors?"_

 _"Are you kidding? Why else would I do it?"_

 _"Good idea."_

 _"Of course it is. It's mine."_

 _Bruce rolled his eyes. "We better keep this between ourselves, though. It could be bad if…" he left the words unspoken, and Tony nodded._

 _"Agreed. Just our project. We'll call it the Omega Protocol."_

 _Bruce jerked his head back with a slightly shocked, disparaging frown, suddenly looking much more like a teenager than a skilled scientist. "No. No, we will not."_

 _"Why not?"_

 _"Because it sounds stupid, that's why…"_

 _The argument over the name continued until they retrieved the device, although clearly, anyone overhearing would have no idea what the hell they were talking about._

* * *

Tony's voice brought him back to the lab. "I made sure it won't be suspicious, because in about half an hour, we have a little spat about getting Cassie to bring us something to eat. You complain like a baby about being hungry. I, of course, being the mature and sensible one, remind you that she should be sleeping by now."

Bruce dropped his shoulders and gave him a droll stare. "Of course I do. But that's because _you_ always have something stashed in your desk. With the amount you eat, it's amazing that—"

"Please," Stark replied with smug hauteur. "Some of us burn calories simply by _being_ amazing. We don't _have_ to go to the gym every morning."

They stared at each other until Bruce looked down and cracked a smile. Tony almost always won the staring contest, but then… he probably took it more seriously. Bruce shook his head and walked to his desk, sat down, and went back to his work.

Tony flailed his arms before dropping them to his sides. "What are you doing? The vid and audio feeds _already_ show you there. You could be doing _anything_!"

"Yeah, and this is what I _need_ to do, Tone. Come on. I'd like to get _some_ sleep tonight…" He sighed heavily and stared at the door. "What did you have in mind? I'm not sure how much good I'll be at subterfuge tonight. My mind is on a hamster wheel."

Tony rolled his stool over and opened a bag of almonds that had suddenly appeared in his hands. "What's up? You don't still feel bad about decking the wolfman, do you?"

Bruce picked up a stylus and turned it absently in his fingers as he spoke. "Nah. Well… yeah. More upset that I felt out of control when it happened… But I don't think that's what's bothering me."

Stark rolled closer and put an elbow on Bruce's desk, dark eyes shining curiously. "Do tell."

"It just seemed… like after he was up and around… I don't know."

Tony held out the bag of almonds, and Bruce took a handful. "Okay. What are you thinking?"

Bruce exhaled over a thoughtful frown. "I'm thinking that he seems to have a lot of access."

"I noticed that too." Stark nodded. "And you think it's more than being the victor?"

"I do. I mean… it seems like Fury asks his opinion… I mean, _Fury_. And that Logan gives it even when it isn't asked for. You know?"

"I only saw them in the hallway for a couple minutes this afternoon… but yeah. I get your point."

Bruce looked at him, frowning. "Really? What _is_ my point? I've been trying to figure that out since I broke his nose."

Tony shook the bag and popped a few more almonds in his mouth, crunching as he spoke. "Your point is that Fury — who we have our doubts about, and Logan, who, by the way, _killed_ both of us — they're awfully buddy-buddy now. Or at least are working closely. And we don't really know why. Which I think means plan B is more important than ever."

The other let out a sigh. "I guess. I still — well." Bruce dropped his stylus and ran his hands back through his curls, making them slightly messier. "Plan B, huh?"

Stark smirked at him. "Your fault. You nixed the Omega Protocol."

"Because it sounds like a B-movie title."

"Exactly. Hence, 'plan B'." He crunched a few more nuts. "Besides, everyone needs a plan B." He chewed happily, poking around in the bag until he looked at Bruce again. "What? You don't like this one either?"

Bruce sighed and glanced around the room a bit nervously before he looked up at his partner once more, speaking quietly. "Besides the fact that you've changed the name eight times in the last six months, it's a little casual for what we're planning, isn't it? People could get hurt. And others, well… won't be coming back."

Tony's expression dropped, and he rapped his knuckles against the desk before he stood and walked a few steps. He stopped and turned back, snapping his fingers. "Got it. Clean Slate. It doesn't sound suspicious if we're talking about actually clearing the place out… right? And if it cleans up this God-awful mess..."

Bruce looked thoughtfully at the monitor. "Yeah. I can agree with that one."

"Perfect." He spoke to seemingly thin air. "Jarvis! Plan B is now the Clean Slate Protocol."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "You _had_ to get 'protocol' in there, didn't you…"

Tony grinned and went back to the mainframe, slipping gracefully under the control bank and popping open an access panel. "Yup." He deftly unscrewed a circuit board, revealing a smaller one hidden beneath. He was ready to pop off one of the chips when a chime sounded from both their monitors. Tony hustled back into his desk chair and sat up straight. "Jarvis, give us a clean transition. In three… two… now."

"Of course, Mr. Stark." a second passed. "You and Mr. Banner are live."

Both their monitors came to life with a message about the upcoming move schedule from Director Fury, with additional prods for speed from Quartermain. For a few minutes, they read silently. Tony made a sarcastic noise once or twice, but Bruce waited until he finished reading the entire message.

"Are they _kidding_? They want us to have the tube lab empty by _when_?"

"It gets better. Did you see who else is on the delivery list for this? They're sending them to the lab now."

"Crap." Bruce jumped up and tore off his lab coat, dropping it on his chair as he headed for the door. "We better go and _supervise_."

Tony's eyes widened briefly. "Seriously. They could mess up a lot of things if they're not careful. Between the new wiring and the... "

"Omega Protocol?" They shared a sardonic grin and hurried down to the tube room, getting there just minutes before Thor, who looked weary but calm. A few minutes later came Wade, humming to himself and bopping as if he had a headset on — which he didn't — and last came Peter Parker, yawning and rubbing his eyes, wearing a pajama shirt and jeans.

Tony looked up from halfway under a tube unit, where he was unbolting the command center from the tube itself. "Wasn't sure you were going to make it, Spiderboy." He motioned toward the other men and pointed. "I'll keep shutting them down and taking them apart if you two can start moving them to the loading hall. Wilson, we're probably gonna need the lift for the tube sections."

"Gotcha, T-bone. I'm all over it." Wade turned and bopped over to the info screen to find out where the nearest lift was at this point, since all of Tahiti was crawling with moving equipment and container units. The images on the monitor looked like an ant farm.

Thor nodded, stretching his broad shoulders. "Why this sudden haste?"

Bruce shrugged from where he was working. "Beats me. All I know is that we're supposed to figure out how to move everything, keep one of the tanks in B going — along with some of the starter tanks — and somehow inventory everything at the same time."

Wade stretched his arms out cheerfully, clearly the most awake of them all. "Hey, it's a great time to be alive, isn't it?"

The other four paused and stared at him blankly before turning to their work.

Peter yawned and scratched his head. "Fury's loud. I had the system turned down. Didn't matter."

"Fury is an ass." Tony's voice was only slightly muffled from under the unit, and Bruce noticed that even Thor smirked at that.

Wade called over from the com link. "Looks like one is in six — no, wait, they're using it. Holy cow. The place looks like a game of pac-man. Did Fast and Furious wake everyone up?" He blinked at the screen, trying to locate a lift that wasn't already moving.

Peter yawned again and headed toward Banner, who was typing furiously at the lab computer. "Can I help you, Bruce?"

Bruce looked up with an almost guilty expression. "No. Ah, no. I mean, I've got the thread here, I don't want to lose it." He glanced behind him and nodded. "Listen, I need you to get readings on the Preanimate tanks."

"The gooey ones?"

"Yeah, just get the usual — temp, protein levels, the whole chem read… see what they're being pumped with at this point. If we're going to keep them going, we better make sure we know what they consider stable."

Peter yawned again and grabbed a tablet before he shuffled towards the tanks in back. "Right. You know, the goop always kind of reminds me of Aunt May's sourdough starter."

This comment caused another thoughtful pause in the rest of the crew, until Wade called, "Don't add any flour, spideykid. When that bread rises, it might bite you back." He was chuckling as he looked back at the screen. "Got one! Back in a Flash. Or a Green Arrow. Who knows, on this channel?"

Thor looked at the tube construct after Wade left. "It is possible that I could raise that tube unit by myself."

Tony turned and stared at him. "Don't get cocky, kid. You might be able to tip it, but it's heavier than it looks. Unless you're saying you're the only one in the world who can lift one..."

Thor walked over to it, an exceeding thoughtful frown furrowing his brow. He put his hands on it, paused — and then looked over at Tony with a smirk. "Perhaps next time."

Wade rolled in with the lift and pirouetted gracefully before he drove it to the tubes. "Where do we start, Irony man?"

Tony was wrestling with a stubborn connector as he answered. "I need a minute on this one. I think there was a leak, or else the humidity got too — got it!" He sucked his knuckles before he moved to the last connector. "One more."

Thor stood patiently, while Wade wandered over to Bruce and watched over his shoulder. He slowly leaned in, watching the monitor, until his chin was on Bruce's shoulder.

"Wade—"

"That's not gonna work." Wade's voice was an unusually quiet whisper in Bruce's ear.

"What?"

The blond pointed to the screen. "Here. If you're trying to bypass them, you—"

"Oh, crap. Right. Missed that. That would have really—" Bruce turned his head so that they were nearly nose to nose. "How do you know—"

Wilson jumped back, his eyes wide. "There is more in Tahiti and Earth than is dreamt of in your philosophy, pretty boy." Then, his smile grew broader as he spun back to the tubes.

Bruce stared after him. _Okay…_

His thought process was completely derailed by the abrupt entrance of Cassie Lang, wearing a robe and looking like she might burst into tears.

"Guys! You have to do something. We have to do something."

Tony's voice rang out from under the units again. "We're trying!"

"No, no, I mean in your lab—"

Bruce stood and went to her, his hands on her shoulders. "Cass, what's going on?"

"What about Supper?"

"Supper? Didn't you eat? Is that why you're up?"

"No! Supper. Our Supper. Turtle Supper. I dreamed they made us leave him behind. He'd die!"

By this point, all five of the crew had stopped what they were doing and were watching the distraught young woman with varying degrees of concern or discomfort. Weepy young women in nightgowns were not something they were used to dealing with.

"Cassie, we'll make sure he's okay—"

"No! They're keeping you so busy, how can you?"

Bruce glanced over at the rest of the crew and gave them a desperate look. Tony shot a look over at Wade, back to Bruce, and shrugged. Bruce grabbed the suggestion like a lifeline.

"Okay. Okay, Cass. You're right. So we're going to need your help. While they've got us doing the heavy lifting, I want you to find a way to pack up Supper for the move. He'll need food, and we should probably have fresh water available, since we don't know where we'll end up. Can you do that?"

"I… I think so. His tank is kind of heavy, but—"

"True." Bruce swung his head back toward the crew. "Wade? Can you be her muscles for this?"

Wade pranced to his side and bowed low, taking Cassie's hand. "I should be honored, milady, to be your muscles."

Cassie blushed a giggle. "Thank you." She gave Bruce a quick hug, and she and Wade headed back to the lab.

Bruce watched after them thoughtfully and then went back to the monitor. He finished up a few lines of code, frowned at it for a moment, and then typed CSP and a separate line.

 _Jarvis. Are you here._

A moment passed before a message returned on the screen.

 _Yes, Mr. Banner. How may I be of assistance?_

 _The last section of code I wrote. Pull it and insert into Tony's current files, along with everything from_

He scrolled and checked.

 _Line 3879 down. Got it?_

There was a moment when he swore he could hear a whirr.

 _Done. Anything else?_

 _No. Thank you, Jarvis. Erase all this convo._

The screen blanked, and Bruce let out a breath. _Okay. This end is set._ He stood again and walked back to help Tony and Thor. _Set for the end, whatever that is._


	87. Chapter 86: Cat Fight

**(A/N): Happy Tuesday! We're back in the arena, this time with tvfan69 and her amazing Cheshire.**

 **Thanks as always to everyone who reviewed; we hope you continue to stay engaged!**

* * *

 **Chapter Eighty-Six - Cat Fight**

 **Day Six**

 **Jade Nguyen, District Ten**

 **Written By tvfan69**

* * *

" _It's another time, it's another day. Numbers they are new, but it's all the same. Running from yourself, it will never change. If you try, you could die."_

 _-Fallulah, "Give Us A Little Love"_

* * *

Jade was sick and tired of these Games.

She was sick and tired of hiking and getting nowhere, of wading through waist-deep water, and certainly of having to work with someone who, if all went well, would eventually turn around and literally attempt to stab her in the back.

She scoffed at that idea, thinking it hilarious how the best-case scenario would mean the closest thing she had to a friend would try and kill her. Of course, Harper trying to kill her would mean that they had made it that far, possibly that they'd be the only two left.

Shaking, her head Jade tried to refocus. _We aren't that far yet._

"You're limping again."

 _Speaking of Harper..._

Jade growled at Harper's words, though mostly out of frustration with herself. The injury on her leg had stopped hurting, with the exception of when something smacked against it. But, apparently, her motor skills hadn't gotten the memo yet.

Without a word, she corrected her stance and began to walk like a normal person, even if she knew that she'd return to limping the moment that she stopped actively thinking about it.

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" Harper asked for what must have been the nine hundredth time since they decided to head back toward the Tesseract in order for Harper to get her hands on some workable materials for traps — and for Jade to kill anyone they ran into along the way.

 _These Games need to end, and if the only way that's going to happen is if some people stop playing defense, then I'm perfectly fine with being one of those people._

"Reasonably," she snapped at Harper. "Though when I was running from the bloodbath, I was a little preoccupied by the arrow lodged in my leg."

Looking back over her shoulder at Harper, Jade caught her wince, like she was regretting asking about their progress.

 _Good._

They trekked on in relative silence after that, occasionally making a comment or two about where they needed to turn or how far away other tributes might be. They were starting to get close, or they assumed they were getting close, anyway; they had to be at this point.

"How long do you think the Games are going to last?"

Jade couldn't help but roll her eyes and groan at the question. "If we have anything to say about it, not much longer," she answered curtly, and she turned to look over her shoulder to add something else about whining, but she never got the chance.

Instead, a shriek of surprise came crying out of her mouth, the same with Harper, as the two of them suddenly found themselves with strong vines wound around their ankles, and they were yanked into the air, high above the ground.

"Oh my god!" Harper breathily panicked, while Jade only growled in frustration; she should've noticed the traps.

"Calm down," she ordered Harper, not that the other girl was in much of a mental state to listen.

"Calm down?!" she snapped back incredulously, "We're upside down, ten feet in the air!"

"Yeah, and whoever set this trap can't be far, so you screaming is only going to alert them and get them here that much faster," Jade shot back.

That, at least, got Harper to be quiet. Ordinarily, she might have kept shouting, but with her friend no longer panicking, Jade was able to properly see the fear in her eyes. She was terrified of whatever, whoever, might be coming for them.

She didn't need to be yelled at right now.

Inhaling a deep breath through her nose, and attempting to ignore the feeling of all her blood rushing to her head, Jade did her best to calm herself.

"Okay," she finally said, managing it in an even-sounding tone. "Now, my knife is in my waistband, so I'm going to cut myself down, then throw the knife back up and cut you down."

"And how do I know you won't just leave me strung up here?" Harper scoffed, any fear she had of their predicament suddenly gone and replaced by a heavy amount of skepticism. "Don't think I don't know our alliance is temporary; you're going to cut me down first."

Well, Harper was certainly smarter than Jade had been giving her credit for; that much Jade could admit to herself. Still… "You're going to survive a ten-foot drop that starts with you upside down?" she asked doubtfully. She hadn't seen much of Harper's reflexes yet, but she doubted the girl had it in her to successfully cushion this landing, especially judging by the nervous way in which she was suddenly chewing her lip. "Even if I was going to leave you here, you have like five knives on you—"

"In my backpack!" Harper interrupted her. "If I reach back to open it, there is a very good chance they're all going to fall out."

"Well it's not my fault you didn't think to keep even one in your pants," Jade practically hissed.

"I did too!" Harper snapped in defense, gesturing with her arm to indicate the ground below them. "It fell out when we were pulled up here. How did yours stay in place?"

"Your feet were swept out from under you, and your weapon wasn't the first thing you grabbed?" Jade asked as a means of answering, her left hand still settled firmly on her hip and keeping the knife pressed snugly against her body.

"I didn't think to grab anything!" Harper spluttered, her voice high with frustration.

"You always think to grab something, you idiot!" Jade shouted exasperatedly, even though she should've been mentally logging her ally's mistake as a weakness. "Otherwise, you end up dead!"

Harper had nothing to say to that, and all Jade could think to do was to take a breath and try to calm herself.

"Look," she began firmly, "whether I like it or not, as of right now, you and your little nerd traps are my best shot at surviving 'til morning, meaning that for now, I need you alive. So, I'm going to cut myself down, I'm going to cut you down, and then we are going to get the hell out of here before anybody else shows up, got it?"

Harper nodded. "Got it."

With a nod of her own, Jade slipped her knife from the waistband of her pants and placed it between her teeth. Swinging her body back, she mustered up every ounce of strength and momentum she could get to curl herself up enough so that she could slice at the vines holding her. It took her three tries, but she eventually felt herself falling and began flipping around in the air as so to cushion her landing. She landed on her feet, in a crouch, and then her injured leg went buckling under the sudden impact. She collapsed in a heap on the wet ground.

"Ugh, stupid stitches," she grumbled as she rose to her feet and started aiming her knife for the shot up to Harper's vines. "Hold still," she called out in warning, drawing the knife back behind her as she prepared to throw it.

Unfortunately, she ended up dropping the knife.

"Gah!" she screamed out as a sudden and intense pain tore through her already injured leg, causing her to kneel down on her good leg against her will.

There was blood trailing down her bad leg, the hole from her bloodbath injury reopened.

"What the—?" she began to ask, puzzled by what she could have possibly done to pop open her stitches. Maybe her landing from such a height could've done it, but why did it take so long for her to register the pain? She only cut off her words when her blurry gaze at last processed the sight of something within the blood, an object of some kind.

At first, Jade thought it could possibly be a piece of her bone, or a torn muscle tendon, even a dislodged piece of flesh. But upon closer inspection, she realized that her stitches hadn't torn open all on their own. The object was another arrow, and a deep pit of fear settled in her stomach.

Slowly, she looked back over her shoulder and was met by the sight of not only Helena Wayne emerging from a nearby bush, her reloaded crossbow poised for another shot, but also a redhead and Harley Quinn.

Jade snarled at the sight of Harley; images of the blonde's psychotic other half standing over Garfield and carving him up like a Christmas ham flashed through her mind and made her nearly forget the pain in her leg. Harley must have been able to see the blood boiling in her veins, because she smiled a wickedly evil grin and took a rather bold step forward.

"Don't gimme that look, Stripes." Her words were accompanied by another mocking step forward. "Miss Wayne wanted ta be humane an' take a kill shot, but Pammy and I thought it might be more sportin' to give you a fightin' chance."

"Big mistake," Jade growled out before she forced herself to her feet, arrow in her leg be damned, and launched herself towards the clown, who had by now narrowed her eyes.

"We'll see about that," Harley all but whispered, not that Jade really processed the words. Her entire world was red. If she were thinking, she might have moved in the other direction to reclaim her knife instead of leaping into a fight armed with nothing but her bare hands. If she were thinking, she might have gone back for the knife and thrown it up to cut Harper's trap. Maybe then, she would've been able to have some backup.

But Jade wasn't thinking about any of the logistical aspects of this fight, or of any of the ways that it could potentially end badly for her. She didn't even give any thought to the fact that she was taking on three trained killers — _More or less; they're all trained killers in this place to some extent_ — while compromised via an arrow sticking through her thigh. All she was thinking about was Garfield Logan, lying in a bloody heap in the middle of a muddy swamp, with his best friend from the Capitol kneeling over his body. All of this was Jack Hamill's fault, and if Jade couldn't get her hands on him, well then his little girlfriend would be the next best thing.

She clasped her hands tightly around Harley's throat, but Harley returned the gesture with a gleeful laugh. The sudden pressure squeezing her throat had Jade coughing and gagging on the lack of oxygen, her vision turning from red to black. Still, she must have been doing the same amount of damage to Harley, because the sound of her laughter was dry and raspy, then forced and choked.

Suddenly, the air was rushing back into her lungs, and she was being yanked away from Harley. For a split second, she actually had hope that it was Harper, somehow free of her vines and pulling her away from the fight, but as soon as she found herself thrown to the ground, she knew that was too good to be true.

The sight that she found herself staring up at instead could only be described as one step away from a wild animal.

Pamela Isley, whom Jade could only recognize because Harley had named her, looked very different than she had going into these Games. Jade hadn't been able to see her back on the pedestals; the Tesseract had been in the way, and it wasn't like she expected to see the painted-up doll that Pamela had been during the interviews and the parade. But the creature pinning her to the ground was sporting wildly untamed hair, arguably worse than Jade's own, and her skin was stained with layers upon layers of green that hadn't come from the dye of a stylist like Garfield's.

With a growl, Pamela pulled out a knife. With one of her hands now free thanks to the action, Jade reached up and grabbed her wrist. She wrestled with the redhead until she finally managed to grab hold of the knife and slice into Pamela's shoulder.

"Ah!" Pamela shirked, instinctively gripping her shoulder, and now that she was distracted sufficiently, Jade was able to flip their position so that she was the one pinning Pamela into the mud.

But she didn't maintain the upper hand for long.

She moved to stab Pamela again, but instead, someone new entered the fight, and a fist out of nowhere connected with Jade's jaw. She landed hard, with Pamela's knife flying from her hand.

"That's for taking my knife," Helena growled, shaking out her wrist and stalking closer.

Jade gritted her teeth and bit back the pain as she tried to get to her feet — only to fall back again while strangling a cry; her new injury was not going to allow adrenalin to overrule it for a second time.

"Enough," Helena said quietly as she lifted her bow and took careful aim. "We're done here."

 _"Fat chance,"_ Jade thought to herself. And then, all in one motion, she forced herself up and yanked the arrow out of her leg from the way it entered, not caring enough to worry about the effects of lasting damage.

Helena muttered a curse as Jade made an almost impossible leap toward her, and she found herself as Jade's newest wrestling partner. They grappled, mud flying everywhere as they pushed each other in violent circles. Helena, trying to wrestle while holding onto her bow, was at a disadvantage. But this wasn't like the bloodbath, when Jade had simply been trying to get away. No, this time Jade wanted Helena dead, along with Pamela and Harley. Her knife might be still lying in the mud where Helena knocked it, but after yanking an arrow out of her leg, she sure wasn't defenseless. She moved to stab her opponent, but Helena used the underside of her crossbow to block it.

And then Jade got an idea so much sweeter than death.

She moved to swipe the sharp edge of the arrowhead across Helena's face — or, at least, that's what she let the girl in question believe. Helena ducked to avoid having her eye sliced through, but she left the top of her crossbow exposed and thus in a perfect position for Jade to destroy Helena's precious weapon using her own arrow.

As the arrowhead sliced through the cable, it flew free of its normally tight pull and smacked its owner it the face like a hard whip, also catching Jade's cheek with the frayed end. With Helena now crying out from both the pain and the shock of what had happened, Jade was finally able to push her down into the mud with a splash.

Then, as if her legs hadn't taken enough of a beating, her good one went numb, and she collapsed.

Bewildered, Jade looked everywhere around her, but Helena and Pamela were dealing with their injuries, Harper was still caught in her trap, and although Harley was standing right in front of her, she was looking just as perplexed as Jade was herself.

"Um…" Harley hummed, her head cocked to one side like an inquisitive puppy. "Didja step on somethin or...?" She cut herself off, her eyes suddenly set on Jade's leg. Jade followed her gaze just in time to catch the sight of a brown-ish circle scurrying away from her and climbing up into the leg of Harley's pants, emerging on her shoulder just a few seconds later to reveal itself as a spider.

Harley looked at it out of the corner of her eye, and Jade was expecting her to scream just based on how confused she looked, but of course, Harley Quinn never did what you're expecting.

"Petey?!" she asked… the spider; she was definitely talking to the spider, in shock.

"Petey?" Jade echoed, because what the actual hell was happening here?

But Harley ignored her. "Did _you_ do that?!" Her jaw dropped before it split into a proud grin, and she picked up the spider and held it out in front of her, gushing like a mother whose child had just presented her with a handmade gift. "Well aren't you just full of surprises!" Harley went on squealing, bouncing on her toes with excitement.

While Harley squealed and cheered with pride, Jade glanced around for Pamela and Helena, mostly to make sure that they weren't coming up behind her. But they were still distracted by their injuries, although Pamela had now moved to help Helena, who appeared almost paralyzed by the loss of her crossbow.

"Oh, where are my manners?" Harley suddenly asked, sounding almost scandalized, as she turned her attention back to Jade, and thus Jade's attention back to her. "This is Petey," she said, as though that would explain all of this… this weirdness. "Petey, this is…" She stopped then; eyes squinted, one finger tapping thoughtfully against her chin. "Cheshire Cat, right?" she asked, though she didn't wait for an answer. "That's what you're supposed to look like?" Jade growled and tried to get up, but her good leg wasn't responding at all to her commands, and if that meant her bad leg was now her good leg… well, she was in trouble. "Petey, this is Cheshy," Harley went on, as though they weren't in the middle of a one vs. three deathmatch. Jade really couldn't tell which she hated more — the ridiculous nickname or the fact that she couldn't get up and kill Harley while she was distracted.

Probably the nickname, if she had to pick.

"I found Petey here all alone in the swamp!" Harley regaled as if it were a crime for a spider to be alone in the middle of the wilderness. "So I've been lookin' after him; he's just such a darlin'! Keeps me smilin' and all that. I figured his bite would probably do somethin', but I never thought he could freeze your whole leg!" She happily squealed with a rather disturbing grin spreading across her face. Panting, Jade tried to force herself onto her feet, but it was no use.

"So what?" she asked Harley, trying to steer the topic away from her pet spider, who had by now scurried back to her shoulder. "You're going to finish what your boyfriend started?"

"Ha!" Harley barked out a laugh, at the assumption. "Silly me, you've been wandering tha arena with Egghead over there for company, haven'tcha?" she more said than asked, gesturing up to Harper, who was still trapped, and had by some miracle not yet passed out from the blood rushing to her head as she struggled to free herself.

Judging by the smirk Harley gave her, Jade could guess that she wasn't too worried.

Frankly, Jade couldn't blame her.

"No, I'm through wit' that clown; different interests and things like that."

"So, you're not going to kill me?" Jade asked doubtfully, "You're just going to let me sit here until I die of starvation?"

"Don't be silly," Harley replied as she took a few steps closer, stopping when she was just in front of Jade and holding her bat to her chin as though it were a knife. "I ain't that stupid, Cheshy."

"Such a shame," Pamela mused thoughtfully, walking up next to Harley with one hand still gripping her injured shoulder. "She's such a pretty kitty."

"Yeah…" the psychotic blonde drawled in agreement. "But she's got claws." With those words, she brought up her bat, the look in her eyes that of pure satisfaction. She could claim she wasn't doing it for Joker all she wanted, but that expression on her face was one that she learned from him. "Batta up!" she yelled out with a sick smile — and that was the last straw for Jade. She was not going out of these Games via having her brain smashed out.

Calling upon all her remaining strength Jade toppled herself into Harley's legs full force and knocked the other girl down, sending her bat flying.

Everything that came next happened in a blur.

There was a mix of shouts, two of them definitely from Harley and Jade themselves, and the third from either Helena or Pamela. Jade figured it was the latter of the two, based on the blurs of red hair that appeared in her vision as someone tried to yank her off of Harley. There was also maniacal laughter; that was definitely coming from Harley. At some point in the scuffle, Jade felt her right arm going numb, and so she pulled her left arm free of Harley's grip to swat at it.

 _Crunch_.

That was when the blur suddenly cleared.

There was goop, spider guts to be specific, covering Jade's left hand. Pamela had frozen — so had Harley, both with shocked expressions. It was both slowly and all too fast that Harley's dropped jaw morphed into a snarl of rage, and with a furious scream, she was plowing Jade back into the ground; her hands back on her neck.

As she went back down, Jade's blood ran cold — because out of the corner of her eye, she managed to catch a glimpse of Harper finally free and running toward the fight.

"Run!" she choked out through Harley's grip without even thinking about it, though she couldn't tell if even the blonde on top of her had heard, let alone Harper. "Run!" she called again, as best she could. Harper had to go; she just had to.

As her vision turned to black and she felt herself getting lightheaded, everywhere but her throat going numb, Jade knew that this was it for her. She couldn't fight. Harper couldn't take on all three of these nutcases in order to save her, and even if she could, what good would it do? With only one functioning arm and two useless legs Jade wasn't going to be going on in these Games even if she did survive this fight.

"Harper!" she wheezed with what could very well be her last gasp of air. "Go!"

She failed the Games.

She failed Garfield.

She failed Artemis.

She failed Red.

So as the pain in even her throat started to turn numb and her vision turned from black to white, Jade let herself go with the hope that maybe, just maybe, she didn't fail Harper.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders

14\. Jade Nguyen, District Ten Female: Killed by Harley Quinn


	88. Chapter 87: Riddle Me This

**(A/N): Happy Friday, everyone! We're back with some more amazing ladies, this time with Pamela Isley and her alliance and the aftermath of the previous chapter.**

 **Thanks again to the authors who reviewed this most recent chapter and to Slim Summers2002 for your reviews on the latest chapters. Your support means the world!**

* * *

 **Chapter Eighty-Seven - Riddle Me This**

 **Day Six**

 **Pamela Isley of District Eleven**

 **Written by Abby Well**

* * *

 _"Everywhere the devil spits, poison ivy grows."_

 _Alan Chadwick_

* * *

"Pamela?"

"Ivy."

She was Ivy now, Poison Ivy, like Falcon had said. The note she'd received from him the previous night hadn't seemed like much at the time, just encouragement from a mentor who barely knew anything about her — but the more she'd thought about it, the more she'd realized that perhaps a drastic change was necessary for her own survival.

Between the snatches of sleep she'd caught after the nightly light show was over, and during her shift keeping watch, she'd decided. 'Pamela' was weak, acquiescent, too soft and quiet for the arena. She couldn't afford to be like that anymore, not at this stage of the Games. Every night when she saw the faces in the sky, she was reminded of their numbers dwindling as each day passed. She didn't want to be up there among the rest of them, shining in the sky like a strange moon.

Their fight that morning, and watching Harley deal the killing blow, had cemented the idea in her mind. She had yet to kill, and if she was going to survive, that would have to change.

"Right… Ivy. Any chance you could help me fix this?"

Carefully layering leaves into a new poultice for the cut on her shoulder, Ivy slowly lifted her head and fixed her gaze on Helena, continuing her task without looking at the wound. Helena was holding her broken crossbow aloft. Ivy raised an eyebrow. "And what do you expect me to do?"

Helena shrugged in frustration and tossed her crossbow on the ground. "I don't know; are there any strong vines around here? Something I can use for a string." She glared reproachfully at the unfortunate weapon, as if furious that it could betray her in such a way.

"Nothing that would handle the tension," Ivy commented, shaking her head gently. "Most likely, you'd literally shoot yourself in the foot." She gathered up the poultice and pressed it onto her shoulder, where the stinging of the wound subsided almost instantly, then rolled the sleeve of her t-shirt back down to hide the damage.

"I don't like not having a weapon." Helena continued to glower at the broken string but picked up the bow again, almost apologetically.

"I'm not stopping you from finding a new one."

"I know, I know." Helena finally let out an exasperated sigh and slung the wounded bow across her shoulder. "I should be concentrating on that." Almost immediately, she began scanning the area for ideas, and eventually, she smirked. "I don't suppose a turtle catapult would be very effective…"

Harley gave her a look. "You can't be talkin' about shooting turtles around…"

Ivy cleared her throat. "We all know what the best place around here to find a weapon is."

Helena frowned at her for a moment, then shook her head. "Not unless you have something to keep the tracker jackers away." She unconsciously scratched at the faint red circles left behind by the stings she'd received during the bloodbath.

"Do you doubt me that much, Miss Wayne?" Ivy asked, smiling slyly. She reached into one of her pockets and pulled out a handful of tiny seed pods, each smaller than a fingernail. "Spread these on your skin. I can't guarantee that all the tracker jackers will be put off, but it's better than nothing." She shared the pods between the three of them, crushing hers easily between her palms with a practiced move and spreading the resultant sludge-colored residue over her exposed skin. It gave off a pungent tang and felt almost like the exfoliant Gypsy had used on her back in the Capitol.

Harley made a face, sticking out her tongue. "This stinks," she grumbled, but she still did what Ivy said and rubbed the seeds everywhere she could reach. Her face looked very strange, the last scraps of her white makeup mingling with dark greens and browns.

Helena stared at the seeds for a minute, sniffing at them and poking them with her fingers. "Interesting. There's something citrusy about it, isn't there?" Mimicking Ivy's move, she crushed the seeds and went to work. On her face, she drew sweeping lines across her cheeks, leaning over to see her reflection in the swamp.

Ivy didn't respond at first, instead dipping her hands into the water close by and rinsing them as best she could. "They're a variant of lemongrass," she said eventually. "We used to make candles out of it back in Eleven, to keep the bugs out of the house in summer." She suddenly looked off into the distance with a faraway expression on her face, remembering long evenings spent making candles with Moss while Yarrow cooked a meager dinner. She'd liked to dip her fingers in the wax and peel it off her skin like petals, no matter how many times Moss told her not to. He'd always relent, though, and help her fashion flowers from it to stick around her bedroom. _Roses 'round the door._

"Wazzit like there?" Harley asked, shuffling closer like a little girl sitting at her mother's feet for storytime. Helena stayed where she was.

"Warm, mostly. It gets cold in winter, but I don't remember ever seeing it snow. Good for the crops, not so much for the people. Harvest time was different for us; we weren't heading for the end of the year, but for a time when we'd have less work to do in the heat." Ivy smirked. "I never worked in the fields, though. Just my garden."

"You had your own garden?" Helena chimed in incredulously, eyebrows raised.

Ivy snapped her head around and suddenly fixed her with the gaze of a predator protecting its young — steady, unblinking, the sunlight reflecting off the swamp water giving her eyes an otherworldly shine. "It was _mine_ ," she ground out. "Nobody else cared about it. Nobody understood it like I did; they didn't think the plants were worth growing. They would have let it die if…" Her voice trailed off as a horrible thought struck her. When she spoke again, the words were barely audible, a harsh whisper. "Of course, it's probably dead now." Abruptly, she stood up and walked away.

The girls glanced at each other, then back to Ivy. She'd stopped a little way off and was bracing herself against a tree with one arm. As they watched, they saw the fingers of her other hand curl and clench into a fist.

"Red?" Harley ventured, biting her bottom lip. "Honey? Y'okay?"

 _They're dead. My children are dead because I had to leave them behind._ Ivy gritted her teeth, aware of the cameras in the trees even if she couldn't see them, and how stupid it would look to the Capitolites if she started crying over some plants.

 _But it's not stupid, is it? They're your babies._

 _It's stupid to show weakness, though._

She took a deep breath and reached up behind her head, tugging at something, then letting her mud-streaked hair tumble down over her shoulders. Despite not having been washed properly for almost a week, it only smelled pleasantly earthy and reassuring. It was a curtain that shielded her from the stares of the other girls. She twirled some strands of red around her fingers, thinking, trying to be rational. _Maybe they didn't let the garden die. Maybe Moss and Yarrow volunteered, or someone else had to take over._ The Poison Patch was important for trade with the Capitol; they wouldn't just let it wither to nothing, would they?

 _Would they?_

When she turned back around to face the other girls, there were no signs on her face that she'd been upset. "So. Tesseract?"

Harley and Helena exchanged another look. "Are you sure?" Helena asked carefully.

Ivy scowled. "I'm fine."

"Pamela…"

 _"Ivy."_

Helena nodded quickly. "Ivy. Sorry. It's just that you seem a bit… on edge."

"All the better for walking through a swamp full of people who want to kill us, I think." Ivy splashed her way towards them and began to gather up her healing supplies to stow away in her pockets. "I'll be more prepared. Now, stop looking at me like I might explode, and let's move." She stared pointedly at the others.

"Which way?" Harley piped up.

Rather than answering, Ivy stalked off into the trees, letting the other two catch up with her. As she walked, her hands reached out and picked any useful plants she saw, storing them in the many pockets of her pants. Helena fell into step beside her, while Harley trailed behind, humming something sultry under her breath.

They walked in silence for a while, treading carefully as always. It was another hot and sticky day, and Ivy longed to take off her shoes and feel the water on her skin rather than soaking into her pants, even if she knew it was probably a bad idea. Things with teeth lurked below the surface. She took another wary step, then realized there wasn't anything beneath her and moved her foot to the left, onto solid ground. "Watch out there," she murmured to Helena.

"Do you know where you're going?"

Ivy didn't answer.

Helena sighed. "What's going on, Ivy? You're not usually this… impulsive."

The silence that followed her words was charged. "You don't know what I'm like," Ivy said eventually, keeping her tone noticeably even.

"Maybe I don't know it all, but I know enough." Helena wasn't going to rise to the bait. "Did something happen? Was it the fight?"

"It doesn't matter." Ivy pushed some hanging branches aside and resisted the urge to let them smack into the other girl's face.

"What?" Helena persisted. "Was it something last night, while I was hunting?"

Sighing, Ivy stopped dead and turned to face her companion. She was standing on top of a tree root that arched up out of the water, making her appear taller than usual. She got the feeling that Helena didn't like being looked down on. "It was nothing. I got reminded of some things I'd rather have forgotten, is all."

Helena's blue eyes narrowed peered as she at her skeptically, contrasting starkly with the dark streaks of mud and crushed seeds on her face. "What aren't you telling me, Ivy?"

"There's no fair way for me to answer that, Helena. If you think I'm lying to you, how would you know if I were telling the truth?"

"Not lying," Helena said levelly. "Just not telling me everything."

Ivy's eyes flashed. "Like you tell us everything?"

They stared at each other long enough for Harley to catch up. Eventually, Helena nodded, a mild smirk on her face. "Fair enough." She glanced off in the distance and back to Ivy. "Just remember to use your anger; don't let it use you."

Ivy snorted as she turned away and started off again. "You sound like the trainers in the Capitol. Plan your moves. Don't get distracted. Don't lose control."

"Be ready for anything!" Harley chimed in from behind them in a serious tone, mimicking the clipped accent of the Capitol with surprising accuracy. "You're all going to be on your own!" She giggled, then switched back to her own voice. "Figures none of 'em saw us comin', ain't that how it always is, gorgeous?" She hooked her bat into her pants and put an arm around each of them, smacking a quick kiss against their temples one after the other.

"Of course they didn't; we're only _girls,_ after all, and none of us Careers, either." Ivy wriggled free of Harley's grasp so she could step onto slightly more even ground as they walked among the trees. She kept one hand wrapped around the handle of her knife while the other trailed through the plants and bushes she passed. If she'd been able to close her eyes without the risking of tumbling to the ground, she might have imagined that she was back in her garden on a warm summer day, wandering through the flowerbeds, surrounded by the familiar and comforting. She'd always felt more in tune with her children when she walked among them — her skilled hands could immediately tell if one of their leaves or stems felt too brittle, too dry, too…

 _Oily?_

She stopped abruptly, causing Harley to crash into her with a yelp. "What's goin' on, Red? You ain't stuck, are ya?"

"Something's wrong," Ivy murmured softly, barely audible to the others. "Can't you feel it?"

" _Feel it_? What are you saying?" Helena asked, looking completely baffled.

Ivy shushed her impatiently and crouched down to look at the last plant she'd touched. It seemed perfectly alright at first glance, but if she leaned closer, she could detect a strange sheen on the leaves that shouldn't have been there, and when she inhaled, her nose was assaulted by a pungent smell that reminded her of tractor fumes hanging over the fields during harvest time. The smell was so overpowering it burned the back of her throat as she gently cradled the fragile plant in her hand. "Poor baby… what happened to you?"

"Look." Helena was pointing ahead, her mouth in a tight line. When the girls turned to follow her gaze, they could see the swamp water shining with unusual rainbow colors, spreading out in swirls from around their feet. Pamela recalled the bath she'd taken in the Capitol under Barda's watchful gaze and felt an unexpected tug at her heartstrings, but then her expression hardened. How dare the Gamemakers do this? The plants had done nothing wrong, yet they were being choked, poisoned, drowned in oil, and why? Was it supposed to make the swamp more dangerous, stop them from drinking the water? It wouldn't make very good television if the three of them just died from dehydration; something else had to be going on. "They're sick," she growled, anger and sadness twisting her beautiful features as she took it all in. "They can't breathe…"

Harley crouched down and ran her fingers through the rainbow water, playing with the swirling colors. "It's kinda pretty…"

"It's _deadly_ ," Ivy spat out. "It's killing everything." She raised her head and glared upward through a gap in the canopy, hoping the eyes in the sky could see her fury. "Stop it, Harley." Her voice snapped like a broken twig.

Looking reproachful, Harley stood up again and put her hands behind her back. "Sorry, Red." She might have been about to say something else, but her attention was caught, and she was suddenly off again, darting into the undergrowth. "Hey, lookit! It's anutha one'a those riddle thingies…" When she straightened up, the others got a good look at the glowing box in her hand, decorated with a familiar green question mark.

"That can't be good." Helena looked both angry and concerned as she approached Harley and peered at the box.

Dragging herself back to the present, Ivy joined them. "How do we activate it? Are we supposed to push a button or something?"

"No idea…" Helena murmured thoughtfully, but then they all jumped as the box began to speak on its own. The voice was the same one they'd all heard before the bloodbath, when they'd been trapped in the darkness with no idea of what was coming.

" **Inside a burning house, this thing is best to make** ," the voice intoned. There was a mischievous edge to its words, almost as if it were goading them. _Come on, ladies. Bet you can't figure me out fast enough. I'm so much smarter than you._ " **And best to make it quickly, before the fire's too much to take**."

The three girls glanced at each other, then back at the box. "Well, that don't sound like much of a joke to me!" Harley cried, but neither Helena nor Ivy even smiled, and she quickly fell silent.

"What was that, about making things in burning houses?" Ivy asked.

"No idea," Helena repeated with shake of her head, ponytail swinging. She took the box from Harley and turned it over in her hands, perhaps looking for a way to make the riddle repeat itself, but found nothing. "I mean, you can't make anything in a burning house. That's kind of the whole deal with fire."

"Maybe… escape?" _Did you 'make' an escape? Did that even make sense?_ Ivy had suddenly decided that she hated riddles.

"I don't know…" Helena frowned. "I don't think so. The last one was a hint about what was coming, and they wouldn't give us a way to escape now." She glanced around quickly, unable to hide the flash of hope in her eyes. "Would they?"

Harley snatched the box back, tossing it from one hand to the other like the baseball her bat had long been missing. "Well, whaddaya make in a house?"

"Wrong question," Ivy remarked. "What do you do if there's a fire?"

There was a short pause.

"Run."

"Dance round it in yer skivvies!"

"Put it out."

"Fan it!"

"Not _helping_ , Harley," Helena snapped through gritted teeth. Harley giggled.

"Okay, run." Ivy latched onto that, trying to get them back on track. The riddle was helping to distract her from the horrible destruction surrounding them. "Is there another way of saying that? Something that includes the word 'make'?"

Helena mumbled something under her breath, her elegant eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "Haste," she said aloud after a careful pause. "You make haste, but I still don't get how—"

"Yeow!" The box in Harley's hands had suddenly burst into flame. Harley yelped in pain and instinctively dropped it.

In that horrible moment, time itself seemed to slow down. Ivy watched the green box fall to the earth like a meteorite, a tail of bright flame streaking behind it, and then it was too late for her to stop Helena's foot from instinctively kicking the box away across the swamp.

The fire exploded unbearable heat in all directions, destruction claiming everything for its own. All around, leaves were crumbling, branches falling into the burning water, flowers and fruit blackening into dust. The air was filled with the whoosh and crackle of flame and the screeching of hidden animals trying desperately to get to safety — and rooted in the center of it all was a green-skinned young woman with fire shining in her eyes.

Ivy stood frozen in her shock and anger, watching the world burn in excruciating slow motion. It all felt very far away, though she could feel the waves of heat growing more intense as they closed in on all sides, swamp water bubbling up around her legs, hotter and hotter. But it wasn't the arena that was burning; it was her own garden, all the children she'd worked so hard to raise and care for, helping them grow and thrive… they were all going up in smoke. All of them. She vaguely heard someone yelling to her, but it wasn't important now.

They were dead, and the Gamemakers were merciless. All these lives, snuffed out like they meant nothing to anyone. At least tributes knew it was coming.

How could they do this? How could she—

" _Move,_ Red! C'mon!"

She suddenly became aware that someone was tugging on her arm and turned her head slowly to look at Harley. The blonde was standing beside her, pulling her incessantly, trying to get her to move and start running away.

At the sight of her friend's terrified face, Ivy's world snapped back into focus.

She took Harley's hand, and they ran. Helena was in front, leading the way through the burning trees. Smoke stung their eyes and choked their lungs, flames licked at their heels, and Ivy wasn't entirely sure she couldn't hear someone laughing… but she held on tight and kept going, tripping and stumbling through the undergrowth to what she hoped would be safety. As the swamp around them blurred into a mass of green and orange, Harley's hand quickly became the only tangible thing in existence.

She didn't know how long they'd been running, or how far they'd gone. The fire ate its way through the swamp voraciously, narrowing the path they could take until they were forced to go single-file. Ivy slipped through a gap between two tree trunks and heard something snap above her head. Without warning, she spun around, pulled Harley close, and fell backward into the water. Seconds later, a huge branch followed in their wake, narrowly missing the two of them.

The swamp was murky and dark, and for a horrible moment, Ivy couldn't work out where Harley was, but then their fingers met and clasped each other's tight. They surfaced together, spluttering, and stared up at the fire that still burned but didn't come any closer. The Gamemakers must have been able to control it so that it was contained within that part of the arena; otherwise, it would spread throughout the whole swamp.

Ivy stood up shakily, pulling Harley upright beside her, and the two of them traipsed through the water to the nearest piece of land. Harley sat down and began to inspect her palms for burns, but Ivy fell back onto the ground, digging her hands into the soft, cool mud and closing her eyes.

It was there that she let herself feel it. Tears welled up and slid down her cheeks, pooling in her ears and soaking her hair. Her chest ached for her garden, for the lives that had been lost. How could the Gamemakers do it? Didn't they know that every single plant who had burned to nothing deserved to live? Didn't they _know_?

"What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Ivy opened her eyes and saw the fuzzy outline of Helena standing above her. She blinked the tears away, and the girl took shape properly.

"When there's fire, you run. You _run_ , Ivy! You could be dead right now!" Helena was more than angry, and Ivy didn't like being so far beneath her. She got to her feet and met her furious gaze head on.

"I'm _sorry,"_ she said. The rage in her own voice was barely leashed. Helena didn't understand. She didn't know what it was to raise something from infancy only to have it destroyed in front of you. A small part of her knew the trees and plants in the swamp didn't really belong to her, but it didn't feel that way right then. The green was the same. The grief was the same. "You didn't have to wait for me."

"Of course we did! We're a _team,_ " Helena growled through clenched teeth. "Unless you don't want us to be?" she added accusingly.

Ivy wondered idly if Helena might try and hit her. She couldn't honestly say which one of them would win that fight, if it came down to it at that moment — not when her blood was frothing and boiling in her veins, fueled by fury. She took a deliberate step back and wiped her muddy hands on her pants, then started to smooth down her wet hair. Every small movement was calculated, so she didn't lose control and do something she would regret later.

"We're in this together for as long as we can be," she said. _Soothe the savage beast._ "This alliance is what's keeping me alive."

Helena glared at her. "That Southern belle charm won't work on me. You're the only one of us who hasn't killed yet." She leaned closer and muttered her next words under her breath, so only Ivy could hear them. "I'm not stupid — I can see it in your eyes, when you think we aren't looking. We could have all died back there because of you, and I'm not sure you would have cared."

Ivy turned away and crossed to the other side of their little island without speaking. There, she sat with her back to the others, staring out at the blackened trees. Stripped of their leaves, they looked saddened, dressed for a funeral.

Helena wasn't entirely correct in her assessment. Ivy did care; if she didn't, she wouldn't be there. It was true that the other girls were protecting her, but who had been the one to heal their wounds, show them how to find things to eat, protect them from more insect bites and stings? She didn't like the implication that she would do all that then turn around and ditch their alliance when the Gamemakers tried to kill them all. She wasn't playing them, using them for their knowledge. She wanted to work with them. Safety in numbers aside, they'd proven to be successful so far.

Ivy reached down and brushed some dirt aside, revealing a tiny green shoot sprouting from the earth. She coaxed it around her fingertip and gently stroked the soft, delicate stem between finger and thumb.

It was true she did care about the other girls, but as the Games continued and more and more faces appeared in the sky each night, she had begun to wonder. If it came down to it, would she be able to kill them? Would they want to kill her? She glanced behind her — Helena and Harley were talking in low voices. Harley looked worried.

 _Harley._ What was it about that girl? There was clearly something, something that made her feel protective. She had saved her, back there, dived into the water with her without a second thought.

 _I bet that made good viewing._

Thinking about the Capitol watching their every move, placing bets on what they might do next or who would die first, made the anger rise in her again. How dare they destroy this beautiful place for the sake of entertainment? She almost clenched her fists, then remembered the defenceless sprout between her fingers.

Looking down at it, she couldn't help but smile, and suddenly, her rage subsided. That was the thing about plants; they survived. You could try and burn them all away, but something would cling stubbornly to life, working its way back to its former glory.

"They can bury me in the ground as deep as they like, but I'll grow back," she whispered, stroking the stem gently. It was an old Eleven saying that her father liked to use when he was forced to work his fingers to the bone in the fields. "We always grow back, don't we, baby?"

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Harper Row

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by kryptonite

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker mutts

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders

14\. Jade Nguyen, District Ten Female: Killed by Harley Quinn


	89. Chapter 88: Mousetrap

**(A/N): Happy Tuesday! We've got another peek into the fallout from our ladies' group clashing, with pekuxumi and Harper Row ;)**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed; keep up the support and love! :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Eighty-Eight - Mousetrap**

 **Day Six**

 **Harper Row of District Two**

 **Written by pekuxumi**

* * *

 _Send in your skeletons_

 _Sing as their bones go marching in, again_

 _The need you buried deep_

 _The secrets that you keep are ever ready_

 _Are you ready?_

Foo Fighters — "Pretender"

* * *

"Move," Harper muttered, though by now, no sound made it across her lips. " _Move._ "

It just wasn't fair. She did not deserve this. Harper did not deserve to watch Jade die in front her. To watch anyone she had grown to like die in front of her. She had done _nothing_ to deserve this.

"Move."

It was nothing but a soundless flow of air. No voice, no vigor, no strength. She was empty, it seemed, even empty of words and sounds. And what was there to say, honestly? Jade was dead. Caitlin was dead. She was alone, again; no one listened to her anymore.

It was the procedure, the simple feeling of pursing her lips to form an 'm' sound when her weight pressed upon her right foot and then feeling her lower lip touch her teeth for a potential 'v' when her left foot touched the ground.

"Move."

If she stopped uttering the word, maybe Harper would stop moving. Because between the 'm' and the 'v', one foot in the air, she was dangerously close to seeing the fury in Kaldur's eyes again or the desperation in Harvey's. Her whole body needed to focus on one thing, moving, to get way from Helena, Harley and Pamela. To get to the Tesseract and build another trap, preferably one that didn't randomly explode, as Jade had wanted. To help both of them survive.

 _Ha_.

Harper didn't know how long she had been walking. How long since Jade died, and she had run away from the crime scene? Were the tributes following her? It was possible. She wouldn't know. She didn't know how much distance she had made since running away or how long she had been moving.

The fog in her mind slowed down recognition, but a dash of color in the corner of her eye somehow wormed its way into her brain. Something of a lighter color set itself apart from the dark green, brown, and grayish surroundings she had grown so accustomed to.

As she willed herself to walk toward it and shook off her stupor, Harper recognized the remnants of one of the damn question mark pods.

Her stomach dropped. Oh, how she _hated_ these boxes by now.

But this riddle had already been solved; the pods had clearly opened, just like the one hiding the crocodile mutt, with the sides and the top opening and falling to the ground. Empty and harmless – at least at first glance – the construction of high-caliber plastic lay before her, and as Harper moved closer, she recognized a patch of grass she knew all too well. Here, she had met Jade and Caitlin for the first time. It was the pod containing the first aid kit over which the two girls had bonded.

Jade and Caitlin, both dead. Harper felt anger rising in her belly, a burning and impotent anger that forced her to change course and head toward the pod, urging to be let out in a stupid, violent way.

She reveled in this new high of emotions and action when her foot was caught up in a root, and she crashed down unceremoniously, face-first into the dirt. Her hands made a futile movement to catch the fall, but it was too little, too late.

Luckily, the ground was mostly soft mud, but nonetheless, her jaw hurt from the impact. It was where Harvey had hit her solidly, and days later, she still felt a numb pain throbbing when she ran, jumped, or — well — fell.

Harvey had hit her and called her a traitor. Harper couldn't even stand up as the memories filled her vision. She had stopped muttering the words, and now memories flooded her mind. He had called her a traitor, and then she had killed him, and only a few hours later, she had left Caitlin to die. And _then,_ she had done nothing to save Jade.

Lying on the ground, Harper stared at the remnants of the pod. Because of this one, Caitlin had believed the next one would be good news. Without it, Jade would never have talked to either of them ever during the Games, and she wouldn't have been caught in a trap.

 _Traitor_ , her brain screamed at her, ignoring the little voice in the far back of her head that kept insisting that there hadn't been anything she could have done.

 _Traitor!_

Harper curled into a ball and felt the tears brimming in her eyes. She swallowed hard. Right after she had entered the train that brought her to the Capitol, after her fallout with Viper, Harper had promised herself the Capitol wouldn't see her cry. If it all came to an end — if she had to kill, had to piss her pants, had to suffer a terrible death — _just don't let them see you cry._

It was a petty promise; crying didn't indicate weakness but emotions, Harper knew well. Not to cry in front of others was a false pretense of pride that didn't help anyone. But it had already brought her through the last five years of her life.

Herself and Cullen.

Well. Harper had cried her fair share, of course, but she had always hidden it from Cullen when it was about their father. If Harper cried after the random pushes, the drunken hits or the hurtful shouting, then Cullen wouldn't know that there was another way to deal with pain.

And she had taken care of it. Without crying in the open. Or during filing for legal emancipation. Or after the judge had only given Marcus an eight-year-sentence, which would mean he came out before Cullen was considered old enough to live alone.

 _He will be out before Cullen is legally an adult, and you are lying around in an arena full of kids who want to kill you._

She sniffled. One single tear had already made a wet trail across her cheek. She could totally still act as if she had to yawn and pass it of as that.

 _Or you can get the hell up and deal with this shit. Get back home to Cullen and help him through it._

Her limbs hurt. Her eyes, her jaw, her stomach. But no one else would be able help him get through the confrontation with her father if she died.

 _No one else will help him._

With a moan, Harper sat up and hugged her knees. This nightmare needed to stop. She needed to bring it to a stop. Hoping for a fire to take out Diana or quicksand to suck in Jack wasn't enough anymore.

Harper took a deep breath and contemplated the ramifications of her thoughts.

 _You're going to be a murderer_ , she told herself, her gaze focusing on the pod in front of her. _And_ you _are going to help me_.

She crawled forward and grabbed the edge of the pod, pulling it toward her. There was no resistance. _Didn't think so._ When she had stumbled upon Caitlin and Jade, Harper had begun wondering how the mechanisms worked. How did the Gamemakers hear that someone had asked for the riddle or even solved it? How did they activate the opening mechanism? Unfortunately, Harper had never gotten a chance to examine the pod; her tiredness had prevented her from thinking about it too much, back then.

But now, it was obvious that no cables connected the lower box board to the ground. As she turned and scrutinized the wood, her hands touched a small, unobtrusive piece of metal at one of the inner edges.

"Hello, beautiful..."

It was a tiny, flat piece of metal — copper, most likely. They had painted it with the same colors of the rest of the pod, and since it was attached to the interior of the box, no one was able to see it before the box opened.

There were two possibilities: Harper could try to break open the container and see what was inside — likely damaging it, if it contained what she suspected — or she could start to dig in the mud. Theoretically, the impulse giver couldn't be far away... and the boxes were placed strategically, not randomly.

So, Harper used one of her knives to pry off part of the pod. After a lot of swearing, a piece broke off. She started to dig into the mud right below where she had found the box. It only took a few seconds and a few handfuls of mud for the hole to fill up with dirty water. Harper grunted unhappily; as soon as she was out of this arena, she would make it a life choice to never get wet again. She was sure the Capitol had by now invented some sort of dry shampoo, and if not, _well_. She didn't like people that much, anyway.

The knife hit a hard piece within the watery hole. Harper drew back automatically, though no electrical shock hit her. Since the muddy water prevented her from seeing what was down there, Harper crawled a few feet away to a shrub. The swamp, teeming with life, presented her with a fat, green caterpillar soon.

Careful to not touch it directly, she carried the animal to her hole and dumped it into the water unceremoniously. As it struggled to stay afloat, she reached for the small device that had been attached to the box, placed it next to the hole, and muttered, "stitches."

For a few seconds, the caterpillar writhed hectically in painful movements until its skin suddenly broke, and the insect more or less exploded. The water was still only seconds later.

Harper looked at the greenish goo and smiled. Wireless impulse reactions.

"Nice."

* * *

It took a lot of willpower to go back to where this hell had started. As soon as Harper saw the first platform through the shrubbery, her stomach sank, and fear shot through her body. The Tesseract was out in the open. In the worst case scenario in her mind, one of the tributes was waiting in hiding to shoot her before she even reached the Tesseract.

 _Well, you wanted to end this one way or another._

As she made it to the clearing, the beauty of the Tesseract caught her breath. After days of muddy green and greenish mud, the glowing blue was a sight to behold, even during the day. Harper drank it in — who knew if she was ever going to see something so beautiful again?

It was strange and terrifying to step into the clearing and away from the shadows of the trees that had been her steady companions for so long. No arrow pierced her skin, no trap mechanism made a soft 'click' and blew her into pieces.

Same with the second step and the third. When Harper reached the nearest platform and nothing had happened so far, she relaxed a little bit. Only a few yards separated her from the remaining weapons and backpacks. Apparently, not all tributes had had their share of supplies while Harper was busy running away from anything, though she remembered a lot more weapons on display when she had stood on that platform. She also realized with disgust that the jacker nests had had days to grow and multiply. The buzzing was low; maybe the insects weren't as riled up as they had been during the launch. But they were there nonetheless, and Harper knew her chances of getting out without a sting were zero.

She made one further step toward the Tesseract, and immediately, the buzzing became louder, and some of the creatures rose into the air to defend their nests. She cursed and drew back — so much for comfort zones. There would be no way of getting closer without unleashing hell.

 _Think_ , she ordered herself. Food was high on her priority list, as well as conductive materials like copper or iron. Sealed pliers and rubber gloves to work with would be nice, but she couldn't imagine the Gamemakers thinking that far... until she realized that the Tesseract itself was lined with some rubber.

Slowly, she made it to the outer rim of the Tesseract and the gear station. The insects were angry, but none had attacked her yet. _Slow movements,_ she told herself as she got a knife out of her pocket and started working on the rubber. _Maybe they don't mind slow movements…_

Her theory was proven wrong quickly when a sudden buzz beneath her ear and a painful sting made her yelp and jerk at the rubber. A long piece came off, but Harper didn't have the time to be happy about it; already, her shoulder felt twice its normal size, and the waves of well-known pain shook her body and crawled up her neck and into her brain.

Her reaction had set off other insects; the buzzing was louder and more chaotic at once. Harper stuffed the rubber into her pants pocket hastily and pushed her palm against the sting — it didn't help much with the pain, but it reassured her that no, her shoulder hadn't actually swollen that much.

There was no more time to lose. The hallucinations would start soon, triggered by one sting or several. They hurt tremendously and made her legs wobbly — and if Harper had any say in any of this, she was not going to fall down right here and let her fate be 'death by insects'. Instead, she focused on a backpack the farthest away from the swarm, pulled up the zipper of her jacket as high as possible, and swallowed hard.

 _Go!_

The insects flew past her the second she darted forward. A few hit her but bounced off; a second sting in her calf made her stumble.

" _Gargh_ ," she panted as she dropped to her knees in front of the backpack heavily. She grabbed the bag in a greedy motion and flung it across her shoulder, hitting a few insects in the process.

Blindly, she sprinted to the next bag and almost fell forward right into a set of knives when various stings hit her back and made it convulse in shock.

Hurriedly, Harper began to grab for everything she could reach and shoved it into the backpack, not really paying attention to what it was. The cannon was about to go off, she knew, and had to hurry; otherwise, another one of her friends was dead, and it was her fault for not moving quicker.

She slapped her left arm and crushed one insect before it could bite her. Then, she saw a backpack a few feet from her and grabbed it as well. Maybe it was the leftovers of the first med kit? Caitlin and Jade wouldn't mind; they had used the sewing kit already and didn't need the lotions and band-aids... and Jade wouldn't use band-aids if her life depended on it. Harper smirked and was about to make a comment to her companion, but before Jade could snark back, a sting on her cheek made Harper gasp for air.

 _Run! Run! Run!_ Her mind screamed at her, and she bolted away, fell from the Tesseract into the murky and disgusting water — and she somehow had the presence of mind to dive in the shallow water that gave her a little protection from the tracker jackers. After a few strides, her knees hit the ground, and Harper broke through the surface again, still hearing the buzzing of the insects above her.

She rushed past the platforms and then was out of the clearing, running through the shrubbery. The tracker jackers were behind her; she heard the buzzing and felt their little legs upon her, crawling and digging and looking for a place to sting.

As she ran aimlessly, the swamp morphed into scary, shapeless figures. Branches reached out to grab her, and a couple of times, Harper jumped over rope traps in the water. Each time, she yelled out to warn Jade, who was behind her all the time, until Harper remembered that the crocodile mutt was still on their trail and maybe had good ears. She needed to be quieter.

Motioning for Jade, she slowed down, not sure if the dark blotches on her vision were actual movements in the forest or the tracker jacker venom taking hold of — _the tracker jackers!_ For a second, Harper had actually forgotten what exactly she was running from, and luckily, no buzzing and stinging had followed her so deep into the woods.

Snorting a laugh, Harper turned to Jade to tell her about her forgetfulness... but there was no other tribute behind her. Harper blinked a couple of times and looked over her shoulders. Jade was gone. There wasn't anybody around.

 _She's dead, you idiot!_ The realization hit her suddenly, and Harper gasped. Jade was dead; there was no way she had followed her to the Tesseract and back. Feeling very alone all of sudden, Harper felt as if the trees were growing and towering over her, and the steady, annoying noises of the swamp grew unbearably loud.

"No, no... _oh God_ ," Harper whispered as she clasped her hands over her ears, only to be reminded of the painful sting on her cheek. She hissed, but that movement hurt as well. Harper's fingers drew a line over the sting, feeling it swell and burn and fester. She was all alone, and everything hurt, and she still _felt_ Jade by her side, _damnit!_

Doubling over in the knee-deep water, Harper strained to see her reflection, to gain back at least the smallest of reassurance — but when the water finally stilled enough, her face was split right in the middle. The side of the sting was burned and scarred horrendously, and the other side had turned into a terrible, grinning grimace spewing out the word TRAITOR! TRAITOR! TRAITOR! into the water while the muscles around the scarred eye twitched and convulsed and—

Harper staggered backward and fell into the water with a high-pitched "NO!" _This isn't real; this is the tracker jackers' work,_ she thought to herself. Her face was fine, and she needed to calm down. But as she tried to relax, another pair of eyes met hers, right where Harvey's twisted face had taken over hers seconds ago.

There was Kaldur, floating in the water in the terrible condition she had left him. The wounds had begun to fester by now, yet his eyes still stared at her in the same angry, disappointed way that had burned itself into her brain.

"Harper..." he moaned as he floated closer, unimpressed at how she backed away. The hand that came close was already black and necrotic. It didn't make sense; why wasn't he dead yet?

Harper felt her heart beating painfully in her chest as he crawled closer with inhuman, spider-like movements. Had he survived all the while, suffering and helpless and scared? But Harper had seen his face in the sky, right? Her mind provided images of Kaldur and threw them into different surroundings, not helping her in the least. All she knew was that there was Kaldur, close to drowning, obviously in pain, but his mind set on reaching her.

"I'm sorry!" she yelled, kicking water into his direction. " _I'm sorry!_ The bomb went off too soon! It wasn't my fault!"

But instead of stopping, Kaldur reached for her again and opened his mouth, but instead of a hoarse sound, a giant spider crawled out, similar to the one Harley had brought to their little rendezvous. Feeling herself lose against the panic, Harper turned around and darted away.

A few yards away, with Kaldur still at her heels, there were tree roots elevating the ground to a dry patch. Harper hurried to climb up, but the grass she grabbed morphed into the strands of Caitlin's beautiful, blonde hair. Whimpering, Harper pulled at it nonetheless, hearing a female voice scream in the distance as a few strands came off bloody at the tops. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Harper sobbed, hating herself for touching and entangling her hands in Caitlin's bloody hair but too scared of the figure in the water to go any other way.

As she finally crawled on top of the bank and swung her legs out of the water, Harper froze mid-movement. Right next to her lay Harvey Dent, dead as a doornail, eyes still wide. The injured half of his face was closer to her; the knife she had stabbed him with had turned into a huge, jagged, and rusty sword.

Even in her venom-induced state, Harper noticed how deeply the sword had been buried in Harvey's chest; she must have rammed it into the ground beneath him. His bare feet and naked, bloody arms seemed obscene. He didn't move at all, yet his open, empty stare tore right through her.

 _Traitor._

A cannon fired. She didn't know which one of her allies it was for. Then, it fired again. And again.

Harper whimpered louder.

Behind her, Kaldur's wheezes and slow movements in the water made quiet yet steady noises. They were almost covered by the horrifying screams of Caitlin in the distance, begging for someone to save her.

Just as the fight went out of Harper completely, she noticed a shadow moving across Harvey's unmoving body in slow and steady circles. She didn't even need to look up to know it was Jade, hanging in the trap Helena, Harley, and Pamela had snared them in.

The trees moved closer, the branches higher and the noises louder. Harper knew she wouldn't escape this, ever. So she wrapped her arms around her knees and hid her eyes, feeling the tears run down her cheeks already. Another cannon boomed.

* * *

Harper didn't know when the hallucinations had stopped. Her clothes were relatively dry already, and the light of the sun was fading, so many hours must have passed. She was staring ahead numbly, lying on her side, and watched the patch of dry earth where Harvey's body lay before.

There was nothing; of course not. Through her headache, logic had returned and declared all of what she had seen as hallucinations caused by the tracker jacker venom and her guilty conscience. Yet, as she pulled herself into a sitting position, she half expected at least a crack in the earth where the sword had pierced it.

Harper rubbed her hands over her face tiredly, hissing when the sting in her cheek flamed up again. The pain helped her mind to focus, and with a groan, Harper pulled the two backpacks she had ransacked from the Tesseract in front of her.

She had had a lucky hit with the first one: it contained much-needed food, even though the smell of the beef jerky had made her still sensitive senses rile up and her throat gag. The sight of it triggered an image of Harvey's still face and Kaldur's necrotic wounds, so she quickly stuffed it away for later.

Then, with a more nervous movement, Harper ripped open the second backpack into which she had thrown what she had been able to grab at the Tesseract. She had shoved a lot of mud, she discovered with a sigh, and as she carefully washed the gear in the swamp water, she even ended up with a dried up piece of an abandoned tracker jacker nest in her hand, including a few half-rotten insects. The nest piece was as big as her fist, and as she stared at it, she congratulated the universe for its cynicism. Thanks to the tracker jackers, her mind had spun out of control much faster than she had anticipated; the remnants of Caitlin's and Jade's med kit hadn't existed at all, and in the end, the 'gear' she had stuffed in were parts of broken weapons, a dead nest of her newly acquired most hated enemy, and mud. A lot of mud.

Still it could've been worse, considering the state her mind had been in – thanks to the rubber band, she would be able to dig a trench to the water and safely relocate the cable feeding the impulse giver from the question mark pod. Also, she could use the conductive materials of the broken weapons for the trap and the rest as makeshift tools. There was enough gear to help amplify the shock, and if everything worked out, all Harper had to do was climb a tree far enough away and attach the device somewhere it could pick up her voice.

The last word any tribute who crossed her path would hear was going to be "stitches."

At this point, Harper didn't even care anymore who was going to die at her hands — they would show up in her dreams anyway, in an endless queue of painful memories and guilty conscience. Four people or six or twenty-three. Who even counted anymore?

Harper made her way back to her designated killing spot. After a few steps, she grabbed a piece of beef jerky and munched it down unceremoniously. Her stomach didn't lurch; her eyes didn't feel like watering up. Nothing inside of her moved or felt much anymore, actually.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Harper Row

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by kryptonite

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker mutts

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders

14\. Jade Nguyen, District Ten Female: Killed by Harley Quinn


	90. Chapter 89: Gum Up the Works

**(A/N): And we're back with our Friday update... and a peek into what's going on behind the scenes in several different places ;)**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed! We're really grateful for your continuing support :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Eighty-Nine - Gum Up The Works**

 **SHIELD Triskellion, Day Six of the 25th Games**

 **Director Nick Fury of SHIELD**

 **By Canucklehead Cowgirl and robbiepoo2341**

* * *

" _Remember that sometimes not getting what you want is a wonderful stroke of luck."_

— _Dalai Lama, No Title_

* * *

In retrospect, Fury realized, it would have been a miracle to have made it this far — and this close to the revolution — and not have run into some kind of a major problem or another.

It wasn't anywhere close to a time that he could take a break yet, but Fury was already pouring up a second round of bourbon. He had plenty left to get done before everything started in motion, and he was still trying to decipher which way some of the victors were going to ally. There wasn't time for all of these speed bumps. Especially with his timeline being shortened as much as it was.

Fury let out a long breath and tried to take a few minutes to simply remind himself that things were falling into place. Yes, there were issues arising out of unforeseen circumstances — like his daughter's impending meltdown and the fiasco that came out of sending Wilson back into Task Force X to find out how deeply Hydra's tentacles were embedded.

He was sure, from what he'd seen and heard so far, though, that even the incredibly hard-to-fool Amanda Waller's own department had been infiltrated, if not saturated, with Hydra operatives. What he didn't know yet was if Waller herself was involved or if it was just a matter of being in the wrong circle of associates.

At least the Games were keeping interest up — that was the one good thing he still had going for him: his best and biggest distraction. The president was always easier to deal with when he woke up to fresh death and conflict during the Games, and as far as that went, at least he was sure that Thanos was entertained. For now.

He turned to watch as the many screens in his office all played the different feeds that followed each of the tributes. Those that were still in the game were doing much better than they realized, and Fury couldn't help but watch as he considered how he could use the talent he saw — talents for leadership, for cunning, for diplomacy...

But his rare moment of time to contemplate how exactly he was going to pull off this monumental coup was short-lived when the door to his office buzzed a moment before his daughter walked in. And she was livid.

At first, she didn't even say a word, and Fury didn't open up communications either, instead electing to simply watch as she paced back and forth, glaring openly at him and obviously trying to decide where in her long list of grievances was the best place to start until he set the small device on his desk that killed all electronics. Then … then she was able to speak freely.

"You _tied_ my hands, snuffed one of my most intensively trained operatives and now … _now,_ one of my most valued operatives is _missing._ " She put her hands flat on his desk, glaring over the top of it at him. "You've been sabotaging my department, and I want to know why."

Fury watched her rant and rave, looking more murderous by the second. "Your department has been infiltrated by Hydra." He had his fingers laced together resting in front of himself. "You're being used, Amanda."

She paused just long enough to narrow her eyes at him. " _What?_ "

"You heard me," Fury said, narrowing his eyes slightly as he watched her — which meant that, in that moment, the two of them looked more alike than they had in years.

Almost immediately, Amanda resumed her angry pacing. "That can't be right," she said. "I've put too much work in to — where are you getting this from?" She spun to face him, the demand and threat clear in her tone.

"That's classified."

"Like hell it is!" Amanda shot back, stalking toward him until her hands were on the desk between them and she was leaned partway over it. "I've spent my entire career in SHIELD building up a team that can operate with impunity, and you're telling me it's been _compromised_? No. I'm going to need more than your usual hand-waving."

"You really think I'm going to tell you anything when you've been letting Hydra grow right under your nose?" Fury snapped, his voice raised to match hers. "Face it — you dropped the ball on this."

"So you started murdering and kidnapping my operatives instead of _telling me_ they were compromised?"

"I told you from day one that Kasady should never have been brought back," Fury said irritably. "And considering the fact that my intelligence puts most of your _handlers_ firmly on the side of Hydra, you need to take another good, long, _hard_ look at how much you're relying on them to keep your operatives in line and ask yourself — whose side will they be on when this is all said and done?"

Amanda leaned forward a little more on Fury's desk, watching him in furious silence for a long time before she let out a sort of scoffing noise and pushed back from her desk. "I'll fix this," she said at last, her tone still angry but now directed elsewhere.

"See that you do," Fury said.

She pushed back from the desk and headed for the door, though before she could leave, Fury called out to her once more.

"Amanda," he said — and it was the first name that stopped her, he knew. "If you can't salvage it, _get out_. And burn them before they take you down with them."

* * *

 **Skye**

 **Training Center**

* * *

Skye was pretty sure the detail she'd gotten from Coulson meant that he loved her — which meant he had more or less forgiven her for the Raina thing.

Of course, she was still wearing that stupid house arrest bracelet, but she had a feeling that was going to take longer to earn her way out of. It had only been a few days, after all. But if her gut feeling was right, with everything kicking into high gear around them, then the high-speed rush toward revolution might get her out of the doghouse faster because she was _needed_.

Either way, Skye was enjoying her new assignment: hanging out in the area where the victors were mingling with sponsors to try and decipher who it was that was drugging the newest victor. Sure, some of the sponsors were creepy as all get out, and she had about a million different theories on how nearly every single one of them was as evil as possible... but on the other hand, the victors were right there.

And so, so nice to look at.

She wasn't being a super creep like a _lot_ of the people around her — who were not being subtle at all about their intentions — but the thing was, a lot of the victors were about her age, and she was pretty sure there was nothing wrong with looking.

It was kind of her _job,_ after all.

She was enjoying her assignment, too, if she was being honest, even if it was a lot more cloak and dagger than she was used to. She kept her drink close to her — another perk of this particular duty. Keeping a drink on her. Because having a glass of expensive champagne helped keep her cover in the glorified cocktail party.

She was scanning the crowd, and half smiling to herself, when Peter Quill bumped into her with two drinks in his hands — and nearly spilled her drink. He muttered out a quick apology and gave her an almost nervous-looking smile, gesturing sheepishly with the two glasses before he rushed off, and Skye watched him go with a crooked smile until she saw that he was headed over to Logan.

The two young men were chatting between themselves, leaning on a high table on the far wall and not really paying much attention to the sponsors, though their aloof attitude seemed to be drawing the sponsors in all the same. Logan in particular seemed to barely keep his tablet in his possession for more than a few minutes before someone was punching in their information to donate, excited not only about the newest victor but about the high drama that both of the Wayne kids were creating on the screen with their alliances.

Which was kind of a problem when her job was supposed to be keeping an eye on everyone that interacted with him to see if people were being creepy. That was a _lot_ of people to keep an eye on.

Of course, that wasn't all she was doing. She took her time trying to get to nearly every table in the place to discreetly set a bug in the flowers or on the underside of the tables. Simple "wait and see" was moving a little too slow for the director with revolution so _very close_ , so it was time to step it up. The guy wanted to know who was on his side — and who was with the new player on the field with this stupid Hydra group.

As she made the rounds, she was only slightly surprised to overhear a small conversation between Lex Luthor and Selene, who were seated near the door that led to the victor's lounge. Both were under suspicion and ran in similar circles, but SHIELD hadn't been able to make a solid connection between the two of them.

Yet.

"... you'll just have to try harder," Luthor was saying to her low. "I'm not going to try to funnel him your way again."

"Are you afraid he's going to hurt you, or that your reputation will be sullied if you can't deliver?" Selene shot back at a hiss.

Luthor bristled. "I'm not doing anything that's going to blow up in my face — and the ruffian _manhandled_ me last time I tried to do your job for you," Luthor replied. "You're the one that said you could snare him. _Do it yourself_."

Skye quickly turned on her heel when she saw the venom in the glare Selene was giving Luthor, but before Skye could take more than a step, she realized that Logan's conversation with Quill was apparently over. And just like that, Logan was right there, gently excusing himself with a hand on her shoulder as he passed her by, the path tight enough that he had to turn to slip through.

She panicked for a moment, since she was pretty sure that was _way too close_ to the mark that she was supposed to be shadowing, not to mention the fact that he was definitely _hot_ and he was that close to her and she was supposed to be _professional_ about this thing but those arms…

And then just like that, he'd passed her, and she was counting her lucky stars and whatever else there was to count that he hadn't called her out on her total panic at something as simple as walking past her.

She looked up as soon as he'd passed to see that Selene had a disturbing sort of expression on her face as Logan drew near. But then it was everything Skye could do to keep her own reaction in check when she heard what Logan said as he passed Selene by. It was almost too quiet to catch.

"Not now, darlin'," Logan said as Selene opened her mouth to say something, cutting her off before she could start. "I know it's too rich for your blood." He didn't even look Selene's way as he slipped by her and into the victor's lounge, where Groot was clearly waiting for him.

The effect on Selene was instant. The woman stared after him looking as if he'd slapped her in the face, and Skye took a couple quick steps to try to find a relatively safe place to avoid her when she stormed past.

Skye barely managed to keep it together long enough to avoid Selene and her temper tantrum before she had to duck aside and simply start _laughing_. It wasn't something that she could stop, and she knew she'd get in trouble if Selene or Luthor spotted her, but she couldn't help it. At all.

This explained oh-so-much. It really did. It explained why Fury liked him and why all the bad guys were trying to kill him and it was so perfect. Exactly the moment of levity she'd needed when she had been all cloak and dagger before.

But once she got a better hold of herself, Skye was pleased with herself for a totally different reason: she had an actual conversation on the pin that Fitz had made to hide her recorder that proved Selene and Luthor were in cahoots. It wasn't clear _what_ they were in cahoots about, but they were definitely up to something, and they were in it together, and that was something, right?

Skye clutched her drink a little closer to herself as she took a deep breath and waded back into the Capitolites, knowing that even the conversations she _wasn't_ paying attention to were being picked up by Fitz's recorder — though she didn't really see much more action than the Selene and Luthor thing for the rest of the night, not when it seemed to Skye that Peter Quill and his friends had formed a protective sort of circle around Logan.

No one remotely on Skye's "evil" radar got close to him before the victors dispersed for the evening, which meant Skye got to get back to enjoying the view.

Or, you know, doing her job. Which was _totally_ what she was doing.

* * *

 **Assistant Director Maria Christina Hill**

 **Undisclosed Location**

* * *

The plan had always been that SHIELD was going to move its base of operations as soon as the revolution was underway, but to Maria Hill's irritation, the timetable had been moved up _substantially._

She wasn't irritated with Fury himself, obviously. She understood the need to outpace the Hydra faction that was growing inside of their organization, moving before they expected it so that Hydra's plans would be frustrated — and SHIELD would stay one step ahead. It was just that she was furious with herself for not knowing that there was something so _big_ growing within the organization that she'd dedicated her entire life to.

But it did make things frustrating when they were _also_ trying not to alert most of SHIELD itself, which was now infested with Hydra, on top of Thanos and his Capitol cronies, as to when and where they were moving.

The one good thing was that she, Fury, and Coulson were the only ones who knew the location of the new base. They had been perfectly clear on that point — no matter who asked, no matter what, the location was confidential until the moment they needed to _move_. Not even the top brass, not even Alexander Pierce knew.

And now, they were moving.

"You know, I'm starting to think they just brought us back to be pack mules," Clint Barton muttered close by to Steve Rogers, both of them moving to help get some of the equipment packed away.

Hill pinched the bridge of her nose, even though she could see Barton smirking her way and waiting for her to rise to the bait. The truth of the matter was that the Tahiti operatives were her best bet for moving quickly and quietly and under the radar, since no one knew they _existed_. So, yes, they were temporarily her muscle. They'd just have to get over it — and thank her when they were out of Hydra's clutches when it was all said and done.

"Keep the pace like I'm asking you to, and you'll get some extra carrots when we get back," Hill said in a low tone after the two of them passed her by.

Barton stopped short and blinked at Hill for a moment before he broke into a ridiculous grin and started to laugh. "Make it donuts, and you've got a deal," he said, the laughter still obvious in his tone as Rogers shook his head at both of them.

"Stop feeding him," Rogers said.

"Oh, you stepped in that one," Barton said, grinning Rogers' way.

"I'm not opposed to switching it to oats," Hill said, not looking up from her checklist.

"Nay," Barton said, perfectly straight-faced. "Or is it 'neigh'?"

She looked up finally with one eyebrow raised. "Sugar cube?"

He pointed one finger her way. " _Now_ you're talking sense!"

"Oh, I see how it is," Ororo Munroe said, just her hair visible around a couple boxes that she was carrying. "You two just mess around and leave the rest of us to do all the real work."

Rogers smiled her way quickly and readjusted the equipment he was carrying to try and offer her a hand. "Need any help, 'Ro?"

Munroe took her box in a slightly tighter hold and readjusted it before she shook her head quickly. "I've got it," she promised.

Rogers raised an eyebrow her way — he had been protective of her since the day they brought her back — before he seemed to get to work a little faster, and Hill couldn't help but smirk at that fact.

 _The benefits of having a sensible woman around,_ she thought to herself, noting Munroe's real progress and making a mental note that, after the war was over, this one would be prime for leadership.

If she survived.

Hill shook her head and pushed that thought aside. Hadn't she just been telling Coulson not to get too attached before the war even started? She couldn't afford not to listen to her own advice, not now, not when they were so close.

She straightened up and went back to the loading and unloading. There was work to be done.

* * *

 **District Seven**

 **Scott Summers**

* * *

It was _highly_ unusual for any kind of changes to be made in the middle of the Games, when everyone was supposed to be focused on watching the fight to the death. In fact, most of the time, what that meant for the biggest orphanage in Seven was that the administrators more or less left the kids to their own devices — well, more so than usual — so they could watch the Games and place their bets on who would win and who would die when and how, that kind of thing.

So it was even more unusual when the entire administrative offices were replaced a few days into the Games, and this guy, Dr. Pearson, stepped in to take over. And he didn't seem to care about the Games one whit.

At first, Scott hadn't paid _too_ much attention to the guy. After the Reaping, his focus had been more on some of the other kids who were Reaping age who were all just relieved that they hadn't been picked, on keeping the youngest kids from watching the Games footage.

And on helping the younger kids with the inevitable nightmares when they didn't listen to him and watched the footage anyway. Even during the time the tributes spent in the Capitol, the broadcasts were playing recaps, and it never failed to give the youngest ones bad dreams — every single year.

So Scott wasn't paying too much attention to the new people taking over — attributing it to someone finally noticing that the kids in the orphanage were being completely neglected by the old team. Or, at least, he _hadn't_ been paying attention until he had been out of bed late to slip a few rooms over when he heard one of the kids crying over a nightmare and found himself face to face with the new head of operations — who didn't seem that thrilled to find one of his charges out late.

"And where is it you think you're going at this late hour, Mr. Summers?" the man asked, both eyebrows raised with an imperious sort of look.

Scott gestured to the door past Pearson. "Nightmares," he said simply. "No one else is going to help them deal with it."

Pearson frowned at Scott, seeming to consider him more carefully. "And do you always involve yourself in all their affairs?"

"Someone has to," Scott replied. "So if you don't mind …there's an upset kid in there." He stepped around Pearson and, in a few strides, found the room where the crying was coming from, slipping inside to crouch down beside the crying little boy.

"Hey, it's alright," Scott said as he rubbed the boy's back, surprised when the boy stiffened suddenly at the touch and then all at once melted into terrified sobs that had Scott pulling him into as tight a hug as he could manage to try and get him to calm down.

He cycled through all of the things he usually told upset kids who had nightmares about the Games: that he was too young to be picked anyway, that it was all happening somewhere far away, that it was just on TV and that he shouldn't worry about it. It was always hard to balance the reassurances with the truth, since a lot of these kids had seen people they knew die in the Games — orphans were more likely to be reaped and more likely to have their names in for tesserae — but Scott had been there for seven years now and had gotten pretty good at it.

This time, though, it didn't seem like anything was working except to simply keep a tight hold on the boy until he'd finished crying it out and eventually went to sleep. Scott would have probably fallen asleep there too if he hadn't noticed when he was readjusting the kid so he was asleep on a cot and not on Scott that the boy had gotten some blood on him.

Scott froze when he saw it, and then all at once, he was furious, his hands in fists as he tried to take a deep breath to keep from waking the terrified little boy. Even in the dark, now that Scott was focused on his clothes and not his tears, Scott could see that the little boy had a smear of red on his shirt.

 _No wonder he's so scared_ , Scott thought angrily, thinking of how Pearson had stopped him in the hallway with his eyes narrowed.

He thought it over for a long moment, knowing that no one there was going to help him. And there were very few Sentinels that would even care. Mac Hudson, maybe… Head Sentinel Gordon was always good to the kids when he was there, and Scott sort of knew his daughter, Barbara, from when Gordon's wife would make something every year for the new year for the kids and Barbara would bring it over.

He didn't know if he could talk to Gordon himself, but Barbara might listen if he couldn't get to the Head Sentinel or Mac. Any other Sentinel wouldn't listen to him; he was seventeen and skinny and had no family.

It didn't take long at all for Scott to come to his decision, and he carefully crept out of the room, checking down the hallway for any other signs of life before he headed downstairs. Some of the other kids would sometimes come down around this time to try and sneak something from the kitchen, so Scott went the opposite way to avoid being caught, slipping through the back door.

He was halfway to the gate when he heard someone come up behind him and couldn't help but startle at the _size_ of the man who had followed him out onto the yard. He instinctively made a dash away from the tall, broad man, but he didn't quite make it to the gate before a huge hand closed around his arm and yanked him back.

"Hey!" Scott shouted out in surprise, trying to get his arm back, though the response from the huge man was simply to yank on him harder, all but dragging him back into the orphanage until Scott felt like his arm was going to come off with how hard he was being jerked around.

He somehow wasn't surprised when the huge man brought him to Pearson, who looked distinctly unamused at the turn of events. "I'm sure you have yet another philanthropic excuse for leaving the grounds in the middle of the night, Mr. Summers," he said.

Scott jutted his chin out at the tall man in front of him despite how badly his arm was hurting. "I know what you're doing to some of these kids," he said. "And I'm not going to let it keep happening."

Pearson's eyes flashed before he got to his feet and then signalled to the tall man, who grabbed Scott's other arm so he was stuck tight. "You have no say in the matter," he said simply before he signalled once more, and the huge man simply picked Scott up to bodily remove him from the room.

* * *

 **District Seven**

 **Barbara Gordon**

* * *

Probably the most frustrating thing about being the Head Sentinel's daughter was that Barbara's father would sometimes send her on errands in the middle of the day. This time, though, it was nice to have something really _good_ on her hands, paperwork that outlined a huge donation to Seven's biggest orphanages and a pledge to keep that funding going. It was going to go a long way to improving the lives of Seven's kids.

She had been surprised to see the name on a lot of the paperwork, not just because Old Man Howlett had a reputation for being exactly as generous as an angry badger, but because Bruce Wayne's own butler had come with the paperwork.

She knew that the two powerful, rich, old men didn't see eye to eye. Or even see each other at _all_ except to glare, for that matter. So she really was curious to find out what it was that had them on the same page all of a sudden after the old man had died. Maybe it was one of those deathbed changes of heart. She wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.

Of course, her dad had decided to send her away with the paperwork to take to the orphanage right when the conversation was getting interesting, so she never did find out what the story was there.

Barbara shook her head to herself as she made her way down the streets of Seven. Most people were inside at the moment anyhow, watching the Games. Both of Seven's tributes were still in it, after all — and there was some serious interest in both of the Wayne heirs, a lot of talk about who would win. Who _should_ win.

Barbara didn't listen to that part of it if she could, since she _knew_ both Dick and Helena, and she knew they would both be horrified if they heard what was being said about them. There were the people who wanted a _boy_ to win and carry on the name, which Barbara knew would have had Helena furious. There were the people who insisted Dick wasn't _really_ a Wayne, which again, would have made them furious. And then there were the people who thought that neither of them should come back, because they had it too good as the richest kids in the district.

Barbara tried not to listen to it, but she'd definitely already punched a few people over talk like that.

She was close with Dick, sort of. They talked. He was always trying to impress her, and until she'd seen him with Kory in the arena, she thought he might have had a little crush on her.

Clearly, she was wrong.

But that didn't mean she wanted him _dead_ , either. She'd been collecting money in her spare time — and there were plenty of willing donors — to send to the sponsors in the Capitol. Her father had said that Logan was reasonable to work with out of the three victors, so she'd sent everything she could get to him, feeling a little bit desperate after Dick broke his arm.

She had to wonder if he'd gotten it yet. Or if it was enough. There still hadn't been any sponsor gifts for either Dick or Helena. Most of the money had to come from the Capitol, anyway...

She was lost in thought wondering which of her two friends would come back — and wondering how on _earth_ she was supposed to deal with it either way — as she made her way to the orphanage and stopped outside the gate, surprised to find that it was locked. It was never locked.

She frowned and banged on the gate a few times until a huge man she didn't recognize came to answer her calls. "Head Sentinel Gordon sent me with some paperwork — a donation for the kids," she explained, holding up the papers close to her chest for the man to see.

He came to a stop and held his hand out. "Then I'll take the papers."

She raised an eyebrow his way. "Look, I don't know you, and I'm not trusting some person I don't know with money matters. I'm supposed to take this to the person in charge."

He looked as if he was weighing it all out, and taking an unnecessarily long time to do so, before, finally, he said, "Follow me."

Barbara gave him a polite sort of smile as he unlatched the gate, though now she was downright uneasy the further they got inside. This time of day, she should have heard kids screaming and playing and being loud and causing five hundred different kinds of trouble all at once. There was no reason for them to be this subdued.

"Summer bug?" she asked conversationally, since that was the first explanation her mind hit upon.

But the man didn't react to her even to acknowledge her, simply leading the way through the quiet grounds.

Barbara let out a little "hmph" to herself and straightened up as she followed him until they finally got to the administrator's office. There was a new man in charge, tall and pale and one of those people who gave you the creeps just looking at him.

"Who is this?" the man said with a frown. "I don't recall having any appointments on the book today."

Barbara gave him the kind of smile she'd had to give a lot of people as the Head Sentinel's daughter. "Barbara Gordon," she said by way of introduction. "My father is the Head Sentinel. He sent me with some paperwork…."

He let out a little derisive sort of noise. "I see. And what sort of paperwork might the Head Sentinel need to trouble me with?"

"Well, Old Ma- I mean, the head of the Howlett estate died recently, and he left some money to the orphanage. You just need to read over some of this and see what his wishes were for the money before you can accept it," Barbara explained. "It's such a big name — and a big enough estate — the Sentinels have been asked to make sure everything stays on the level, you know?" She gave him another winning smile. "I know, it's a lot of paperwork, but it's for the kids."

He very nearly sneered as he finally waved her forward. "And what is it you'd like me to do, Miss Gordon?"

"Well, you have to sign for it all, and I have to witness that you've read the wishes, and then I'll be out of your hair," she promised. "You'll probably get another visit from someone with the statement about the money itself once it's all released, but with the Games, you know — it's all moving a bit slow."

He sighed heavily and opened the drawer to his desk. "Very well then," he said. "Let's get this over with." He held his hand out for her to hand over whatever needed to be signed as he unfolded a pair of reading glasses with his free hand and perched them on the bridge of his nose.

She waited patiently for him to finish reading through it all, and once everything was squared away, she gave him another warm smile. "Thanks. I'll get out of your hair now, I promise," she said.

"Of course, Miss Gordon," he replied as he put his glasses away. "Should you find reason to return, a phone call would be sufficient."

She nodded. "It's just that the gate's never been locked before. And I know you came in during the Games season, but people do like to come and help the kids sometimes, give them candy, that kind of thing…"

"There will be no need for any such frivolities," he replied.

Barbara couldn't help but frown at him. "You know they're _kids_ , right? Frivolity is the name of the game here?"

"That might explain the state of this institution when I first arrived," he said smoothly. "Do you know the way to the exit, or do you require taking up more time from my assistants?"

Barbara couldn't help but glare a bit his way before she tipped her chin up slightly. "I've been here before. I know my way out," she said. To accentuate the point, she spun on her heel, all but stalking her way down the halls — which were still empty and quiet, though at least now she knew the reason for it.

"Creep," she muttered under her breath, honestly upset for the kids that were stuck here. She wasn't sure if her father had any sway over who ran it, but she'd talk to him when she got home about what he _could_ do. Maybe have the kids invited to the Sentinels gala during the new year or something, give them a chance to get _out_ for a while...

She was so lost in her thoughts that she nearly ran into Scott, one of the kids she knew there — he was usually the one trying to wrangle the kids in the orphanage when she came by to help out, since he was among the oldest.

Scott looked almost surprised to see someone outside of the orphans and staff, and he paused in the open doorway, keeping out of the way so she could pass by. She wouldn't have really said anything, too frustrated with how that whole meeting had gone to try to have a polite conversation — not to mention the fact that she just felt _bad_ for anyone stuck here with that creep running things... But when she noticed that the usually immaculate kid had a busted lip, that was just not something she could ignore.

"What happened?" she asked, though she couldn't stop at just that as she threw her arm back to indicate the hall she'd just come down in pure anger. "What is going _on_ in this place?"

"I … wouldn't even know where to start," Scott said almost sullenly, his arms crossed.

She narrowed her eyes at that, her lips pressed firmly together before she let out a hum of annoyance. "I'm going to talk to my father about this," she said. "You should come with me."

"I …" Scott paused, clearly torn before he glanced over his shoulder. "I can't be gone long."

Barbara nodded and seized his arm. "Then let's hurry," she said, all but pulling him down the hall with a now much more determined set to her stride. She might not have been able to do anything for Dick and Helena, but for Scott and these kids? She could, and she _would_.


	91. Chapter 90: Baited Breath

**(A/N): Welcome back to our Tuesday update! We're back in the arena, this time with Kory and the Robins, written by our lovely Unlucky Alis.**

 **Thanks to our writers who reviewed as well as to GeekyComicBookGuy for the marathon reviews. What a great weekend surprise! We loved it!**

* * *

 **Chapter Ninety – Baited Breath**

 **Night of Day Six**

 **Kory Anders of District Twelve**

 **Written by Unlucky Alis**

* * *

" _What we have once enjoyed we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us."_

—Helen Keller

* * *

Kory nearly bit through her lip as Dick swung up into the tree they had chosen for the night. His right arm was nestled against his chest, and he moved carefully, but that didn't stop her from worrying. He settled on a low branch, grinning cockily and knocking against the trunk.

"I told you it'd be fine," he said.

"Congratulations, Golden Boy, you can do what five-year-olds can do," Jason grumbled before following. He wasn't as graceful, but he quickly climbed to a branch above Dick, like he was trying to one-up him. Kory smiled. With their dark hair and blue eyes, they almost looked like brothers.

She didn't follow them right away, instead taking out her knives and crouching in the water to finish cleaning them off. She had noticed a few dried out, red flecks on the blades when she was toying with them earlier. Despite the moisture in the air, and the water all around them, some of Angela's blood still clung to the metal. Or maybe it was Dick's.

Kory didn't remember hitting him with the knife, but the only things that really stood out about that fight were how scared she was — and breaking his arm. She dipped the knife into the water, digging her nail under the blood. Anything to distract herself.

She had been worried all day, thinking of Raven and Thea. There had been no sign of either girl, and Kory wasn't even sure they were heading in the same direction. The cannon blast only made things worse.

* * *

 _Dick and Kory were walking close together, their shoulders brushing from time to time. Kory wanted to reach out and take his hand, something to reassure her that he was still there, that at least she hadn't lost him yet, but she was guarding his weaker right side. A wicked thought pushed its way into her head instead. Wary of Dick's injury, she snaked an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close, the way boys did to her back in Twelve._

" _What's this?" Dick asked. His smile was sly, but an embarrassed blush was seeping across his cheeks. It was incredibly endearing._

" _Since it is something the boys do so much, you must enjoy it," Kory answered._

" _I haven't — oh."_

 _Kory giggled. She could almost see the green on his cheeks. Dick had his suave moments, but she enjoyed his flustered, jealous gaze even more._

" _You would be so easy to attack right now." Kory could practically hear Jason's eyes rolling. He was keeping pace a couple feet away, making the occasional biting comment that Kory found more amusing than insulting._

" _Getting a little jealous, Jay?" Dick grinned._

" _Of you, Golden Boy? Please." Jason glanced towards them, then looked forward again. "I'm looking for a bird, right? Crow? Blackbird? Grackle?"_

 _Now Kory rolled her eyes, though neither boy saw her. Jason hadn't even been travelling with them a whole day, but he seemed more at ease than when he first stumbled across them_ — _despite his aloof façade._

" _It is the Raven we are seeking, and The-" A loud boom pierced the air, cutting her off. Kory stopped dead, glancing at Dick with wide eyes. They both had the same terrified expression, a single thought running through their minds._

Was that for one of the girls?

 _The crack of the cannon seemed to bounce against the trees, echoing long after it stopped. Or maybe that was just in her head._

* * *

Kory's thumb jerked as the last stubborn flake lifted off the knife, the edge of the blade slicing across her fingertip. The mist of blood was quickly lost in the rest of the water, and she raised her hand to her lips, sucking on the small cut until it stopped bleeding.

 _The cannon could have been for anyone_ , she told herself, holstering her knives and rising to her feet. _Raven and Thea are fine._

They were young, but Thea was a skilled fighter for her age, and Raven was smart. They would take care of each other. But Kory couldn't shake the image of Thea, frightened and hallucinating on tracker jacker venom, disappearing into the trees — and Raven's wide eyes as she ran after her. It made her hands shake, and that frightened her almost as much as the thought that one of them could be dead.

The family she had found in the Games was so different to the one she had in Twelve She cared for her parents, in some capacity. They were distant, but they were family. She cared for her sister once, but if Kammie suddenly went missing, her hands wouldn't tremble like this.

Kory shook her head and faced the tree. The lightshow would be starting soon and finally put her mind at ease — or confirm her fears. The one reassuring hope she clung to was that there had only been one cannon blast, not two, as flimsy a hope as it was.

Pulling herself up to the branch Dick lounged on, Kory clasped his hand to keep her own from shaking. Dick gave her a reassuring squeeze.

"That's why I don't have allies," Jason said. "They just hold you back."

"You are the most terrible of liars," Kory replied, tilting her head back to see him. "You have mentioned friends from home."

"That's out there." Jason's head jerked in a random direction. It didn't really matter where; it wasn't like the arena went on forever. "In here, it's different. Only one of us is going to make it out alive. I'm not going to waste my breath caring about enemies."

"Some of us don't have a choice," Dick snapped.

 _Helena, of course._ Kory felt guilty. She had been so caught up in Raven and Thea she nearly forgot Dick had one more person to be terrified for. Kory felt terrible, but she was almost glad they hadn't run into Dick's sister yet. She would be a great ally, but Jason had a point. If it came down to it, and only their alliance was left...

Kory squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want to think about that. She could never kill Dick or Raven or Thea. She didn't know Helena, but she was Dick's sister. And Jason — the boy was just too easy to read. For all his posturing, it was obvious to Kory he enjoyed their day together. That wasn't something she could throw away so easily.

At least, that's what she told herself. But killing Angela so easily had shown she would do whatever it takes.

 _I couldn't throw it away,_ Kory insisted.

She felt Dick's hand against her cheek, guiding her head down to his shoulder.

"I'm sure they're alright," he whispered.

But it wasn't alright, because after what Kory did, he shouldn't be the one comforting her. She opened her eyes and kissed his cheek.

"Helena will also be fine," she said. "She has her own allies, does she not?"

"I hope so," Dick answered softly.

"And they will care for her as fiercely as we care for ours," she insisted.

Above their heads, Jason mumbled, "Leave me out of it."

Dick still looked doubtful, but before Kory could think of anything else to say, the anthem blared through the arena. It was time.

Slade's face appeared on the rippling water first, and a Thea-sized weight was immediately lifted from Kory's chest as the light show continued. Harvey, Caitlin, Cisco, Kaldur. Kory silently begged for a new face, one she didn't care about, to take their place. She glanced at Dick when Clark's face appeared. He had liked the boy from District Five, and it made her wonder what Dick was thinking. Not about Helena or their missing allies, but the other tributes, the ones he got along with before the timer counted down on their first day.

It made her think of Jason's words again. _Caring about enemies_. Could she care about someone and still call them an enemy, or would she mourn them? In the arena, people died so quickly. Yesterday's events only drove that point home.

Kory didn't feel much of anything when Angela's face appeared. It was a ghost of a reminder, but she had already seen those dead eyes last night, and she wouldn't hesitate to kill the girl again. Jervis' face was next, and finally, Kory could feel somewhat at ease. Both Helena and Raven were alive. But she didn't look away yet. Jade, Gar's district partner, took Jervis' place. The cannon earlier that day had been hers.

Kory kept her eyes glued to the water when Gar appeared. Every night, she met his gaze and remembered. It was the least she could do, especially now.

The light show ended with Crane, and once the last notes of music faded, the normal sounds of the swamp returned. Rippling water, bugs buzzing in her ears. She was almost glad her own district partner was not yet dead. Besides their mentor and district, they didn't have anything in common. But if it wasn't for him, she probably wouldn't have brought a token at all.

With her free hand, Kory pinched the pendant on her necklace, feeling the pointed edges of the star digging into her fingers.

"Almost half of us are gone," Dick said.

"That's when the Gamemakers really get to have their fun," Jason interjected.

"That's not what I meant." Kory could feel Dick shaking his head. "We lost Gar in minutes. The girls aren't dead, but we've lost them too."

" _I_ lost them," Kory corrected him. "I could have stopped Thea from running; Raven could have watched her."

"And then Angela might have killed you in the meantime," Dick said vehemently.

Kory pulled her head away from his shoulder. He was watching her, intently. But this time, he didn't blush when she caught his stare. He took her in, slowly, has gaze drifting up and down. It wasn't the same nervous, gawking stare as when she purposefully wore revealing clothes. Instead, he was looking at her like he might never see her again.

Any other time and place, Kory would have found it ridiculous, but things were different in the arena. They could be ambushed while they were sleeping or even darted again. There was really no telling when they or their allies would drop dead. Kory had known this all along, but it felt more real now.

She wasn't sure who moved first; whether it was Dick leaning forward, or her hand dropping away from the pendant to grip the branch for support, but they sunk into a deep kiss. Kory slid back along the branch until her back was against the trunk so she could bury her free hand in Dick's hair, taking care not to bump his injured arm as she pulled him closer. His lips tasted like sweat and blood and swamp water, but she didn't care. Kory thought she could hear the whir of a camera somewhere nearby, but that wouldn't stop her.

Eventually, they broke apart, gasping, and Dick spoke so softly she almost didn't hear him.

"I love you."

Kory froze, her brain stuttering to a halt. Their hands were still intertwined, her right curled in his dark locks, but neither of them moved. She wasn't even sure if they were breathing. The only thing flashing through her mind was the first time she heard those words.

* * *

 _For the last week, Kory had been humoring a boy who lived a few houses down. His parents owned a small clothing repair store. He had one of those faces where you couldn't really tell how old he was, but she had seen him around the school during her explorations, so it couldn't have been that much of a difference._

 _It wasn't a relationship, per se, more like heated sessions in secluded places. They didn't hold hands, or hug, or go out, and Kory flirted with other boys. They were just having fun, nothing more. At least, that's what she thought_ — _until he came into her family store._

" _Do you want to hang out today?" he asked._

 _Kory glanced at her mother at the back of the store, busy with an actual customer._

" _Mother, I am going out," she called out, following the boy outside._

 _They walked aimlessly around the neighborhood. Kory tried to steer them towards the Seam, but when the boy caught sight of the dirtier streets, he made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and pulled Kory away. She could have easily slipped from his grasp, but she was bored._

 _Somewhere past the Justice Building, they ended up on a small path cutting across several streets. She was backed up against a wall of a house, or store, or some other building. She really hadn't been paying enough attention. The boy's hands were on her waist while her arms were draped over his shoulders as they kissed. She felt the hem of her shirt lifting, his palms brushing against her bare skin._

" _I think... I'm in love with you," he said between fevered kisses._

 _Kory retreated immediately, pulling her head back._

" _What?" she asked._

" _I love you." He leaned in, not registering her hesitance, to kiss her softly. His lips met her hand, slipped between them. She pushed him away. He blinked in surprise while Kory took in his flushed cheeks, the expectant purse of his lips, the glazed look. He was desperate and lovesick._

 _When he leaned forward again, Kory did the first thing she could think of: she took him down. Catching his ankle with her foot, she pulled it out from under him, shoving her elbow into his shoulder, and taking out the other foot. He fell to the ground with a heavy_ oomph _, Kory's arm on his chest._

 _She ran off while he was still in a daze, a mantra echoing in her head._

He doesn't mean it. He doesn't mean it.

* * *

Dick was still waiting for her answer. His gaze was earnest and unwavering. The nervous flush that normally crossed his cheeks when they got especially flirty was missing. It dawned on Kory that he really meant it. He wasn't just joking around or teasing her — he really loved her.

Kory took a deep, rattling breath as she finally remembered to breathe and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. When he stiffened, she blurted out an apology and started pulling away, but Dick stopped her, looping his good arm around her and pulling her close again. It was warm and comforting, and she almost wanted to cry.

Kory wasn't sure how long she clung to him. Long enough for Jason to loudly clear his throat, at least. She didn't let go of Dick but leaned back so she could kiss him slowly.

"So..." he asked when they broke apart. "What does that mean?"

Kory smiled, feeling a pang of sadness that this had to happen in the Avenger Games. "I love you."

Dick grinned, finally blushing, and kissed her back.

The air was heavy and humid, Kory's clothes stuck to her skin and caught on the bark, sweat plastered her hair to her cheek, and the stub of a broken branch dug into her back. Despite all that, she didn't want the moment to end.

But the Avenger Games were not a place for sinking into fantasies.

Kory rarely pulled away first, but with the lightshow over, and the arena dark, it would be better to settle in for the night. She lingered on their final kiss, brushing her lips against his and letting him feel her smile.

"I'll take first watch," she offered.

"You know, that's a poor follow up to 'I love you'," Dick joked.

Kory smiled, slow and seductive, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I'll take first watch."

"Much better."

She couldn't resist one last, stolen kiss before rising to her feet. She glanced up at Jason's branch to find it empty. Glancing around, she spotted their new ally crouching at the base of the tree. She hadn't even noticed him move. Climbing down, she stood beside him, leaning against the tree.

"Thank you," Kory said.

"No idea what you're talking about," Jason huffed.

"It was sweet of you to give us privacy," she continued.

"Again, no idea."

"Which is exactly what people say when they do have an idea."

Jason's scoff only made Kory's smile widen. He may not have appreciated her saying so, but she did think he was sweet. He was gruff and impolite and sarcastic — but that was just what he wanted people to see.

Kory, feeling sticky and uncomfortable, unzipped her jacket and rolled the hem of her shirt into the collar before splashing herself with water as quietly as possible. If Jason weren't there, or the water were actually clean, she may have stripped down and done a proper wash. Instead, she focused on cleaning away the sweat.

After a couple minutes, Kory glanced over her shoulder and saw Jason hadn't moved.

"I told Dick I will take the first watch," she said.

"Good for you, Princess," Jason scoffed. He was eerily still, with his hands draped over his knees, watching the water.

"I promise Dick will not give your hair the braids of the French while you are sleeping," Kory reassured him with an uncharacteristically polite smile.

Jason's hand started drifting towards his hair before stopping halfway, slowly curling into a fist. He glared at Kory. "Thanks."

"You may not think of us as allies, but you are _our_ ally. It is not 'caring for an enemy' to me." Kory turned away, dipping her fingers into the water and swirling them around. She smiled when she heard Jason's feet scraping against the tree as he climbed.

After a few more minutes, Kory followed him. If she could, she would have settled beside Dick, but the branch wasn't big enough. She positioned herself where the trunk split into two main boughs, bracing her feet against one and leaning on the other. She had a better vantage point to take in her surroundings, and she could see both boys.

Kory glanced at Jason, with his hands folded behind his head, one eye squinting open before quickly closing. She grinned and changed her focus to Dick. In a single word, they were doomed. Only one person could survive the Avenger Games. It was only a matter of time before one, if not both of them, died.

But some new, romantic part of Kory's brain wished the Capitol would take pity on them for being young and in love.

She laughed before she could even finish the thought. They would never be so lucky. It just meant they had to try and enjoy what little time they had left. Kory settled in, intent on keeping watch as long as possible before waking Jason for a shift, leaving Dick to sleep through the night if possible.

 _I could never let this go_ , she told herself again.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders

14\. Jade Nguyen, District Ten Female: Killed by Harley Quinn


	92. Chapter 91: Fledglings

**(A/N): Welcome back to our Friday update! This time, we're taking you to the works of the lovely and talented BstnStrng13 as we check on what's going on with John Constantine and Diana Prince.**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed for being so amazing and supporting each other and also thanks to SlimSummers2002; your reviews always make us grin!**

* * *

 **Chapter Ninety-One - Fledglings**

 **Dawn Seven**

 **John Constantine of District Twelve**

 **Written by BstnStrng13**

* * *

" _Blackbird singing in the dead of night_

 _Take these broken wings and learn to fly_

 _All your life_

 _You were only waiting for this moment to arise"_

The Beatles

* * *

One week.

John saw a faint hint of light on the horizon and realized that the approaching sunrise — or whatever it was the Gamemakers did to simulate daybreak in an enclosed arena — marked his seventh morning in the Avenger Games. If he managed to survive the day, he would celebrate (if you could _ever_ use that word in the arena) his one-week anniversary.

Of course, there was a big _if_ in that statement. But John felt strangely optimistic. He and Di hadn't seen a soul since she'd killed Jonathan Crane. For three days now, they'd moved about cautiously, hunting for food, building only a small fire at night, and recuperating from their various injuries. Di's shoulder wound, by far the most serious, had _not_ become infected, and she was swinging her sword with confidence, even if she was grimacing as she did so. John had taken to throwing his axe at trees for target practice. In the beginning, he'd missed by miles. Now, he could reliably hit them seven times out of ten…well, maybe five times out of ten.

A week.

A week back home in Twelve was nothing. It was six shifts in the mine with a chance for a night out with his friends — or maybe an evening or two with his sister talking by the campfire. But a week in the Games was a lifetime. It was surviving the insect mutts and then Crane. It was losing Gar and Clark and watching Di's district partner fade away. And it was spending three days alone with Di — just the two of them, hunting, eating, resting, and talking.

Three days living so closely with her had forced John to see Diana in a new light. He realized now that he'd put her on a pedestal when he'd met her. Her strength, her courage, and her beauty — he'd been in awe of all of that. And the fact that she believed in justice and used her talents to defend the weak? It had made her just about perfect in John's eyes.

But he'd learned that it's hard to _keep_ seeing someone as perfect when you spend every waking moment with them. People tend to fall off pedestals when you're hungry, exhausted, and haven't had a proper bath in a week — and when you begin to notice their odd little habits. Gradually, John began to appreciate that Diana Prince was a real person, with weaknesses as well as strengths. She could be impatient, had moments of self-doubt that she refused to acknowledge, and didn't seem to attract mosquitoes the same way he did — which was particularly annoying. She gave orders without recognizing that they _sounded_ like orders and expected him to obey without question. All of which made John realize that he no longer worshipped Di.

No, instead, he was pretty darn sure that he was in love with her. And of all the things that had happened to him in the Games, that was probably both the scariest and the most wonderful.

John wasn't daft enough to think that three days alone with her meant he knew everything about her. Her upbringing was so different from his that they often saw situations differently. But he was confident that he'd gotten past his awe and amazement to see Di for the person that she was — and that he genuinely loved what he saw. It wasn't the light, bubbly infatuation he'd felt for a few girls back in Twelve. He had enough experience to recognize a crush that fades away after a few awkward kisses. This was a deep, enduring feeling, and it made him want to tell her things that he hadn't told anyone else and do things that he hadn't done before. It made him want to be a better, braver person.

John _also_ wasn't daft enough to reveal these feelings to Di. He knew that, at best, things would become uncomfortable; and, at worst, she would look at him with pity and distance herself. So instead, he tried to be the best friend to her that he could and to think of her as a friend in return — which was sometimes bloody difficult.

And for that small sacrifice, he was compensated by the chance to keep seeing Di's human side.

* * *

 _John and Diana walked warily through the swamp, trying not to make noise. They'd laid a series of rope snares earlier in the day with the goal of trapping game. Now, they were checking the traps one by one to see if any had yielded results. John longed for meat. He'd eaten enough berries and roots to last a lifetime; his body was craving protein._

 _He was encouraged to hear a rustling sound as they approached one of the traps._ Maybe we caught a bird _, he thought,_ or a beaver _._ _He hoped it was not another tribute lying in wait_. _He looked at Di and gripped his axe just as she silently raised her sword. They nodded at each other and then split up to move toward the trap from opposite directions. John scanned the ground carefully, looking for signs of another human. He saw none and advanced safely to the trap._

 _Their efforts had been rewarded. They had caught a rabbit._

 _The rabbit was a mottled brown color, with large, dark eyes and a short, puffy tail. The rope snare was tight around its leg, and it struggled to escape as John and Di got close_ — _but tiredly, as if it had been there a long time and was losing hope._

" _I didn't realize there_ were _rabbits in swamps," John said. "Do you think this is a trick? A booby- trap maybe?"_

 _Di shook her head. "Sylvilagus aquaticus," she murmured._

" _Excuse me?"_

" _Latin for Swamp Rabbit," she explained. Then, she smiled. "This is no ruse. We will dine well tonight."_

 _John nodded._

 _She pointed to his axe. "You should stun it here and then take its head. When we return to camp, we will skin and cook it."_

 _He nodded again and reached for the rabbit. He gripped the fur on its back to keep it still and raised his axe._

 _The animal squirmed feebly and looked up at him. Then, it froze. Its expression became resigned and somehow… familiar. It was the eyes, he decided. They were large, clear, and innocent. They reminded him of someone._

 _He looked into those eyes and slowly lowered the axe._

" _John?" Di asked. Her voice was puzzled._

 _He immediately felt foolish. He and Di needed their strength, and rabbit meat would provide them with all manner of nourishment. It would be one of the best meals they'd had in the arena. To not kill it just because it appeared defenseless would be stupid._

 _He gripped its fur tighter and raised the axe once more._

 _Only to lower it again when the rabbit blinked at him._

 _He couldn't bring himself to kill the little creature. He hung his head, unable to meet Di's gaze._

" _I thought you liked rabbit meat," she said, still sounding puzzled and not yet impatient. "Did you not tell me the other night that you and your sister consider it a delicacy in Twelve?"_

 _John sighed and kept his head down. "I did," he admitted. "But I've never killed and skinned one before. I've always traded for the meat." He pointed to the rabbit's head and added, "He reminds me of Gar. I think it's the eyes. That's why I'm having trouble killing him."_

 _His explanation was greeted by silence. He wondered just how angry or_ — _worse_ — _disappointed Di was. It wasn't like her not to say anything. John stared at his boots until he couldn't bear it any longer. Then, he looked up at her._

 _She was laughing._

 _Diana Prince was laughing soundlessly, but hard enough to make her shoulders shake. John immediately felt relieved. She might not be pleased with him, but at least she wasn't angry._

 _She shook her head. "I cannot see the resemblance myself," she said, still chuckling. "To remind me of Gar, the rabbit would need to be more… green." She gazed at John, and her expression softened. "Perhaps you should return to camp. I will take care of matters here and join you shortly."_

 _John nodded mutely and walked carefully back to camp. He could use the time, he thought, to come up with a good apology._

 _Thirty minutes later, Di returned, with the meat already cut up and ready to be cooked. John didn't even have to look at the rabbit's carcass. They strung it on sticks, placed it over the fire, and watched as it crackled and turned brown. He did his best to collect his thoughts._

" _Di," he finally began._

 _She held up a hand. "We will discuss it later, John." She gestured toward the meat, which was nicely crisp and emitting a tantalizing aroma. "I suggest we enjoy our repast."_

 _John swallowed his apology and reached for one of the sticks. The meat was a bit stringy, but it was hot and tasted good_ — _although not the same as the rabbit he had eaten at home. It reminded him more of chicken._

 _He and Di ate every bit._

" _That was good," he said to her when they had finished, "although it tasted different from the rabbit in Twelve. It must be because this was swamp rabbit, and we typically get our rabbits from the woods."_

 _Di tossed the sticks they had used to roast the meat into the fire. Then, she turned to John and smiled. "I have a confession, John. That was not rabbit meat."_

" _It wasn't?"_

 _She shook her head. "It was alligator. A young one attempted to steal the rabbit from the snare shortly after you departed for camp. I killed the alligator and elected to make it our meal. The rabbit had its freedom restored."_

 _John stared at her and said nothing._

" _I will concede the alligator reminded me somewhat of Jervis Tetch," she added, her sea-blue eyes twinkling. "I found I was able to overcome my reservations and slaughter it quite easily."_

 _It was John's turn to laugh._

* * *

The glow on the horizon grew brighter, and John could make out the hazy shapes of trees and bushes in the dawn. In another half hour, the cover of darkness would be gone altogether. Di was still asleep, and he decided to let her stay that way for a few minutes longer. She needed her rest.

He stretched his legs toward the remnants of the fire and listened to the noises of the swamp. The Gamemakers had paid attention to many details when they'd created the arena, but he didn't think they had gotten the sounds of morning right. At home, the birds were chatterboxes at sunrise. They chirped and twittered nonstop in a cheerful cacophony. Here, their singing was less frequent and more ominous; screeches instead of chirps, with periods of silence in between. Like so many other things in the Games, it contributed to the overall atmosphere of gloom and death.

It was in one of the silent lulls that he heard it — or them, really.

Voices.

At first, he told himself that it was his imagination — the wind, maybe, or a softer-spoken kind of bird. But as he listened more carefully, he was able to confirm that these were indeed low murmurs coming from somewhere nearby; barely audible, but undoubtedly human. It was difficult to determine precisely where these humans were — or their number. His heart began thumping.

John quickly got to his feet and bent over Di's sleeping form. He shook her shoulder and raised a finger to his lips when her eyes opened and met his. Instantly alert, she listened for a few seconds and then nodded. She'd heard them, too. Without saying a word, she reached for her sword and stood.

She gestured in the general direction of the voices, and he could see that she wanted to seek them out. _That's Di_ , he thought, _always ready to face a challenge_. He wondered briefly whether it was the prudent thing to do. After all, they didn't know exactly how many tributes were nearby. And it might be Hamill or one of the other nastier characters. He and Di could always just grab their gear and flee.

He opened his mouth to suggest it but then stopped, remembering his wish to be a better, braver person. At any rate, he was certain Di wouldn't agree, and they couldn't afford to have a debate with the other tributes nearby. If they were overhead, they would lose the advantage of surprise. He reminded himself that Di's decisions had gotten him to his almost-one-week anniversary in the Games and that he would be finished by now if he hadn't become part of her alliance. So instead, he retrieved his axe and nodded at her, hoping they were not headed toward their deaths. She gave him a grim smile in return.

They moved cautiously in the direction of the voices, with John cringing at every slurp of water or crunch of a stick. It was so damn difficult to creep up on anyone in this swamp, and feeling his heart pounding in his chest didn't help matters. As the murmurs gradually became louder, he was able to determine that they came from two individuals — although which two was anybody's guess. _And just because you only hear_ _two_ , he thought, _doesn't mean there aren't more tributes that are choosing to be silent_. He wished to hell he could be sure. Two tributes — they had a chance. More than that — the odds would definitely not be in their favor.

He tapped Di on the shoulder to stop her. When she turned to face him, he held up a pair of fingers and mouthed, _Two?_

She raised an eyebrow and shrugged, which John interpreted to mean, _We'll find out soon enough_.

He'd been hoping for a more affirmative response.

Di resumed walking but stopped a short a while later and dropped to her knees. She gestured for John to do the same. When he was crouched next to her, she pointed to a small cluster of trees.

It was tough to see them in the grayness of dawn, but eventually, John could make out the forms of two tributes, half hidden by clumps of swamp grass and too far away to identify. They were sitting side by side with their heads close together, and one tribute reached out to the other from time to time. It appeared to John to be a gesture of comfort, which oddly enough, made _him_ feel better. He couldn't imagine any of the more psychotic teens in the Games showing that kind of compassion.

Di tapped him on his shoulder, held up two fingers in an imitation of his signal from moments ago, and nodded.

 _Yes, there are two_ , she confirmed silently.

So the questions was — which two?

Di made a motion for them to move closer to the tributes. Keeping low, they crept forward for another fifty yards or so, until they could recognize the pair.

Two girls. John immediately saw that one was Thea Queen. It took him a few seconds longer to figure out that the other was Raven Roth. He was surprised to realize that she was the tribute offering comfort. She had struck him as something of a loner during training, but apparently, she had made a friend.

The pounding of his heart lessened… although it didn't return to normal. He wondered what he and Di should do next. Thea was young, but he recalled her being good with a bow — and there was a bow lying by her side now, along with a quiver of arrows. He didn't want to commit the sin of overconfidence and just march into their camp. He could end up with an arrow in his gut.

Evidently, Di was more positive about her chances.

Without a word to John, she got to her feet and began walking toward the girls, no longer trying to silence her steps. The girls' heads snapped in her direction, and Thea reached for her bow. John immediately jumped up, his axe gripped tightly in his hand. If it looked like Thea was going to shoot, he was going to throw the axe, even though it was unlikely he could hit anything from this distance. He hoped the threat alone would make Thea think twice.

The threat, however, turned out to be unnecessary. When she recognized Di, Thea lowered her bow without nocking an arrow. She hadn't bothered to stand, and John didn't think she'd even _noticed_ him.

"Diana Prince," she said. There was obvious relief in her voice.

Di stopped walking and studied the pair of girls. "Thea Queen," she replied. "And Raven Roth."

The girls stared back at her. Neither girl looked injured beyond the cuts, stings and bruises that every tribute had accumulated after a week in the arena. Thea, however, looked unusually tired and drained. _There's a story there_ , John thought. He hung back and let Di approach the pair first. He could already tell from her expression that her protective instincts were kicking in.

"You girls have done well," Di said to them in a gentle voice. "It is good to see you both healthy and not…" She paused.

"And not dead?" Raven finished for her.

"Yes," Di repeated with a small smile. "And not dead." She walked the last few yards to the girls' camp and sat down. After a moment's hesitation, John strode over to join them. Now that he could really see the girls, he felt a bit foolish for having thought about throwing his axe at Thea. After all, she and Raven were the two youngest tributes left in the Games, and they had somehow ended up on their own. They looked small, innocent, and vulnerable.

Or at least they did until they caught sight of him. Thea's expression became concerned, and Raven's was outright hostile.

"John Constantine," she said, her eyes narrowing.

He gave the girls a small wave and sat without a word. He didn't think there was anything he could say that would instantly gain their confidence. These were the Avenger Games, after all, and he was a tribute they didn't know.

Thea regarded him cautiously. "He's with you?" she asked Di.

Di gazed calmly at the younger girl. "He is," she confirmed. "He has been in my alliance since the first day."

"And you trust him," Thea continued. It was half question, half statement.

Di glanced at John. "I do," she replied.

He smiled at her. It felt good to hear her say it.

Thea gave him a long, considering look. He could see that she was unhappy and that she was thinking about her options. The truth was that she didn't have many, other than walking away. "Okay then," she said at last.

Raven frowned. " _Okay then_?" she echoed. "Just like that? We're going to trust him?"

Thea shrugged. "I'm going to trust Diana's judgment. Slade told me she could protect me and that she was kind. He also told me that if anything happened to him, I should look for her or Dick. Now that we've found her, I don't want to walk away because she's with John."

Raven shook her head. "It's easy for _Diana_ to trust him. She knows she can take him in a fight. You and I might not make out so well."

"Then what do you want to do?" Thea asked. "Do you want to keep wandering alone until we run into Jack?" She glanced down at her bow. "I can't exactly shoot him."

"I'm glad to hear that," John said dryly.

It was the first time he had spoken. The girls looked at him as if they preferred that he keep silent. John didn't mind obliging them — he felt no urge to stand up for himself. The truth was he'd be just as happy if the girls decided they didn't trust him and left. Di was a wonder, but any energy she spent defending others meant less energy focused on her own survival.

And besides, he liked it when it was only the two of them.

But Di wouldn't be Di if she didn't want to defend those who were weaker — which meant she was going to try to talk the girls into staying. "I may be kind, but I am no fool," she said to them. "I give my trust to those who are worthy of it. John has proved his mettle." She gave him a sideways glance. "And, besides, I know from experience that he cannot kill anything innocent — even a rabbit for dinner."

John laughed. "You're going to keep reminding me about that, aren't you?"

Di smiled. "For as long as it remains amusing."

Thea was watching them closely. "You really do trust one another, don't you?" she asked. She turned to John. "You like her."

 _That was an understatement_. John felt his cheeks grow warm, and he avoided looking at Di. "Diana is a friend," he said shortly. "And I trust her with my life." He turned to Raven, anxious to change the subject. "So, what have you decided?" he asked lightly. "Are _you_ going to trust me?"

She shrugged. "It sounds like I don't have a choice," she replied. "And anyway, it's what Thea wants."

Her expression softened on that last sentence, as she cast a worried glance at her friend. John was once again struck by the change he saw in her. The Raven he remembered from the assessments hadn't been unkind, but she'd been brittle and aloof. Like him, this Raven seemed to be finding a better version of herself; she was discovering her true voice. It was ironic, he thought, that a contest designed to foster cruelty and fear could also bring out gentleness and empathy.

He roused himself from his thoughts. "Have you both been on your own since the start?" he asked the girls.

Thea shook her head. "We were with Dick — Dick Grayson and Kory. Raven teamed up with them from the start, and I managed to find them later after Slade… after Slade was gone."

Kory — his district partner. It felt like ages since John had ridden the train with her to the Capitol.

"So, what happened to separate you?" Di asked the girls. "Did something befall Dick and Kory?"

Thea looked at her helplessly. "I don't know what happened to them. Angela came after us with tracker jacker venom. I was hit by a dart, and the hallucinations were really bad. I kept seeing my brothers being attacked. I ran off and would have been alone — except that Raven came after me." She smiled gratefully at the other girl. "I still can't believe you did that."

Raven reached over and squeezed Thea's hand. After a moment, she asked Di and John, "How did you find _us_? We thought we were pretty well hidden."

Di glanced at their surroundings. "This is not a bad location," she replied. "We might have missed you had we not heard voices."

Thea sighed, her gaze cast down. "That was me," she admitted. "I was having a nightmare. It was like I was still under the jacker venom — I kept seeing Ollie and Tommy getting hurt, and I yelled in my sleep. Raven talked me through it." She gave her friend another grateful smile.

Di looked at John and raised one eyebrow. He was fairly certain he knew what she was asking; she wanted to take the girls under her wing. He wasn't surprised, but his heart sank, just a little. He had liked having her to himself. It had felt safe and… intimate. But then he remembered that he wanted to be a better, braver person. And he thought about Raven leaving the safety of Dick's alliance and following Thea. She had not hesitated when it had mattered. Could he do anything less?

He gave Di a small nod in reply. She smiled.

"Our camp is not far from here," Di said to the girls, "and it is more secure than this one. Do you wish to join us there? I cannot make guarantees, but I will do my utmost to live up to Slade's confidence in me."

The girls nodded gratefully.

 _And now our alliance is back to four_ , John thought. _May we fare better than we did the last time_.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders

14\. Jade Nguyen, District Ten Female: Killed by Harley Quinn


	93. Chapter 92: I Must Have Nine Lives

**(A/N): Hello! Happy Tuesday! We're taking you to the Tahiti Program again, this time with abrokencastiel and her amazing skillz ;)**

 **Thanks as always to the writers who reviewed and continue to support this story as well as to Slim Summers2002 for your review!**

* * *

 **Chapter Ninety-Two - I Must Have Nine Lives**

 **Undisclosed Tahiti Facility**

 **Garfield "Gar" Logan, formerly of District Ten**

 **Written by abrokencastiel**

* * *

"No one's ever really gone." - Luke Skywalker

* * *

"Ray!" Gar's green eyes shot open as he bolted into an upright position, looking around, wide-eyed, at the strange room. His heart was racing, and the unfamiliar surroundings weren't helping at all. An attempt to move revealed that his wrists were shackled to the bed. "RAY!" he cried again, his voice cracking.

"Shh, Garfield. It's alright. Everything's okay." The calming, familiar voice made Gar's wide-eyed gaze snap to his right.

"Hank?" Gar asked, slumping into the strong hand the man placed on his shoulder.

"Hello, Gar." Hank McCoy smiled lightly, working quickly to release Gar's wrists now that he was awake and responding. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions."

"Where's Raven? Is she safe? I remember…." His breath caught at the flashing memory: the face of the Joker with a bloody knife. He reached a tentative hand to his forehead but didn't feel any scars.

"She's with Dick and Kory. You saved her."

Tears stung at Gar's eyes as a relieved smile crossed his face. "Good."

"You were very brave. I'm so proud of you," Hank said, then pulled him into a tight hug.

The waiting tears leaked from Gar's eyes as they broke apart. He quickly wiped them away and ran a hand through his hair, surprised when he felt his old curls instead of the short haircut the Capitol had given him. "That's weird." He looked at his pale arms, the non-green color registering for the first time. "And that's weirder."

"Any more questions?" Hank sat down in a chair beside the bed.

"Why am I not green? Can I become green again? They said the dye would last forever. Did it wash off in the swamp? That'd be weird."

Hank chuckled. "Of all the questions, that's what you settle on. The process of bringing you back took away the color; it didn't wash out in the swamps. I'll see what I can do about getting it back. Next question."

Gar frowned and bit his lip. "I did die, right? How am I not dead?"

"Yes, you did die. How you came back is infinitely more complicated." Hank shifted slightly in his chair. "The least of it is that you are now a part of the Tahiti program. It's a secret program that works to bring back tributes that perished in the Games. Everyone brought back has a specific job to do here. Anyone outside of this area believes you to be dead, and it must stay that way. You are going to be joining a group from last year. I think you'll get along with them quite well."

Gar took a moment to process what was said and came to a conclusion: "So, I can't go home."

"No, you can't go home. I'm sorry."

The stinging in his eyes returned despite the smile on his face. "It's okay. I just really wanted to see Steve's face when I showed up at their house. I wonder if I could have convinced him I was a zombie." Gar let his face go slack and held up his arms while giving Hank an undead moan.

"I also would have liked to see that."

A few seconds of silence were marked by the quiet ticking of a wall clock. "What happens now?"

"Now," Hank said as he stood and offered a hand to Gar, "we go meet your new team."

The floor was cold on Gar's bare feet, and he wobbled unsteadily for a moment. Hank held him up until he had his feet under him. He ignored the slippers, preferring to keep his bare feet like he normally did. If Hank noticed, he didn't say anything as he led Gar through the door.

"You won't be here often. It's a medical bay, and I would hope you won't be getting hurt." Hank led the way through a medical bay with a supporting hand on Gar's back.

The pair exited to a hallway and went through a few sets of doors. Gar's eyes were wide as he tried to take in all of his new environment. Like the Capitol, this place was extraordinarily clean. He had a distinct desire to rub dirt all over everything. They passed a dozen or so suited people that all sped by with clicking footsteps. If Hank hadn't been with him, Gar might have thought he was a ghost for all the attention the people gave him.

The last door they came to opened to reveal a living room-type area. Inside, a young man a few years older than Gar was watching television, which was quickly switched off, but not before Gar caught a glimpse of a familiar-looking swamp.

"Gar, I'd like you to meet Kurt Wagner." Hank encouraged Gar forward to meet the new acquaintance.

"Hi." Gar gave the young man a small wave with a smile.

Kurt stood with a matching smile. "It's wonderful to meet you, Gar. Dr. McCoy has told us a lot about you."

Hank looked around the room with a small frown. "Where is Peter? Wasn't he supposed to be—"

On cue, the door was flung open, and a young man skidded into the room. "Crap!" He slid into a side table and frantically steadied it to keep anything from falling off. A glass bottle plummeted toward the ground, but Peter caught it at the last second. "Sorry! My bad, sorry."

"Peter," Hank greeted the newcomer with a sigh while Kurt gave Peter a slow clap.

"Uh, hi, Dr. McCoy. Sorry I wasn't here. I really needed a bathroom break, and I thought if I ran fast enough, I'd get back before you got here." The tall teen gingerly placed the bottle back into place. "That wasn't a very good first impression, was it?" He gave Gar an easy smile and ran a hand through his messy brown hair.

"It's no less than I expected." Hank turned to Gar, who was hiding his laughter behind a hand. "This is the other member of your team: Peter Parker. They'll help you get the lay of the land and answer any other questions you may have." He glanced at his watch. "Unfortunately, I'm due back with the victors. I wish I could stay."

"No worries, Dr. McCoy. We'll take care of him." Peter gave a thumbs up to Gar that Gar readily returned.

Hank put his hands on Gar's shoulders and bent down to his eye level. "If you need anything, you need only to ask. Peter and Kurt know how to get a hold of me."

"Don't worry, I got this." Gar gave Hank a confident smile.

"I know you do." Hank ruffled a hand through Gar's hair before leaving with a last meaningful look at Peter. "Don't do anything stupid."

Peter frowned. "Why do they always look at me when they say that?"

"Because they know you too well, _mein Freund_." Kurt chuckled.

Peter stuck his tongue out at his friend before pointing a thumb at the door Hank had just closed. "Are you hungry? It's a little late for lunch, but the cafeteria is open twenty-four-seven, and we haven't eaten yet."

A rumble from Gar's stomach answered. "Sounds like it to me! Shall we?"

* * *

The cafeteria was almost empty as the trio found seats with their trays of food. Gar had wanted to eat all of the fruits and vegetables offered, but Kurt had warned him that eating too much too soon after waking up might make him sick.

"I didn't listen and, well, it wasn't pretty." Peter looked sadly at his own plate of food.

"Give it a few days, and you can eat all you want," Kurt assured Gar.

Gar was already tearing through his plate before he paused long enough to ask another question. "How long have you two been a part of this?"

"We were in the last Games."

"Was that really a year ago?" Peter asked. "Man, how time flies when you're dead."

"So, you were with Logan, right?"

Kurt smiled and nodded. "We were Team Awesome. Us, Logan, and Kate."

"Like me and the Titans!" Gar smiled broadly.

"Exactly."

"Vegetarian, eh?" Peter asked when he saw Gar's food choices. "Surprising, at least after the tribute from last year. He was a bit... extreme." He visibly shook himself off. "But I can't blame you. I probably would be too if I worked with super cute animals all day. We didn't have a lot of animals in Eight. Just dogs and cats mostly. Some people on the outskirts had some farm animals, but I didn't see them much."

They ate in contented silence for a bit longer. The food wasn't as exotic as what Gar had seen in the Capitol, but it was still more exciting than anything he got in Ten.

"When you're done," Peter said, "we'll take you to see the training room, the locker room, and our room. Not much of a tour, but we tend to do the same things every day. When the Games aren't going on, we give tours of old arenas."

"Dr. McCoy told us you haven't seen most of the past Games, so you'll need to do some studying," Kurt continued easily where Peter left off. "You have some time, and we'll help you."

"I learn fast," Gar assured them, finishing up the last of his food.

"And eat fast," Peter added.

"You talk too much." Kurt had also finished and grinned widely. "We'll go ahead and start the tour. The slowpoke will catch up when he finishes." He flashed a wink at Gar.

"Aw, come on, Kurt." Peter shoveled down a few more bites and hurried to catch up with the pair before they made it to the hall.

"See? You can eat fast if you want to."

"You're hilarious," was the dry response.

Gar laughed at the exchange. _Hank's right. I'm going to get along with these guys really well._

"Any more questions? I remember when I woke up, I had more than a few." Kurt smiled encouragingly.

"Does everyone come back?"

The glance the other two exchanged was enough of an answer. Gar was silent for a long moment before he felt brave enough to ask another question.

"How do they choose people to bring back?"

"Usually, anyone that has a special skill or that they think they can use to their advantage gets brought back. Like Kurt. He knows how to use swords, is super acrobatic, and cool-headed. All good things. I'm just here because of my sense of humor and good looks." Peter winked and immediately tripped over his own feet.

Gar cocked his head to one side. "What about me? Do they need an animal whisperer or plant identifier?"

A wide smile broke across Peter's face. "Hank McCoy. You must have made an impression on him. From what I understand, he's usually a pretty calm guy, but you should have seen him when they weren't going to bring you back. I mean, I wasn't there, but I heard the stories. And the yelling from down the hall."

"They don't call him the Beast for nothing." Gar laughed. He hesitated for a moment. "What if my friends die? Will they bring them back?"

Peter glanced down at him and away again. "I wish I knew."

Gar bit his lip and frowned. "They will. Kory, Raven, and Dick are so cool they have to bring them back. And if they don't, I'll throw a fit like Hank until they do. They don't call me Beast Boy for nothing." He gave them both a toothy grin.

"I have no doubt." Peter laughed.

They arrived at a door, and Kurt held it open for everyone to enter. "This is the training room," he informed Gar. "We train every day with Matt and Stick. I'm not sure if they'll bring someone new in for you or if we'll just share, but you'll train with us. It's pretty straightforward hand-to-hand combat. A lot like you would have done while you were in the Capitol."

Gar nodded, remembering his practice fights with Jade. _Is she still alive?_ The question stayed stuck on his tongue.

"Over here's the locker room." Peter opened another door and led the way. "The towels are the best part. They are super fluffy. Seriously."

Gar peeked into one of the showers. "Do they have hot water?"

"All the hot water you could want." Kurt smiled.

"Wow," Gar said with hushed reverence.

"If you're impressed by this, just wait until you see where we sleep. I mean, we share a room, but there's a TV and a personal bathroom that makes up for it." Peter opened a locker with a flourish. "This is your new locker, right next to mine. You'll want to remember to bring an extra pair of clothes for after training. It gets pretty stinky."

The trio left through the back door, ending up in another hallway that looked exactly the same as all the others. _How do they even know where they're going?_ The look on Gar's face must have given away his thoughts, because Kurt put a soft hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, _mein Freund_. One of us will always be with you, at least until you get the lay of the land."

"That's a relief." Gar grinned widely at his new friend.

Peter cleared his throat until the pair looked at him. "And here," he said in an official voice, "you will find the _pièce de résistance_ : our room." He pushed open the door and immediately froze.

The tenseness spread to Kurt, who immediately stepped in front of Gar. His eyes stayed trained on Peter, while Gar peered around the older teens to try to see what had them on edge.

"No way," Peter breathed out.

"PETEY-KINZ!" a loud voice cried as a body launched itself at Peter with enough force to make Peter stumble backward. The newcomer, a young man older than any of them, wrapped him in a tight hug and rubbed his cheek against Peter's shoulder. "I thought I'd never see you again. It was so lonely without you." The blonde craned his head to look back at Kurt, who had relaxed. "Good to see you, too, Kurt."

"Likewise." Kurt nodded his greeting. "Gar, this is Wade Wilson. A part-time team member."

"Wade. Too. Tight," Peter weezed through the tight grip. "Kurt. Help. Please."

Wade let go of Peter, who fell back against the wall, gasping for oxygen. "Sorry about that, Pete. You just get me so excited." He bent down to Gar's eye level and examined him. "Well, aren't you just a little snack. Don't remember you from last year."

"I'm new," Gar piped up. "From this year."

"Ooooo. They already planning on replacing us? Can't say I'm surprised. Why use the old models when the new crop is ready to harvest?" He pursed his lips. "Or reaped, if you will." The joke sent Wade into hysterical laughter.

"Let's talk inside." Kurt shot a look at Peter.

The quartet entered the room. It wasn't as big as the room Gar had during training at the Capitol and not nearly as lavish, but he didn't mind. He marveled at the two sets of bunk beds on either side of the room. A few clothes were scattered around, and the trash on one side was overfilled. It was messy. It was lived in. It felt more like home than anywhere Gar had been since leaving Ten and Jill behind.

Peter grabbed a ball from a drawer and skillfully swung himself up to a top bunk. "Alright. Spill. Where have you been?"

Wade collapsed on the bottom bunk of the opposite set with a dramatic sigh. "Where to begin? I really didn't want to leave you guys, you know? I was super excited to learn all about those death arenas."

"Focus, Wade." Kurt led Gar to the bunk under Peter, and they sat down. Gar couldn't resist bouncing a bit on the mattress.

"Right, right." Wade swung his legs down and sat up. The grin that spread across his face bordered on manic, making an uncomfortable shiver run down Gar's spine. "One-Eyed Fury had me on a special mission. You know how I remembered working for another group a while ago? Well, I did a little sneaky sneak and found out the deets."

From the sudden stillness of the other two teens, Gar had a feeling this was a big deal.

"What do you know?" Peter's voice was quiet.

Wade's face fell into a frown, and his blue-eyed gaze went down to the floor. "Amanda Waller. She has them. I was supposed to just spy on her but, well, when I saw what she was doing, I sort of did a no-no." Another grin spread across his face. "I actually pulled a page out of the Team Awesome handbook. You guys would have been proud how I swooped in there like an angel and saved T'Challa."

"T'Challa?!" Peter and Kurt both exclaimed at once. The bunk above Gar jostled with Peter's movements.

"Yep! I rescued him from that evil lady's clutches. I would have saved the others, too, but I didn't have a chance to actually find out where they _were_. Or enough arms to carry all of them once I did. I know they're there."

"There's more still in trouble?" There was an edge to Kurt's voice Gar would never have suspected.

Wade nodded. "I want to go back for them, but I need some help. I wondered if you two, er, three would want in."

"Of course." Peter hopped down from the top bunk and plopped down next to Gar.

" _Ja_." Kurt nodded.

"No one should be trapped and doing something against their will." Gar frowned. "I'll do what I can. I could go in undercover!" he volunteered. "They won't know who I am, since I'm not green, right?"

Peter ruffled Gar's hair. "I knew I'd like you."

"Yes! Let's go. You guys will want to pack a night bag." Wade jumped up and started pulling clothes from drawers. "Pete, where do you keep your teddy bear? I imagine you sleep with one, right?" He dropped the pile onto Peter's lap. "Where's that teddy bear? Up here somewhere? 'Scuse me." Wade worked at trying to get to the top bunk while practically climbing on top of Peter.

Kurt took a slow breath, wringing his clenched hands. "Pete? Do you... do you think she's there? Like with Fox?"

Peter froze mid-trying to get away from Wade.

Gar turned between the two until Kurt kept talking.

"We're going." Peter shoved Wade to the side and jumped up from the bed. "I'll get in touch with Tony. He can give us a few weapon prototypes and building schematics. Just give me a minute to get in touch with him." He pulled a tablet out of a drawer and began quickly typing. Before he could finish, however, the door opened.

"Mr. Parker, I'm going to have to ask that you put the tablet down." A man in a suit entered and stood in front of the door with a small smile on his face.

"It's the coppers! Run for it!" Wade made a dash for the door, but the suited man caught his shoulder and prevented him from leaving.

"Mr. Wilson. We've been looking for you. You missed the mandatory debriefing, which, as I said before, is not that kind of debriefing — and in spite of the note you left for the director, I can assure you 'it's done, you're welcome' was not sufficient," the suited man said as he watched Wade. "Director Fury wasn't very happy."

Wade grinned. "Did you consider that that was why I skipped out?" A shove sent him back into the center of the room, where he hid behind Peter. "Protect me, sweetums! Don't let the mean man take me to the mean pirate man."

The fact that Kurt and Peter were only glaring down the newcomer made Gar think Wade was overreacting. Still, Gar slowly moved into a crouching position on the bed, ready to leap into action at the slightest provocation.

With assured steps, the man retrieved the ball Peter had pulled out earlier. "This is quite an innovation. It works very well. In fact, I knew as soon as your room went dark that you were planning something."

"You can't keep us here, Coulson." Despite his words, Peter dropped the tablet on the bed, his only form of actual defiance being to cross his arms.

The man turned to look at Gar. "Hello, Mr. Logan." He paused and held up a hand. "Right. Sorry, you prefer Gar, don't you? It's very nice to meet you." He took a step forward and leaned toward him, offering him a hand to shake. "I'm Agent Phil Coulson. I hope these boys haven't tried to drag you into this suicide mission."

"I volunteered." Gar grinned.

"Of course you did."

Kurt stood slowly. "What if she's there, Coulson? What if — what if Kate is alive and being manipulated like Fox? I talked to Logan. He told me everything."

A sigh escaped Coulson as he looked between the four teenagers. "While Silver Fox's unexpected status with Hydra is being further investigated, I'm afraid there isn't any proof that there are others like her in what appears to be a rogue faction of the Tahiti program."

"What about T'Challa? Was he always part of the program?" Peter insisted

"I'm afraid that's classified."

"Ooooh, I know what that means." Wade winked at Gar. "That's code for 'You're right, but I can't admit that, because Mr. Fury will kill me'."

The corner of Coulson's mouth twitched. "If only it were that simple, Mr. Wilson." He drew in a breath and let his shoulders relax slightly as he considered the boys in front of him. "The truth is that, at this point, we simply don't know. And with all the heat coming down around us and our accelerated timeline, we just don't have the manpower to look into it the way it needs to be investigated."

"Then why not send us?" Peter put an arm around Kurt. "We're the perfect incognito team."

"Because we need you to do the jobs that are already lined up," Coulson replied. "I know you're passionate about this. I can completely empathize, but if it boils down to a call between looking for your friend _now_ and blowing this revolution, I'm afraid you know what the answer is. This uprising has been in planning for over twenty years." He let out a breath and turned to meet Kurt's gaze. "But I can promise you one thing, Kurt. If she's in trouble, we'll find her, and we'll get her back."

"We can't sit around and do nothing if there's a chance she's there!" Kurt's sudden explosion made Gar jump. "She's one of us, and I can't abandon her. We can't abandon her. If we were the ones in trouble, she wouldn't stop until she had saved us. How can you not see that? She would tear down every wall in her way until she found us. Even if she had to kill Thanos herself, she would at least try. You can't expect us to sit here and do nothing when we know she's in trouble."

Silence filled the room for a few moments as the words hung in the air.

"Wow." Wade clapped slowly and wiped a tear from his eye. "That was beautiful. Have you ever thought about being a poet? Because you have such a way with words. You've touched me in so many places. Bring it in. This is a group hug time." He pulled Kurt and Peter into a hug that neither could escape. "Come on, pipsqueak. Get in here!" Gar was suddenly pulled into the mass of bodies by a strong hand. "Ah, this is better. Cathartic, really. You want in on this, Phil?"

Coulson spared Wade a look but didn't respond to his request. "I'm not arguing that. If she's there, I can promise you, she'll be a top priority. But we _have_ to make the move on this revolution. It's now or never," Coulson said. "And there are too many people, Kate included, that won't be allowed to keep breathing if the Capitol doesn't fall."

"Assuming that we do put off the rescue mission of the century, how long are we going to have to wait?" Peter demanded as he extracted himself from the hug.

Coulson didn't drop his gaze, and there was hardly any hesitation in his answer. "A lot sooner than you think. We're not talking months or even weeks. We haven't got that kind of time." He watched their reactions on what looked like news to everybody, not just Gar. "Which is why we _need_ to keep on task."

Kurt looked between his teammates. He spoke deliberately, as if each word was paining him. "I can't say I exactly like waiting, but if it's the best option we have I can."

"Woo-hoo! So what do we need to do in the meantime? Gear up? Get some super sweet weapons? Maybe some of those prototypes Peter mentioned?" Wade grinned and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"You have a meeting with Director Fury you can't sidestep," Coulson warned Wade. "I'm going to escort you there myself to make sure you don't get lost." He put a hand on the back of Wade's neck and steered him out the door. "I trust you boys will catch Gar up on what he needs to know," Coulson called back before the door shut behind him.

Peter started pacing immediately. "It's really happening. Do you think they'll let us go home? Not to stay, but at least to visit and make sure our families are safe?" He ran a hand through his messy hair. "I'm going to need to get a haircut before Aunt May sees me." He snatched up his tablet and started typing furiously while he continued to mumble to himself.

"Do I still need to memorize all the facts about past Games?" Gar asked, his brow furrowing.

The question sent Kurt into laughter that soon infected the other two. "No, no, you don't need to learn that anymore," he managed to say between gasps. "But you will probably need a crash course in self-defense."

"What are we waiting for?" Peter grinned. "We have a revolution to prepare for!"


	94. Chapter 93: We're All Mad Here

**(A/N): And we're back with our Friday update! This time, we're checking in on Kara Danvers, written as always by the lovely Ophelia Claire.**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed as well as to Slim Summers2002 for making us grin with your continued support!**

* * *

 **Chapter Ninety-Three - We're All Mad Here**

 **Day Seven of the Games**

 **Kara Danvers of District Five**

 **Written by Ophelia Claire**

* * *

" _The truth is that there is nothing noble in being superior to somebody else. The only real nobility is in being superior to your former self."  
_ ― _Whitney Young_

* * *

Kara was utterly miserable.

She was alone, for starters. Kara _hated_ being alone.

For the first part of her life, she'd had her parents. Busy as they'd been, they'd loved her more than life itself, and she'd never felt neglected once. She remembered many a day when her father would come home from a long day at work, tired and ready to collapse into his favorite chair by the fireplace ― but still have open arms as he came through the door, ready for Kara's flying hugs. He would never be too tired to talk about his day or hear about Kara's latest escapades with Winn on the playground.

Kara had been alone for all of a day when her parents died. The Danverses had scooped her up and brought her into their life faster than she could blink. Alex had been a little cold to her at first, but who could blame her? It wasn't easy to go from being the center of attention for your whole life to having the spotlight on a new sister, let alone a new sister in the public eye, but they'd warmed to one another soon enough.

Kara hadn't even been alone in the arena, for Pete's sake. Off the pedestals and into Diana's squadron. Teaming up with Diana, however short-lived it'd been — had been wonderful. The reason she'd loved it so much, Kara realized as she reflected, was because it had been like having Alex back at her side.

God, she missed the Danverses...

Oh, and she was soaked through, thanks to the downpour that had lasted most of the previous day. She'd been asleep in her tree the morning after Clark's death when the first raindrops had dripped through the leaves and plonked onto her face. She'd barely had time to shove what little she had into her pockets and scramble down to the ground before the heavens had opened.

That wasn't powerful enough to describe it, actually. The heavens hadn't just _opened_. They'd been flooded from the inside and _exploded_ down onto the earth with a ferocity Kara had never seen from rain before. She was soaked to the skin instantly and spent the day huddled in a grove of trees with her shield held over her head in a feeble attempt to ward off the rain.

Of course, a fat lot of good that had done when the ground had flooded and the water started splashing her from all sides as well as falling down. At that point, she'd decided to make the best of it and shed her jacket and boots to try and wash off as much as she could. At least she felt a little cleaner now, wandering through the woods.

Thankfully, the downpour had let up before nightfall, or she might have drowned in her sleep.

So here she was, sloshing through the marshy groves, alone and soaking wet, thanks to the humid air.

She kicked irritably at a clump of cattails as she passed them. _All that fancy tech in the Capitol and they couldn't take away our stupid allergies. They can put working wings on a stylist, but a tribute's allergies? Noooo, why would they do that? Probably had it in for at least one of us to go that way right from the beginning, or at least from when I freaked out in the Training Center. The trainers probably all have to pass on any information like that that they get._

And on top of being alone and wet, she was hungry. Kara knew that lighter rains brought fish to the surface, but the downpour had driven the marsh inhabitants further underwater, and she'd only been able to scrounge some berries that she thankfully recognized as edible the previous day. She'd need to try again soon before she got too weak to forage or hunt at all.

At least she hadn't run into any less savory opponents ― human or otherwise ― although at this point, running into another huge dragonfly (daggerflies, Kara had begun calling them without thinking about it) would at least be a little action. Something to let her know that she hadn't stumbled into the real wilderness between districts, where there were no rules, no Gamemakers to halt a mutt attack before their precious fighting stars would be too injured.

Kara was snapped out of her silent sulking when she wandered into a patch of deeper water, and her foot sank deep into the muck, plunging her leg in up to her knee. Grumbling, she heaved it out with a _squelch_ , overbalanced, and toppled right back into the water, her shield sending up a splash as it hit the surface. She sat fuming for a moment, feeling the brackish water lap under her shirt around her rib cage, before hauling herself out. She dipped her hands in the water and swirled them around, trying to wash off the streaks of slime and muck. Most of it came off, but several streaks stayed resolutely on, and Kara let out an involuntary yelp when she realized that the mud was actually several leeches clinging to her hands.

She picked at the bloodsuckers, which stretched as they tried to stay attached to her, and flung them back into the nearby tall grasses, where they stuck, squirming. Little drops of blood welled up from the bites and trickled down her hands.

"Gross. Gross gross _gross_ ," she muttered. She was a little surprised she hadn't gotten leeched yet, to be honest, but she could have happily gone without it. At least the daggerflies were outright with their intentions to murder her. These little bloodsuckers were just creepy and gross.

Hopefully they were just normal leeches, anyways, and not some nasty mutts that had poisoned her or would grow to the size of dogs now that they had drank blood or―

"Nope. Stop it," she told herself. She flapped the hem of her jacket, sending muddy water flying from the waterproof material. "Well, I'm not fishing in _your_ pond," she said to the leeches wriggling on the reeds. "Little creeps." One leech fell off the stalks of grass and back into the water with the tiniest of _plops_. Kara waded back to more solid ground and trudged onward.

Another hour passed. The sun climbed higher but refused to help evaporate the dampness clinging to every part of her body. Kara found a small pond ― really more of a puddle ― that must have connected with the larger waterways during the rain and then drained somewhat, because a couple little fish darted in circles at the bottom. Kara plucked them out with ease and was tempted to just eat them raw but forced herself to continue walking and find a relatively dry spot to make a fire.

It was probably the fastest she'd made and extinguished a fire so far, keeping it burning only long enough to cook the fish before she kicked mud over the coals, preventing any more smoke from rising into the blue sky. She tucked her sword into her belt, slung her shield over one shoulder, and set off once more with three fish clasped in her hand, tearing meat and spitting bones as she went.

It was amazing how a little bit of food could help her mood so much. She certainly wasn't _happy_ , by any stretch of the imagination, with Clark's death still heavy on her heart and her loneliness weighing on her mind, but she wasn't thinking only about her misery anymore. She talked to herself quietly as she walked, letting her stream of consciousness spill into the air instead of building up in her mind.

"Okay, Kara Danvers, what's next? You've been separated from your allies and you've wandering around a swamp. You could go back to the Tesseract and restock, but there are tracker jackers swarming, and―" Kara touched the still-tender spots where she'd been stung "―and those are unpleasant. So what else can you do?"

She stopped in a small clearing and looked around, spitting out one last fish bone. "You could climb a nice, tall, tree and see if you can spot anything of use." Kara glanced up at the treetops, picking out the tallest one she could see. "Okay. Let's do that." She wove through the tree trunks, keeping her gaze trained on the tallest tree. The lowest branch was about six feet up, so Kara dropped her sword and shield and took a running start, kicking up off the trunk and clamping her hands over the branch. She used the momentum to swing back and forth, up and around, until she was able to hook her leg over it. From there, it was an easy climb up to the highest branches that would support her weight.

Kara gazed out across the marshlands, briefly wondering where the force field ran. It had been a while since a tribute had had an encounter with the field ― someone, before Kara had been born, had run into it and seared the flesh on their arms and face. It hadn't been pretty, and the solo tribute had died an agonizing, slow death with no one around to see it, which was what the Gamemakers had since tried to avoid.

It didn't make for good programming, after all.

Kara shimmied in a slow circle on her branch, scanning the arena. She caught a wisp of campfire smoke a couple miles away, rising into the blue sky like a thread on her favorite quilt.

 _Worth it? Nah…_

And then, _Oh, hello, what's this?_

Maybe a mile to the east, a break in the trees, and the top of a building just visible from her height.

"You've got to be kidding me," Kara murmured. What were the odds she'd come across what was probably the only building in this arena? And should she go to it?

On one hand, there might be a tribute or tributes waiting to kill her.

On the other, if she was able to overpower them or there was no one, it would make a good base of operations.

"A lonely little stronghold," Kara said to herself. "A fortress of solitude…"

She made up her mind, clinging to the top branches of the tree. She was going. Any alternative that would come from at least investigating was better than wandering around this godforsaken swamp for another day. She scurried swiftly down from the tree ( _how's that, Greer?_ ) and splashed onto the ground, retrieving her weapons. A break in the trees and a glance at the sun pointed her east, and she set off with a new spring in her step.

Or at least as much spring as one could get with peat moss and mud sucking at one's feet.

It wasn't long before the trees began to thin out and the ground became less of a shallow pool and more soggy ground, and she soon found the reason why.

Sprawling before her was a cemetery. Rows upon rows of markers, headstones, obelisks and even a couple mausoleums covered the acres of grass in front of her.

Kara was suddenly intensely grateful she'd come across this during the day.

"It's just a cemetery. Nothing but blocks of granite stuck in the ground." Kara cast her eyes further, to the far edge of the cemetery, and spotted the building she'd seen from the tree.

Kara took a deep breath and strode purposefully out into the cemetery, marching down between rows of tombs. "Just a graveyard. Nothing to hurt you. Don't think about zombie mutts. Don't think about things hiding in the graves."

Kara picked up her pace a little.

The building grew larger in her sights. It was huge, bigger than the Victor's Village houses combined. The walls were dark brick and covered in creeping, clinging foliage, and most of the windows that she could see were smashed or coated in so much dirt, mud, and dust that she couldn't see inside. She could see right into some of the rooms through holes in the walls. Whatever this place had been, it had been abandoned long ago, or at least sculpted by the Gamemakers to be that old and decrepit.

She made a wide loop around the building, taking note of the doors she could see and windows on the first floor. Escape routes ― or things to close off.

She almost turned and ran back the way she'd come when she came across a crypt with its doors wide open. It had been opened recently, judging from the inches of rainwater that lay in the bottom ― and there was no sign of the previous occupant. Kara stared at it for a moment, then steeled her nerves and kept walking, almost jogging now.

The front of the building came into view, with a wide walkway leading up to the front double doors. The pavement was cracked, with weeds forcing themselves out of every break in the pavement, and at the far end, where the road disappeared into the trees once more, a sign arched over the way, iron letters spelling out the name of the building. It took Kara a moment to decipher the backwards lettering, and when she did, she almost headed back into the woods a second time.

 **ARKHAM ASYLUM**

But she was here now, and she might as well keep going.

She climbed the wide stone steps and placed a hand on the doors. The wood was still damp from the storm.

 _Last chance to back out and return to the swamp…_

Kara shoved one of the doors, and it swung open with a heavy _creeeeeak_. She found herself standing in the entrance hall of the asylum. It was dark ― all the windows were covered in drapes ― and Kara was just beginning to feel optimistic when her gaze traveled up the main staircase in front of her and landed on a banner hung at the top. On it was printed "WELCOME!" in blood-red letters and a wide, grinning mouth.

 _Oh, no. No, no, no. Not_ him. _Please, anyone but him._

A creak from behind Kara made her whirl around to find the heavy door swinging shut. She leaped for the handle, landing a hand on it just as it shut with a solid boom. She yanked on both doors, but they were shut tight.

"Oh, come _on!_ " she groaned. She rammed her shield into the door ― with no effect ― and leaned forward, resting her head on the door. She bumped her forehead against the wood. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," she grumbled in rhythm with the pounding.

"Agreed!" said a voice from behind her. Kara didn't even have time to turn before she felt the prongs of something jab into her side and the volts of electricity crackle through her, making her whole body twitch and sending her jittering into unconsciousness.

When she awoke, she could feel something wrapped around her chest, arms, and legs.

Or...not wrapped around…

She was strapped to something. Something that had once been soft but that had since become stiff and crusty and gross with age.

Kara thrashed in her bonds. Whatever she was lying on rolled slightly side to side, but she was tied down tight. She lifted her head and looked around wildly, and her gaze fell upon rows and rows of seats, rising in scores into darkness. Some of the chairs in the first rows were filled by corpses so old they were really no more than skeletons ― _oh my god, he robbed graves ―_ slumped to the side, their jaws hanging open in macabre laughter. She herself was on a gurney that was planted in the middle of a room that had once been white but was now filthy and dingy brown.

"Ooh, she's an excited one!" a voice chortled from out in the seats. Kara craned her neck to see Jack Hamill grinning at her from a few rows up off to the side, the scars on his face making his smile wide and eerie. His hair hung lank and dirty, and the white makeup on his face had long since washed off, leaving his own pallor on display. "Are you going to put on a good show for us, my dear?" He spread his arms, gesturing to the "audience" around him as he got to his feet. "They're just _dying_ for some entertainment." He came down to the front of one of the aisles and jumped the two yards or so down to the floor.

"You're _sick_ ," Kara hissed. "You're an absolute monster. If you're going to kill me, just _do it_."

Jack placed a hand on his chest. "You wound me, Super-duper-girl! Jack Hamill does nothing just to _do_ it. This is going to be _fun!_ "

Kara snarled at him. "You give me my weapons back and I'll show you just how fun I can be!" She yanked against her bonds again, but unlike everything else in this old place, they seemed to be no worse for the wear.

"What do we think, folks?" Jack was addressing the skeletons in the seats. "Will she be silent and stoic? Will she be a pleader? Personally―" He turned and gave Kara a chilling stare. "―I hope she's a screamer." He turned back to the audience. "I guess we'll find out, won't we?" Like a game show host, he walked back and forth around the treatment room. "Any bets on how long she'll last? Do I hear one hour? Three hours?" He pressed a hand to his mouth. "Might I get _five_ delightful hours from you? You're nice and strong."

Kara spat at him, landing a glob right on his cheek. He closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth tightening as he wiped it away. When he spoke again, his voice had lost the joviality it'd had before. He now spoke in a measured, icy tone.

"Very rude. You shouldn't antagonize the one who will be torturing you to death, you know."

"You are a _coward!_ " she shrieked, straining against her bonds. "Where's the honor in killing someone without giving them a fighting chance?"

Jack cackled. "You've been hanging out with Miss High-and-Mighty from Four, haven't you? Honor… who would I be if I had _honor?_ I'm the _Joker_ , Supergirl." He strutted over to something out of Kara's vision. "Now… what shall we start with?" Kara heard something metallic rattle around, and Jack reappeared holding a scalpel. The blade was rusty and dull. Jack traced his finger up and down Kara's arms. "Where to begin?"

Kara jerked away from his touch. "Keep your hands _off_ me!"

Jack laughed a full-bodied cackle. "When I'm done with you, dear, you'll be _begging_ for my gentle touch."

Kara tried to fight. She did. But the next couple hours began to blur into one long neverending mess of blood and agony.

Jack started small, with the scalpels. They were indeed dull, and he had to dig them in to make any cuts in her skin. Kara was able to endure those without letting a sound escape her mouth, which Jack seemed disappointed in.

He brought out the thing he'd initially shocked her into unconsciousness with, sending jolts of electricity into her extremities. Not enough to make her limbs numb, but it sure as hell hurt.

She felt needles poke into her arms, legs, and torso. She didn't know what was in the syringes, or how long whatever it was had been _fermenting_ , but whatever it was began to burn.

All of this was painful, sure, but Kara kept her lips pressed together, not letting one single cry or groan escape. Maybe Jack would get bored if she didn't react and she could snatch a scalpel and cut herself free.

And then Jack brought over a bone saw. He didn't say anything, just grinned at her, and with lighting speed pinned her hand to the gurney. She yanked, trying to free it, but with no leverage and her arms weak from the electric shocks, it was like a kitten fighting a doberman.

"Eenie, meenie, miney, moe...which finger will be the first to go?" The tip of the saw tapped each of Kara's fingers as Jack chanted his gruesome rhyme. He landed on her pinky.

'How about this one?" He looked up at her. "Any pleas, Supergirl? Any begging for me to spare your hands?"

"I will never beg for you," Kara hissed through gritted teeth.

"Hmm… I must say, I'm surprised ― no screaming yet." He brought the blade of the saw to rest at the base of her pinky, just above the first knuckle. "But we'll see if that changes."

Unfortunately, he was right. Kara squeezed her eyes shut as Jack began to saw, but as he sliced through skin, muscle and then bone, she screamed. Jack laughed hysterically as the first scream broke through Kara's attempted vocal barrier.

"I knew it!" he crowed. "What a delightful scream you have, too. Nice and clear." He stopped sawing, and Kara, still squeezing her eyes shut, heard him walk a couple steps away and then the faint thud of something small falling into a jar.

"Hopefully I can build that collection over the next couple hours!"

Jack took one more finger before he went back to the scalpel. Kara had begun formulating a plan, and she knew her chance would come. So she waited, alert, pretending to be woozy from blood loss (which wasn't difficult). At one point, she let her eyes roll back slightly.

"Not losing the fight already, are you?" Jack crooned, leaning over her head and tapping her cheek. Kara sat up explosively as far as the straps would allow and headbutted Jack right in the nose. He yelled in pain and staggered back, hands clamped over his face.

"Congratulations," he hissed. "You've prolonged your suffering even more. I'll be back to deal with you shortly, and maybe I'll take a look inside that pretty little head of yours when I return." He stomped off, leaving Kara alone in the disgusting room.

When Kara could no longer hear his footsteps, she wiggled her hand ― thankfully her still-non-damaged one ― and shimmied the scalpel Jack had dropped when she'd butted him out from under her arm. With a bit of careful maneuvering, the scalpel landed between her fingers, and she began sawing frantically at the strap holding her wrist. The blade was dull, but she made progress. Apparently, the leather wasn't _quite_ as solid as it appeared.

She was down to about a half a centimeter of strap left when she heard Jack's returning footsteps.

 _No!_ She made a couple last frantic cuts and tucked the scalpel back under her arm as Jack reentered the treatment hall.

"I'm baaaaack!" he sang. "Ready for your lobotomy?"

Kara's plans would have to change. She wouldn't be able to incapacitate him with a dull scalpel and a half-free hand.

Jack came back holding what appeared to be an honest-to-god ice pick.

"No," Kara said calmly. "I'm not. I'm not going to be your plaything _any_ longer."

With a swift, sharp motion, she yanked on the strap she'd been cutting, breaking the last few millimeters of fabric, and plunged the scalpel into her own neck.

Jack howled in rage. "NO!" he shrieked. "You're _MINE_ to kill!"

Kara yanked the scalpel out, letting blood gush from the wound. Judging from the spray, she'd gotten herself right in the carotid.

"Joke's on y...you, Jack," she gasped. "I die on my… my terms, and my terms only. You d-don't get to h...h-hear me beg or scream. You don't d...deserve the pleasure."

Black spots were beginning to cloud Kara's vision, but she let them come. She let her head fall to the side and watched through half-lidded eyes as Jack stormed around the room screaming and yelling, swiping at jars and tools and sending them clattering to the floor. The cacophony was music to her ears.

A small smile crossed her lips as her vision went dark.

"See...s-see you s...soon, Clark…"

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders

14\. Jade Nguyen, District Ten Female: Killed by Harley Quinn

13\. Kara Danvers, District Five Female: Killed by Kara Danvers


	95. Chapter 94: Gifted

**(A/N): Hello and welcome to our Tuesday update! This time, we're checking in with Kory and the Robins (that sounds like a 90s band lol) with robbiepoo2341's Dick Grayson.**

 **Thanks as always to all our writers who reviewed. We loved hearing from you, even if sometimes the story breaks your (and our) hearts.**

* * *

 **Chapter Ninety-Four - Gifted**

 **Day Seven**

 **Richard "Dick" Grayson of District Seven**

 **Written by robbiepoo2341**

* * *

" _We cannot be sure of having something to live for unless we are willing to die for it."_ — _Che Guevera_

* * *

"Augh!"

Dick felt all the blood drain out of his face, and he felt positively ill — and all because he had landed wrong on his stupid arm.

That was the problem with this arena. He could do everything right, but there were slick spots in the swamp, there were dropoffs, there were rocks hidden under the water — though in this case, it had been some underwater roots that had tripped him up.

Kory was there in an instant, of course, her eyes wide and that same apologetic look she had been wearing for the past two days on her face, so he bit back the low sort of hiss that wanted to escape when he tried to get back to his feet. He was still a little dizzy from the bad fall, but he didn't want her to see that, either. He knew she felt guilty about the break, and he didn't want to make it any worse.

After all, he definitely didn't blame her. He hadn't held anything back either when he was fighting her — when he was fighting _Jack_.

* * *

 _Helena was screaming._

 _Dick was still stumbling, and his surroundings seemed to be blending together, but that much was clear to him: the screaming. He had never heard her sound like that before, not even when she had broken her ankle when they were fourteen and had been messing around and chasing each other through the sprawling mansion grounds. This was different than that sort of surprised, pained noise. This was pure agony_ — _and he didn't know where it was coming from._

 _Helena screamed again, and he screamed her name in response, desperately, barely able to discern where the trees were. The tracker jacker venom was pumping through his veins, and he knew that not everything he was seeing was real, somewhere in the back of his mind._

 _But he couldn't focus, and he couldn't just_ assume _that it wasn't Helena screaming. If it wasn't, it might be someone else. Kory or Thea or Raven..._

 _He finally stumbled into the clearing, and any semblance of control he had over himself flew out the window when he saw his sister lying in the water, the blood pooling around her. Her eyes were unseeing, but that was almost the only identifiable thing about her for how badly mutilated she had been. She was almost covered in blood, cuts and gashes all over her body. Her limbs were bent into odd angles._

 _It wasn't until that moment that he realized that there was no screaming._

 _He dropped to his knees. The whole world was swimming in front of him. "Hel…"_

 _It was just like losing his parents all over again, that tight feeling in his chest, that moment when he forgot how to breathe until the only thing he was aware of was the heavy feeling of Helena's head in his lap._

 _And then… someone started laughing._

 _It was a familiar laugh, sadistic and haunting and exactly as horrible as it had been when Jack had killed Gar. Only this time, Jack was laughing over Helena._

 _After that, Dick wasn't even thinking. He saw red. He wanted to kill Jack, rip him apart with his bare hands. He leapt to his feet and all but threw himself at the clown, whose face was distorted by the tracker jacker venom, but if he could just wipe that smile off his face, get him away from Helena…._

 _She was dead. She was dead. But Jack wasn't going to outlive her by much._

* * *

"We can stop if we need to," Kory said, her expression soft as she slipped her hand underneath his good elbow to help him to his feet.

"Not like we have anything better to do," Jason added with a little smirk. He was leaning against one of the trees with his arms crossed watching the two of them, and when Dick caught his gaze, Jason simply shook his head, the smirk still firmly in place.

It was a different kind of dynamic, working with Jason. He was a lot like Thea in that he wasn't afraid to share his opinion, and like Raven in that he didn't give away much more than his best and most sarcastic zingers. But Dick would have been lying if he said he wasn't also grateful for the fact that he didn't feel obligated to try and watch out for Jason — at least not to the extent that he'd felt that way about Raven and Thea.

Sure, Jason was an ally, but he was more than capable of taking care of himself, even with as injured as he had been early in the Games. Jason was more of an ally than a protectee, and considering the fact that Dick still couldn't manage not to see white every time he moved his arm wrong or bumped into something, he was glad for that.

He felt horrible that he was so relieved not to be responsible for someone, but he was trying to be realistic. Bruce used to tell him that all the time: Get your head out of the clouds. Do what you can. Don't overreach, or you'll do more harm than good. Know your limitations.

He hated that advice now just as much as he had back then.

"I'm fine," he told the pair of them as he finally got his breath back from the fall, then straightened up and gave them both his best grin. "What a rotten way that would be to go, right? Death by tree root?"

Jason's smirk turned into a dry look as he turned to keep leading the way through the swamp. "Yeah, he's fine."

Dick couldn't help but smile at that — he appreciated Jason's sense of humor — before he turned his attention to Kory and made it a point to kiss her. "Really. I'm alright." When she still didn't look convinced, he tried for a little tease. "I guess I was a little distracted and wasn't paying attention to where my feet were going."

That finally got a little smile out of her that turned a bit wider as she leaned in. "And do you like what you see?"

He grinned at her. "If you have to ask, then maybe _you_ haven't been paying attention." He brushed back her hair with his good hand as she leaned into the touch. "I already told you how I feel about you."

Kory smiled and covered his hand with hers before she stepped into him and gently kissed him. All of their kisses lately had been gentle, long, and lingering — different from some of the more frenetic, almost hungry ones before, because Dick still had to be careful of his arm, but he didn't mind so much.

Kory tasted more and more like the swamp with every day they were there, but he still remembered how she had tasted like the peaches in the Capitol, and maybe he was crazy, but whenever he kissed her, he always thought he could still taste them on his tongue.

 _Ding._

Both Dick and Kory paused, surprised at the noise ringing through the swamp that _definitely_ didn't belong there.

"Someone's got mail," Jason said — the first to spot the silver parachute as it drifted down toward the three of them, since he hadn't been as distracted as the other two had been. He was already moving to climb partway up to the tree it was headed toward, so that he could pluck it out of the branches once it landed, and he jumped back down once he had it.

For a second, Dick thought that _he_ could have done that — and with probably a little more flourish than necessary — if he didn't have to baby his arm so much, but he pushed the thought aside and instead called out, "Who's it for?"

"Not me, obviously," Jason said as he made his way over to the two of them with the box outstretched. "If it was, it'd have earplugs so I wouldn't have to listen to you two." He tapped the '7' written on the box and gave Dick a significant look. "I'm telling you now — if this in any way has Dick's little helper in it, I'm _out_."

Dick stared at Jason for a moment and then couldn't do anything else but let out a disbelieving laugh before he turned his attention to the box. Kory opened it for him and tipped her head at the contents, her eyebrows raised and a little hum escaping her lips.

Dick reached in with his good hand to pull out what looked like close, black netting. "Huh," he said, frowning a bit. _Alright, Logan, what do you want me to do with this? Make a sling?_

"There are instructions," Kory said, pulling out a crisp card, and she took the netting from him so that he could see just what the heck this stuff was.

Dick read over the card carefully as a slow grin started up, and then he looked up at Kory and kissed her. "It's a cast ... sort of."

Jason let out a low whistle as he held his hand out for the card to read it too. "Must've cost a fortune and a half," he said.

"No kidding," Dick said with a little nod. He took a seat as Jason handed the instructions to Kory.

"Definitely your department," Jason told her, and she let out a little huff as she sat down beside Dick, reading over the instructions a few times to be sure she had it right.

The stuff that looked like netting was supposed to swell up and harden fast once it was wet down with an activator, and seeing as they had plenty of water to work with, that wouldn't be the hard part. The hard part — and they all knew it — was going to be setting Dick's arm straight and getting the netting onto it.

Kory tentatively reached out and rested a hand on his closed fist as they both looked down at his discolored arm. "This is not going to be pleasant," she warned him.

"Yeah, well, as much as I'm enjoying the 'kiss it better' approach to medicine right now…" he teased.

She let out an affectionate sort of huff before she kissed him anyway, and he grinned into it a second before she jerked on his arm _hard_ to set it.

He absolutely hadn't been expecting it, and he let out an involuntary shout as he felt sick all over again, even dizzy. He could hear Kory apologizing as he panted and tried to get a hold of himself, and he shook his head hard. "'S fine," he managed to say through his teeth as he tried his best not to flinch away from Kory as she wrapped his arm in the netting-like material.

"Always gotta perform, don't you, Grayson?" Jason said, shaking his head as he sat down close by, watching Kory work with an interested sort of look.

Kory glanced down at Dick's arm and then back up to his face. "Well?" she prompted him. "I am not a doctor; we will have to do this based on what feels best to you."

Dick took a deep breath and looked down at his arm. It didn't hurt to move it in the position it was in, so he figured that was as good an indication as anything. "Yeah," he breathed out.

Kory leaned over and kissed his cheek with a gentle smile before she set to work wetting down the netting-like substance. And just like the instructions had said, the netting expanded — fast — and hardened quickly. It still looked like netting, with plenty of holes through it to see the discolored skin, but after they had all held their breaths for what felt like forever, Dick finally decided to try moving it.

He hadn't realized how much breath he was holding in his lungs until it all came out in a rush when the cast not only held but was rigid enough that Dick could maneuver it around a bit. He broke into a little grin. "Looks kinda cool, don't you think?"

"Yeah, honeycomb chic," Jason drawled. "You happy now?"

Dick waved the comment off with a little smile as he tried out the new arm, picking up one of his staves and swinging it around a bit. He could close his fist around it and hold it, but even with the cast, he still had to be careful not to hit too hard.

Still, it was a whole lot better than it had been, and he looked up at the sky with a grin. "Thanks, Logan."

"He wrote you a note," Kory said with a smile, handing him the card that had the instructions on it.

Dick raised his eyebrows at that and turned the card over; he hadn't really checked the back when he had been more focused on using the contents of the box, but now that he knew to look, he couldn't help but grin at the message there:

 **This is your first cast. They'll do it right when you get back. - Logan**

"Typical. Got admirers on both sides, don't you, Grayson?"

"Shut up, Jason," Dick shot back, tossing the now-empty box at his ally's head, though Jason ducked it easily enough with a crooked sort of smile.

"Probably where you got the sponsors fro-"

"Shh!" Kory said, suddenly and urgently, bringing both boys' attention to her in an instant.

Jason was still in a teasing sort of mood as he shook his head at her. "Got your girl sticking up for—"

" _Listen_ ," Kory cut him off, her expression entirely serious, enough to get both of them to fall silent and pay attention to their surroundings.

And that was when they noticed it: the total silence all around them.

The three of them glanced at each other as Jason and Kory both grabbed their knives and Dick took a tighter grip on the staves an instant before a low _hiss_ started to move through the trees around them, the water rippling out in their direction and the plants and undergrowth moving with it.

"Looks like you're gonna get to try out that fancy net after all, Grayson," Jason called out to him.

"No time like the present to use a present, right?" Dick shot back, watching the ripples in the water.

All at once, it seemed like the water rushed up in almost a geyser around what looked at first like a moving tree — until it opened its mouth to reveal a pair of long, glistening fangs set in a white, gaping pallette.

"Water moccasin," Kory breathed out, her eyes wide in the instant before the snake struck, lightning fast, and all three of the tributes scattered to escape the deadly bite. When she popped back up to her feet, dripping from the dive into the water, she called to the other two, "Don't let it bite you!"

"Yeah, thanks for that, I was thinking of letting it do that, but now—"

"It is venomous," Kory cut in with a little glare Jason's way.

Dick shook his head at the two of them, though most of his focus was on the snake, which seemed to be eyeing the three of them, trying to decide which of them would be the best target. Its head was moving in an almost hypnotic swaying motion, and while the fangs — which had obviously been enlarged by the Gamemakers so that they were oversized for the creature's mouth — were definitely worrisome, Dick was also worried about the fact that he couldn't see where the thing _ended_.

"Yeah, teeth aren't the only problem with this thing!" he called out to the other two as, almost to prove him right, the water underneath him parted, and he was nearly knocked off of his feet. The huge body — wider around than some of the trees in Seven — rose up out of the water in a loop, trying to snag him. He backflipped off of the snake's body, catching himself one-handed on his good hand before vaulting to his feet.

After all, as great as it was to have the motion of his arm back, he wasn't going to risk putting his full body weight on it in the middle of a fight. He might, you know, _die_ if he got it wrong.

The three tributes backed away from the snake as it swayed at them and then struck out, narrowly missing Jason, who dove away from it and came back up dripping wet as well. "You know what we need?" Jason said, shaking the water out of his eyes. "A sword."

"Behead the dragon?" Dick couldn't help but laugh.

"More or less."

"We could climb it," Kory suggested, a dagger in either hand as she sized up the creature in front of them, almost mirroring its movements as the snake eyed her in return. "It has to have a weakness."

Dick nodded her way approvingly. "I could do it."

Kory didn't take her eyes off the snake, which was still watching her but hadn't struck out yet, for some reason. "Dick—"

"Hey, who here has spent their whole life in the air?" he said before she could argue. He nodded toward the giant snake. "Keep it distracted, would you?"

"Sure thing, circus boy," Jason called out, though it was clearly Kory that had the snake's attention, the way she was matching its swaying movements.

"Kory?"

Again, Kory didn't turn his way, her gaze locked onto the snake's. "Be fast," she said softly, in an almost soothing tone that seemed to be as much directed toward the snake as it was directed to him.

Dick nodded once, sharply, before he scrambled around behind the snake. This was going to be the tricky part. As soon as he touched the slowly slithering body, the snake was going to react, but he didn't know if it would be to him or to Kory, who still had its attention, like some kind of snake charmer.

 _She can even charm mutts,_ he couldn't help but think, in total awe, before he pushed that thought aside to bring up later, _after_ they took this thing down and he had the time to get in a good tease.

He decided the best option here would be to scale the tree close by, and he took a running start to leap onto the branches, glad for the new cast on his arm when he was able to grab on with his good hand and climb mostly one-handed without feeling like he was going to be sick. Close by, he could see Jason moving around the back as well, and Jason flashed him a little smirk and saluted with his knife before he mimed throwing it at Dick.

He nodded. That was a much better plan than trying to beat the thing to death with his staves. Though, admittedly, he wasn't sure if the one knife was going to be strong enough to bring it down.

Once he was high enough that he felt like he had a good angle, he crouched low and then launched himself forward, his arms outstretched. _Just like flying toward a trapeze_ , he thought a moment before he managed to jump onto the snake's head — and the thing immediately reacted with a hiss that shook the trees as it swung its head around to try and dislodge Dick.

There wasn't much that he could hold on to, and he ended up barely keeping his grip by hanging onto the first thing he could really get his hands on — which was unfortunately the flap of skin on the snake's mouth at its edges. Which was _way_ too close for comfort to those long fangs.

He managed to jam his foot into the snake's eye hard enough that he felt it squish, which was gross, but still satisfying, and it gave him a bit of a foothold to work with, even if it was a slippery, bloody foothold. He was still hanging on for dear life, but now he wasn't being whipped around like a doll.

He couldn't tell what his allies were doing while he was doing his best impression of a rodeo, but he could feel the tremble that went up the entire length of the snake's body — so someone must have got in a good hit. He didn't know who it was — he couldn't really get a good look at anything that wasn't this giant snake head — but it was enough to get the snake to start convulsing.

Which, considering Dick was still attached to it, was actually not that great for him.

The snake shuddered as it thrashed around, and the next thing Dick knew, he was underwater as the snake threw its head backward into the swamp. And now it was a whole new ballgame.

He squirmed to get his foot loose, kicking away from the snake's head as he tried to keep away from the long fangs — he wasn't sure which would be worse, really: getting pulled under and drowning with the snake or getting bitten… though getting bitten sounded decidedly painful, and he didn't trust the Gamemakers not to come up with some horrible venom that took forever to kill him…

His head broke the water, and he gasped in a breath, though he had barely shaken the water out of his eyes before the bright white of the snake's mouth was right in his face — and he just _knew_ that was it. He couldn't move fast enough to get away.

He still tried to scramble back on the off chance that maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to get enough distance, but the hiss was loud enough to ring in his ears. The fangs were inches from his face as he threw himself flat backward, falling back in the water.

But, somehow, there was no resulting bite.

Dick didn't know if he had simply managed to bend back enough to avoid it or what had happened, but when he didn't feel two fangs sinking into his chest or his arms or legs, he picked himself back up in time to see that Kory was standing just beside him, with Jason now straddling the head of the large snake as both of them drove their blades repeatedly into its brain.

The snake was thrashing, and Dick narrowly ducked its heavy, thick tail as it swung around before he rushed to join his allies. The snake had a serious blind side after Dick had put his foot in its eye — which he could see now had been what Kory and Jason had taken advantage of, since most of the wounds were to that side of its head. But at this point, it was thrashing around blindly anyway, and he flipped over its body to bash it right between the eyes and then plant a well-aimed hit with his good arm that sank into the snake's other eye.

It was blinded completely now, hissing in displeasure, but with all three of them working in tandem, the mutt really didn't have a chance.

It curled in on itself, its huge body convulsing and shaking hard enough that it knocked Jason a few feet backwards into a tree. Jason was stunned for a moment, but thankfully, the snake couldn't see him and was in too much distress to follow that up with what would absolutely have been a deadly crushing blow if it had managed to constrict him or even bring its body down hard on him.

Kory was still hanging on simply because her daggers were so deeply embedded into the snake's head, and she met Dick's gaze for an instant before she used the weight of her own body to pull the daggers down its head, leaving even deeper gashes than before.

The snake's shuddering was finally starting to die down, though none of the three tributes were about to let up until it was down and _out_. Even blind and dying, the thing was still big enough that a death throe could knock one of them out or break something — so they kept coming back, staves and blades coming down on the creature's head until, finally, it lay still in the red, swirling water all around them.

For a long time, none of them spoke as they stared down at the huge monster in front of them before Dick was the first one to get his voice back. "You guys okay?"

"Hard to tell," Jason said, looking down at himself. All three of them were coated in blood and mud, so he was right — it would be hard to tell at a glance what was their own and what was from the fight with the snake.

But Kory hadn't answered, and Dick frowned when he realized that she was standing a bit further apart from them, hurriedly washing her arm off in the cleanest part of the water that she could find — though considering how much blood and muck had been kicked up by the fight, there wasn't much of a chance of that.

"Kory?" He didn't even think before he had rushed over to where she was, his eyes wide with concern, though she was already shaking her head at him to try and alleviate his fears.

"It is nothing."

He frowned a bit as he dropped into the water next to her on his knees to take her arm in his, though when he saw that she did look genuinely upset, he tried for a smile instead. "Hey, if it's nothing, how am I supposed to kiss it better?"

"You make a good argument," she said with a soft smile his way, though with a waver to her voice that kept her from fully reaching the usual tease.

He grinned her way encouragingly before he turned his attention back to the long cut that ran down the length of her arm. It wasn't deep enough to have cut through muscle or done any more damage than to simply be bleeding, but it was also long enough that they were going to have to dress it to keep her from bleeding out.

"Hey, Jason, where'd we leave that parachute?" Dick called out, figuring the parachute material was going to be much better to use than the waterproof material of their tribute clothing.

"Probably right underneath the giant snake, knowing our luck," Jason replied, though he was already moving to search for it.

"We need to clean it out first," Kory said, her eyes still wide as she took her arm back from Dick and started to scoop water over it. "It was not a bite, but I would not be surprised if there was some residual venom on the fangs."

"You were in its _teeth_?" Dick asked, not bothering to his his surprise or his concern as he helped her to scoop water over her arm, the red of her blood running down into the already brown, churning water underneath them as they worked. "Kory!"

But to his surprise, her response was to turn toward him with something dangerous flashing in her gaze. "I wasn't going to let it kill you, Dick!"

For a moment, he stared at her — and then he couldn't help but close the distance between them and wrap her up in a passionate kiss. He clutched her to him, one hand in her hair to keep her tight as his teeth dragged over her lower lip, and he finally let her breathe only so that he could almost reverently kiss her neck and whisper a very quiet, "Love you too."

Kory let out a soft breath in his ear that sent shivers down his spine, but before either of them could say anything else, Jason had arrived — loudly, probably splashing through the water heavily on purpose.

"No, no, don't mind me. I'm just the errand boy," Jason drawled out.

Dick shook his head lightly. He liked having Jason for an ally, but his sense of humor and _timing_ … Dick straightened up a bit and caught the balled-up parachute that Jason tossed his way as soon as he had turned. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Jason said, sitting down on the body of the snake as he watched Dick tear the fabric of the parachute to shreds. "What do you think — would it be worth it to take those fangs with us?"

Kory looked up at him. "And risk envenomation?"

Jason shrugged up both shoulders. "You're doing alright; we'd probably know by now if you were feeling the venom in your system," he pointed out. "Probably a dry bite, anyway. The thing lunged for all of us often enough that it wouldn't have delivered any venom until it got a solid hold on us." When Dick at Kory glanced at each other and then frowned a bit at Jason at the pronouncement, he shrugged again, nonchalantly. "I've had a few snake bites in my time."

"Is that a common problem in Six?" Kory asked with one eyebrow raised.

"No," Jason said simply, but he didn't offer any further explanation.

Once more, Dick and Kory shared a glance, but seeing as Jason had already headed away from them to start hacking away at the snake head to more or less take his trophy, they didn't really get the chance to argue it or ask what, exactly, Jason was _up_ to in Six that he had that kind of knowledge. Instead, Dick went back to working on Kory's arm in silence until he had wrapped it properly and then looked up again to meet her gaze.

"You sure you're alright?"

She nodded. "Jason may be right," she said. "I feel nothing out of the ordinary…"

"I wouldn't say that," he said with a little smirk before he leaned in and kissed her, taking advantage of their ally's distraction to make the kiss last much longer as he pulled her in and she responded by running her hands up his back and pressing into him just as tightly.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders

14\. Jade Nguyen, District Ten Female: Killed by Harley Quinn

13\. Kara Danvers, District Five Female: Killed by Kara Danvers


	96. Chapter 95: True Enlightenment

**(A/N): Here we are with our Friday update! This time, we're taking you to the Tahiti program again, specifically Amanda Waller's team, with the talented Silmarilz1701 writing Sinthea Schmidt for us again!**

* * *

 **Chapter Ninety-Five: True Enlightenment**

 **Secret HYDRA Facility**

 **Sinthea Schmidt, Formerly of District Six**

 **Written by Silmarilz1701**

* * *

" _Love may precede respect but it cannot survive the loss of it." ― Joe L. Wheeler_

* * *

Sinthea's footfalls in the charcoal grey hallway were so light they barely betrayed her presence. She had gotten quite good at silence since the beginning of training. She _loved_ training. Down there, in her Tahiti sisterhood, she got to prosper alongside Kate and Natasha. She wasn't exactly sad that Wade and T'Challa were gone. Wade in particular had been a pain, and T'Challa lacked conviction. But her sisters, as she liked to think of them, her sisters managed to create a bond around their shared hatred of Thanos ― and that was irreplaceable.

It certainly made things easier when the call had come. Sin's team would get the kill shot. It was theirs, no one else's. Bakshi often told of how allegiance and compliance would get rewarded, and at last, she saw it manifest. HYDRA rewarded its followers, and she counted herself among their most loyal.

And so as she passed beneath the flashing red light in the perpetually dark gray corridor, she eagerly stepped forward into the room with Hydra's elite. She noticed Viper there, and Von Strucker. To his left, Zemo sat tapping a pen on the table top. To Viper's right, an empty chair sat. Bakshi led her to stand at the head of the table before taking his seat at the far end.

"Miss Schmidt, we are _so_ glad you could make it," Sarkissian purred out as she seemed to melt into her chair.

"Thank you for having me." She nodded her head. "I am honored to be able to lead the assault team on the President."

"Yes, so we've been told." Slight irritation flashed across Zemo's face. "Bakshi tells us many things. Like the fact that you are glad T'Challa is gone?"

She nodded. "He lacked conviction to the cause. Hydra couldn't afford that."

"And Whitehall? Are you glad for his death?" Bakshi's voice came floating towards her from the back. "You certainly don't look put out."

Sin scowled at him. "Of course not. He was a great man, doing Hydra's good work in the world."

"A great man like your father," Strucker said quietly.

"Oh, please," Viper said as she rolled her eyes, looking bored with the subject matter. "If he was that great, he wouldn't have failed so spectacularly. Don't hold onto your boys club so tightly, Baron. It will only hurt that much more should it be plucked from your grasp."

Strucker let out a little scoff, glanced at his pocket watch, and then sighed. "Speaking of Herr Schmidt ― where is he?"

Sinthea frowned to herself. She had known her father to be leading Hydra's charge, but that did not make her eager to see him. Still, she supposed this was a chance to tell him all her achievements, to let him know that she supported him for the first time in her entire life. She finally felt some sort of connection to the man that so long eluded her.

Sarkissian smirked. "He'll be here shortly. You know he's on his own schedule. Besides, when the Skull is late, then I do believe the rest of us are early."

As she finished her sentence, the man himself walked in, and Viper positively grinned his way looking perfectly pleased at her vindication. His black leather boots pounded the concrete ground systematically. He never faltered in his step. When he walked to his seat beside Viper, she leaned toward him, re-adjusting her stance so that it was clear her focus was purely on him. Sin's gaze traveled from the white accents of his clothing to the red, burned skull atop his body. His eyes burned into her, and she saw the all-too familiar look of abject disappointment. She bristled at the look and frowned to herself.

"Now that we are all present, let us get down to business, no?" Zemo prompted them quickly, and they opened their packets.

Each member of Hydra had a black folder, and inside, the profiles of Kate Bishop, Sinthea Schmidt, and Natasha Romanoff followed closely a detailed plan of attack on the President's mansion. Colored photos of previous ops, detailed psych evals, and even meal regimens apparently comprised the stash of information provided about each TAHITI operative. But the most precious of all, the layout of the mansion, came last.

"Your top priority is to isolate Thanos so Miss Bishop can take the shot," Strucker began, but was instantly interrupted by the Red Skull.

"While it is vital we outline the plan for these _girls_ ," he said, condescension dripping from his choice of word, "I find it necessary to point out that Daniel Whitehall, a trusted member of this council, is dead. How did this happen?" He faced Bakshi first and sneered. "You worked closely with him. How is it that he is dead? Is it by his incompetence? Or yours?"

"Dr. Whitehall failed to predict every outcome." Strucker kept his voice level.

Zemo snickered silently to himself before nodding in response. "To his demise."

Schmidt snarled as he lit his cigar. "See no one else makes such mistakes ― or _I_ will make an example."

"He was weaker than he was given credit for. Another pompous little man playing at power," Viper said dismissively. "Hydra can do better. _You_ can do better than to be burdened with such self important little peons."

"We are in this together, Schmidt," Strucker reminded him.

With a sneer, the Skull took the cigar from his mouth. "Let me rephrase. _Hydra_ shall make an example of such a man, or woman, or child." Immediately, his gaze landed on Sinthea. He put the cigar back between his lips and gestured for her to continue.

"As you will read in the packets," Sin began again, hesitating ever so slightly, "my team has been following every lead and order given to us. Kate is an expert marksman. Even in the Games, she was a crack shot, and now, with the training, she's quite literally unmatched in TAHITI."

"That isn't saying much," Schmidt muttered between smoke puffs. He looked at the photo of Kate he had been provided. "She's small ― and only working for us through Kilgrave's methods, correct?"

"Yes," Strucker nodded. "But she is loyal. Kilgrave has had no issues keeping her in line."

Ophelia looked deeper into the notes. "It says here she tried to dye her hair red?" She glanced up at Sinthea in confusion. "Why?"

"I am not sure," Sin admitted. "My guess is she wanted to be more like myself and Natasha."

"And why shouldn't she? Red's a good color." Sarkissian smirked at the Red Skull. "Not everyone can pull off my particular shade, though, of course." Her smile only widened as she started to twirl a lock of hair almost girlishly ― had it not been a look on someone quite so venomous.

"It is of no importance," Bakshi added for them. "Kilgrave took care of it."

Sin bristled at his declaration. She hated Kilgrave's methods. But her father merely nodded and perused the file further. He said nothing, but continued to puff smoke from his mouth. The cigar stunk, and Sinthea wrinkled her nose in disgust. She turned back to her well-prepared talk.

"When Kate positions herself at the marked location, Natasha and I will infiltrate." she pointed to the map Bakshi had set up, showing Kate's intended position.

"First names? What are you, friends?" The elder Schmidt turned to the table and closed his packet. "I understand speed is of utmost importance, but remind me again why it was decided that three adolescent girls were our best option? I have Jason Todd waiting in the wings, once the Games are done. And that has been our timetable all along."

"Jason?" Sinthea jumped in, fury radiating off her body. "That overbearing, hulking nutjob from this year?" She leaned forward in sheer amazement. "You would trust that fool over three trained operatives that have been specially selected?"

The room went silent. The only audible sound was a whirring fan above them and the sound of smoke puffing from Johann Schmidt's mouth. Sarkissian's face betrayed nothing, but Zemo looked thoroughly amused. Strucker and Bakshi, both with matching straight faces, practically quivered with unspoken concern. Whether it was for themselves or for Sinthea, she didn't know. But what was clear was that no one spoke to Johann Schmidt in _that_ tone.

Schmidt turned his chair directly to face his estranged daughter. "Yes. I would choose him. Jason Todd has been trained, properly, by my hand no less. He knows his place, unlike you. He is ten times, a hundred times, anything you are."

"I am your daughter. I am every bit as strong as that piece of trash." Sin narrowed her eyes and stood her ground. Her heart beat so loud in her chest, she wondered if her teammates in TAHITI could hear it. "Do you really think, honestly, that that boy will come back and work for you?"

All eyes bounced back to the elder Schmidt. He placed his cigar on a handkerchief he took from a pocket. His eyes blazed with inner fury, mirrored by the young woman standing before him. But as it was, he laughed, a chilling laugh filling Sin with secret terror. "He belongs to me. He is nothing without me. I can, and will, bring him back. He will _always_ be mine."

"You _are_ bringing that maniac back?" She choked out a tight laugh. "You're insane. You're literally insane. He may not be that Jack kid, but he's off his rocker too, and that comes from hating you."

Strucker spoke up this time. "As you well know, Miss Schmidt, we have our ways of curbing disloyalty."

"Some good that did with Wade!" Sin dared to counter. She threw her hands up. "This is madness. Hydra's best chance at success is to use me and my team. Thanos is well-guarded, well-armed. You need us."

That's where Johann Schmidt had enough. He stood from his chair immediately, flourishing his movement with a grab of his cigar. Popping it back in his mouth, he walked the three stride lengths to a shocked Sinthea. In one fell swoop, he whacked her across the face, sending the young woman flying, red hair bouncing around as she hit the ground.

"If you were really my daughter, you would stand your ground after that," he growled to her. "You may believe you are special, or worthy, as you seem to think sharing my blood grants you something. But I promise you, child, you will receive nothing once the war is won."

"I think, _Herr Schmidt_ ," Sarkissian said suddenly breaking the deafening silence that had filled the room once again. "That though this _boy,_ Jason, has been conditioned, he may not be properly _seasoned_ to handle what the girls have been prepared for already. They have _proven_ themselves more than capable, but …" She stopped, and a wicked kind of glint flashed in her eyes. "If you think they need more of an edge, I could take a bit of time and show them a few of _my_ tricks."

Sarkissian turned to face the men in the room with a clear look of warning. "There hasn't been a man yet that can stand against my methods. Do not mistake feminine wiles for weakness simply because you cannot comprehend." She met each of their gazes for just a moment before she produced a tube of lipstick, seemingly from nowhere, and carefully applied a fresh coat of a deep, metallic green.

Sinthea felt unbidden tears forming, alongside a welt across her cheek. Her lip bled down the right side of her mouth, and she squeezed her fists, hanging onto her sanity for dear life. If she did anything to Schmidt now ― anything ― there would be retaliation. She didn't think herself expendable to them, and as a member of the TAHITI program, an execution would have to be staged as an accident. She wouldn't die right then and there, but she couldn't risk hurting the monster standing before her.

She had held little love for Johann Schmidt before that strike, but there certainly was no love for him after. All faith in her father she had ever held on to had evaporated in a microsecond. One decision, made in haste, had cost Hydra her unfailing loyalty. After a moment on the floor, she picked herself up slowly, wiping the blood from her face. She wiped it onto her red corset-style shirt. She made eye contact with every single silent leader of Hydra, and finally, her gaze landed on her "father."

"Someday, you will see why you need me. Why all of you need us." She growled this angrily, nodding to Ophelia Sarkissian in appreciation, but turning in the end back to Bakshi. "I would guess this meeting is adjourned."

"Indeed," the elder Schmidt said with a nod. "Get my _daughter_ out of here."

Bakshi took her arm as she went to lunge at the Red Skull. _How dare he use that word._ But she wouldn't let him take the last word. As she left the room, she shouted back. "You may think Jason Todd is your personal fighting dog, but he's not. None of us are!"

Bakshi escorted her down the hall, with Sin seething in anger and pain. She reached up and felt her reddened, burning skin. Her head felt slightly off after the smack, and she hoped there was no concussion. As they reached the end of the hallway, her handler handed her a black bandana to put around her eyes. With a sneer, she took it. Voices echoed down the hall from the escalating argument she had left.

"Your father is quite charming," Bakshi chimed in once the blindfold was in place. "He must be a tough one to bring a boy home to."

"Watch it, or you might be the body found next." Sinthea waited for him to guide her further forward.

His clear, calm voice sounded immediately. "Is that a threat, Miss Schmidt?"

"Merely an observation."

* * *

When she showed up for training five minutes early the following morning, both Natasha and Kate were there. The mats scrunched beneath her bare feet as she walked across and put her water bottle down. With a quick glance, she checked that the cameras at either corner had the telltale red light of " **ON**." They did.

"What happened to your face?" Kate handed her a towel that Sin placed under her water. "Lose a fight with a door?"

Sin shot her a glare. "I fell."

"Doesn't look like it's from a fall," Natasha commented as she stood and got to the mat.

Sin glared. "Careful, Romanoff. I told you I fell; don't accuse me of hitting myself, too."

Kate gave a short laugh. "Yeah, if you were doing that, we'd have more concerns than just going over a few moves. And I'd never, ever be able to stop saying 'stop hitting yourself'."

To that, Sinthea simply shook her head with a wry smile. "I'll watch you two go first. I want to critique your stance and movements, Kate."

After a bit of bickering between Natasha and Sinthea, the other two girls got into position. But Sinthea, despite her intention of studying Kate, found her mind drifting in other directions. She'd caught only an hour or two of sleep, and her head still hurt, now from the lights in the training room. But beyond that, she had a lot to think about.

Red Skull's words echoed in her mind. She would get nothing once the war was won. Then what was the point of fighting the war? For her, the only thing keeping her in this fight was the promise of killing those who had harmed her, who had separated her from Six, and Crossbones, and _life_. She wanted every single Capitolite dead, wanted them to suffer. Let their children cower in the Games, claw their way out of sewer systems, and have their necks snapped by giant robots.

Hydra was the best option for Marvel. So for now, she would fight their war. But if something better came along, that wasn't out of the question anymore. She had seen the underbelly of Hydra, her birth father, and she hated it. It stood for the right ideas: control, security, and unity. A united, secure Marvel would only come from Hydra. But with Red Skull at the helm, it would devolve into a testosterone match.

"Sin, get your mind out of the clouds." Natasha's clear voice rang through her thoughts. "Did you hurt yourself in that 'fall'?"

"Hit my head on the toilet stepping out of the shower," she admitted sheepishly. A gross lie, but she hoped the cameras would buy it. "Might have a minor concussion."

"Well that's great," Natasha muttered. "Just what we needed."

Kate was slightly more sympathetic. "Are you alright? Will you be ready for the next mission?"

Sin smiled lightly. "I'll be fine, I'm sure."

But Natasha shook her head. "Waller won't want you hurting yourself further. You have to be in top shape for missions. Go rest."

"Might as well," Kate nodded with a small, quiet smile when she saw Sinthea start to object. "We don't want to split up the team."

She grumbled but nodded, grabbing the water bottle she'd set down and tossing the towel back over the rack, where it remained unused. She smiled to herself once the door unlocked at her passcode. Her sisters cared, even if her father did not. They were her family, not the one tied by blood.

When she got back to her room and walked across the red rug, she grabbed some ice from the mini fridge and placed it in a baggie. Sin eased herself into bed and sat against the wall where her bed met the grey metallic surface. The cool touch of ice on her welt soothed her screaming skin. With a sigh, she pulled out the red skull pin from under her pillow.

She wondered what Grandma Scarbo had ever seen in the man known as the Red Skull. He was a monster. He cared only about himself, not about order, not about security. Schmidt cared about getting power. And while power was nice, Sinthea cared more about being sure those she saw as fit were well cared for: her new sisters.


	97. Chapter 96: Back in the Frying Pan

**(A/N): Happy May! We're here with our Tuesday update, with the ever-so-talented Miran Anders writing Helena Wayne. :)**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed and thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for your reviews of the last few chapters. We love to hear from you!**

* * *

 **Chapter Ninety-Six - Back in the Frying Pan**

 **Day Seven, Evening**

 **Helena Wayne of District Seven**

 **Written by Miran Anders**

* * *

 _I think slavery is the next thing to hell. - Harriet Tubman_

* * *

Three girls sat around a small fire as the day waned. They were wet, dirty, and nursing minor wounds — physically, at least.

Helena Wayne was doing her best to distract herself from, well, everything. She was frowning in concentration as she chipped away at the edge of a long, flattish piece of chert to sharpen it. She nearly missed, narrowly avoiding her thumb with the rock she was pounding with. "Dammit," she hissed quietly. It didn't stop her, though. She had to have some kind of weapon. And she had to have some kind of distraction.

Her thumb rubbed unconsciously across the scabbing welt on her cheek where the snapping bowstring had marked her, probably for life. _However long that will be._ In actuality, she was surprised it didn't take her eye out. An inch further up her right cheek, and she would have had a truly mythic punishment, suitable for the bloodthirsty Capitol audiences.

Taking a deep breath, she paused as she looked over at Harley. The girl was weaving vines into another trap to set — _although if the one Jade broke out of is any indication, they may not be as useful as she thinks. And if Jade hadn't broken out, I'd still have_ — she stopped herself from entertaining that line of thought any farther. She'd like to blame Harley for what happened, but they were allies, and they'd work together as long as they could. _As long as we're all alive, anyway._

She raised her glance subtly toward Pam — no, _Ivy_ , she corrected herself mentally. Everyone seemed to want an alter ego here in the arena. She supposed it made sense, psychologically. You couldn't easily imagine yourself being a cold-blooded killer, so you reinvented yourself into someone who _was_. Someone with a different name, different values. It was all about distancing yourself from this reality. It was all about survival.

And Ivy appeared, at the moment, to be just barely surviving. She was hugging herself and rocking ever so slightly, staring into the mild flickering of the campfire. _Oh, boy. She's back there again. Back in the_ real _fire._

* * *

 _They were slogging through the swamp, heading toward the Tesseract and hoping for a new weapon for Helena when Harley found the box._

 _First, there had been another one of the stupid riddles. Anger at being played with had Helena thinking more of revenge than answers, until something in her subconscious triggered an old, familiar voice urging her to move along in a hurry to lessons, or to a meal._

 _It was the voice of Alfred._

"Make haste, Miss Helena. Make haste!"

 _She barely heard herself yell as the box abruptly burst into flame, and she kicked it away into the swamp. "Run!" Kicking it may have saved Harley's legs, but it didn't do much for the surrounding area._

 _The fire. All around them, the shimmering oil floating on the water had burst into flame, totally surreal in the watery world of the swamp. Helena and Harley had started to run, but Ivy was staring in horror as the nearby trees caught the flames. Oil on the water became oil on the hanging moss, and as it licked upwards, Helena and Harley thought they heard a scream. Looking back, they saw their partner transfixed by the sight, her clenched fists slowly lifting against an invisible foe._

 _It was Harley who finally seemed to get through to her, grabbing her arm, and they ran like hell. Hel was, in fact, leading the way, running so fast you would have thought it was a race with her brother through the woods back home. She was moving so fast that when she was pretty sure she'd gotten out of the range of the flames, she turned, and saw_ — _nothing._

 _There was no one behind her. Swearing loudly, she headed back toward the devastation in time to see the other two crawling out of the water onto a muddy patch of land. Her shoulders dropped as she found herself breathing hard, trying to catch her breath in air that wasn't redolent with oily smoke. As she strode through the shallows toward them, her adrenaline turned to anger. She was panting, not only with exhaustion, but with the aftermath of terror._

" _What the hell is wrong with you?!"_

 _That split second of being alone had shot up her spine like a bullet._

* * *

In retrospect, she wasn't sure what scared her more. Being alone in the arena or the realization that she was, at that moment, _afraid_ of being alone. _Damn_.

Helena shook her head, but couldn't hold back the frown. _Fine. So she's got an obsessive love of plants… but come on. Look, fire. Run. It's not brain surgery._ She took a few more half-hearted chips out of the rock, feeling extraordinarily tired. Exhaustion was making her doubt everything, including her choice of allies in this little adventure.

 _I wonder: if it was a choice between one of us and a tree, which Ivy would choose to save? Of course, if it was between me and Harley, she'd save Harley…that's pretty obvious._ She heard Dick snicker in her mind, and added, _Not that there's anything wrong with that._

Her mouth set in a tight grimace as she shifted the piece of chert and hit it a little harder, throwing off a little spark in the night. _Maybe I should have gone with Dick. At least I know what he would do in most situations._

 _Yeah. And you know he'd put your safety before his. Which is why you're not with him._

 _Shut up, brain._

Somehow, her exhausted brain had taken on a tone of voice that seemed to sound an awful lot like her absent brother. At least it was better than when it sounded like her father.

 _But at least you'd put Dick first, too. Maybe the two of you could have gotten to the end, and then …_

 _Right. And then._

 _Maybe there would be a way out._

 _Sure. We could wait until they send every mutt imaginable at us, knowing that it wouldn't be strong enough to kill both of us…_

 _Right, just keep killing them off together until they actually send Sentinels after us._

 _Yeah, sure, we could take out a bunch of Sentinels. Heavily-armed Sentinels. Right._

 _Hey, they know when we're dead because of the implant they stuck in, right? What if..._

Helena frowned, looking at her makeshift knife appraisingly. _Where did that thought come from?_ It wasn't exactly a sophisticated weapon, but if it was good enough for gutting a fish, it could probably do some serious damage to a human. _I don't know if it's actually up to performing surgery, though._

 _True, but if it came down to it, Hel, wouldn't you take that chance? Cut it out of one of us, smash it, make them at least think one is dead…_

 _And just how would you manage that? Cameras are everywhere._

 _Okay. So there's a staged fight, in the water… one of us goes under and cuts it out there. It stops getting info, and bingo! One of us is dead. There'd probably even be some blood in the water..._

 _Hmh. It's an interesting thought… unlikely, but…_

She shook her head and glanced over at her wounded crossbow, which was sitting next to her like a lame dog. _If I even have a chance of making it that far. Sorry, bow. If only I'd hung on to that knife, you'd be fine. Hell, maybe we'd all be fine._ She whacked at the rock with anger-fueled energy, and one of the chips nearly hit Harley.

"Hey! Watch it, Helzy. Yer gonna get someone killed."

Helena bit off her answer as she continued sculpting the blade. "That's the idea, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but not us!" Harley tossed a twig into the fire and shook her head. "At least when the bow worked, you weren't messing with it all the time."

Helena stared at her for a moment, but the girl seemed unaware of how the reminder hurt. The fateful moment in the fight with Nguyen played in her head for the hundredth time in two days.

* * *

 _She'd taken aim from behind the trees and had a clean shot set up with Jade in her sights_ — _but Harley saw that the girl had broken free from the trap and went running at her._ Damn it, Harley. _Helena lowered her weapon and ran to join the fray._

 _In the confusion, they grappled, and Helena, with her bow in front of her, was at a disadvantage. She shifted her grip to her left hand and stepped in to punch the girl in the stomach, ducking to avoid the knife that swiped at her._

 _She didn't realize until too late that the slice wasn't meant for her._

 _In an agonizing moment of realization, she saw the blade heading for her crossbow. Not for the stock, or the limbs, but for the string. Her mouth opened to cry out as, in slow motion, she saw the knife_ — her _knife, she remembered._ Her _knife that she dropped, foolishly, on the first day, that Jade had retrieved._

 _She saw the knife slice with a twang through the string close to the limb. The suddenly freed string whipped through the air, slicing in turn across Helena's cheek. Punishing her for her mistakes; both for losing the knife and now for not realizing it was in danger. She cried out in pain as Jade pushed away from her, throwing her back into the muddy water, the crossbow clutched to her chest like a wounded child._

 _She felt like she had been stripped naked._

* * *

Helena stretched her neck to the side, trying to push the memory away.

"Alright. Maybe we should call it a night, ladies."

"Not yet," Ivy said quietly. "It's getting dark. Almost time for—"

She stopped as a strident chime cut through the swamp noises of the evening. Helena looked off to her left, through the veils of hanging moss. _Now what?_

"What the hell is _that_?" Something flashed in the waning light and caught the firelight with a silvery shimmer, like a fish turning in water.

Harley clapped her hands. "Presents! Yay! I knew they loved us; how could they not?" She scrambled to her feet, blowing kisses to an invisible audience and snatching the falling silver out of the air before it had a chance to land. Flipping the fabric back as she returned to their camp, she saw the giant red '7' on the side and set her mouth in a glorious pout. "Seven? Aww, shoot. Looks like you're the only one getting presents, Helz. Santa baby lettin' me down _again_."

Helena frowned as she accepted the package, mumbling quietly under her breath. "Oh, boy. What did you do, Dad?" For a moment, one hand went to the pendant at her collarbone, and she shook her head. Then, she used her sharpened rock to slice the seal on the box and opened it cautiously.

"Whatcha get?"

"I'm guessing my father spent his retirement fund on something..." Inside the box was a padded envelope, six inches square, and taped to it was a note. Helena peeled it off and held it closer to the fire to read.

 **Watch your back and give 'em Hel. See you in the Capitol. - Logan**

"It's _Helena_ , jerk," she said without thinking.

 _Wait._ Not _Dad? Logan?_ For a moment, her eyes widened, then flashed with shock. She took a few steps away from the fire and the shelter of their current tree and shouted up into the sky. "What the hell, Logan? Seriously?"

The other two girls looked at her nervously. "Helz…?"

She spun and glared at them. "You know it costs a fortune to send things in. And it wasn't my rich father who did it. It was _Logan_."

Harley frowned and tipped her head curiously. "Ain't that a good thing? You don't even know what he sent, and you're all—"

"It doesn't matter." Helena took the padded envelope and, for a moment, looked like she might throw it into the swamp. "It's _wrong_. I don't want it on my hands."

Ivy took a few steps toward her, her voice quiet and calm. "Helena. Gifts from the sponsors are supposed to be a good thing—"

Helena spun on her heel so fast that her flying ponytail made Ivy take a step back to avoid getting hit in the eye. "Do you know what they have to _do_? The victors who mentor us?"

Harley had stepped up protectively beside Ivy and nodded. "Yeah. They have to get money from sponsors if they wanna send us any help. I still don't—"

"And do you know _how_ they 'get money'? What they have to _do_ for it? Do with _anyone_ willing to pay?"

Ivy's eyes narrowed, and she pulled back slightly as she caught the harsh implication in Helena's voice. "That's... disgusting."

"You're damn right it's disgusting. And now it's on _my_ hands."

"Nah, you're lookin' at it all wrong. It's on _his_ hands. Everybody makes their own choices. But he musta thought you were worth helping, Helz." Harley shrugged. "May as well see what he thought was worth whatever he had to do ta get it ."

Helena stared at the blonde, and finally, her shoulders fell. She dragged herself back toward the firelight and squatted near it, tearing the padded envelope open angrily. She looked inside, and her head dropped, her shoulders shaking.

"Helzy? You okay?"

She stood abruptly and began walking out into the night. "I just need some air."

"Helz—"

"Let her go, Harley." Ivy picked up the padded envelope, which Helena had put down next to her bow, and gingerly looked inside. "Ah."

"Whazzit?"

Ivy looked off at the retreating form of Helena in the dark. "The Huntress got her new string."

"Well, that's what she needed, ain't it, honey? Looks like he did good to me. An' he prolly had 'em lined up around the block."

Ivy nodded, biting her bottom lip pensively. "It's hard to know how to feel, when what you want comes with a cost… like that."

* * *

Helena sat on a rock and hugged her knees to her chest, her head resting on them. Her brain carried on a conversation without any conscious effort on her part.

 _Why._

 _Because, this is the way it is._

 _It sucks. I hate it._

 _Yeah. Yeah, it does. But maybe it can change. Maybe if you make it through._

 _Seriously? Make it through? What's the point? Although if one of those Capitol idiots tried anything with me..._

She sniffed once or twice and lifted her head as martial music signaled the beginning of the nightly report. Through the trees, she could see the moon, shining in the night. _Lucky_ , she thought, swiping absently at her nose. _You're free. Just out there, being beautiful… strong and bright…_ Just staring up at it gave her a moment of calm. _Oh, Alfred. I wish I'd hugged you more._ She took a breath and began to quietly whisper part of the poem he'd given her so long ago.

" _Lay thy bow of pearl apart_

 _And thy crystal-shining quiver;_

 _Give unto the flying hart_

 _Space to breathe, how short soever:_

 _Thou that mak'st a day of night,_

 _Goddess excellently bright_ —"

Lights suddenly played across the water of the swamp, and she closed her eyes painfully tight. She took a deep breath and opened them slowly before she began to watch.

 _And now, the flying harts._

The first six dead were the same as the night before; Wilson, Dent, Snow, Ramon, Kaldur, Clark Kent. She realized, at that point, that she wasn't really breathing, waiting to see who might be next.

 _Kara Danvers._ Helena shook her head and tapped a fist against her chest. It had become her small show of grief for any tribute that she had respect for.

She wondered if there would be any other new names — and of course she wondered if Dick —

 _Dick. Oh, God. Logan wouldn't play favorites. I bet he got a parachute too…_ She slammed her fist into the rock she was sitting on, hard enough to crack the skin on her knuckle. She didn't feel it, even though it went to her mouth automatically. She only felt anger, simmering, boiling. _I wonder what it is_ he _needs to survive…_

 _Or wait. Did I just get something because I'm the only one left?_

Her stomach tightened into a hard knot as the light show on the still water went on. Hawkins, Tetch, Nguyen, Gar… and one of the maniacs, Crane. _No Grayson. No Grayson, thank God_.

 _So he's still out there. My brother is still herding his little flock, and here I am, in this group of three water-logged women… soggy. Just soggy. If we were in the ocean, at least we could pretend to be sirens, lure our prey to us… but here…_ The wind picked up, stirring the still surface of the water as the bright lights and music faded. _Dammit, Grayson. I wish you were here._

She was picturing her brother so clearly that the plaintive female voice calling from a little way off startled her.

"Helz?"

She brushed her hands over her eyes, and her voice was weary when she responded. "On my way, Harley." She made her way carefully back toward the fire and their tiny camp, the sight of which gave her a surprisingly warm feeling. The other two welcomed her with a nod but stayed quiet, waiting for her to say something.

She sat down and warmed her hands at the fire before picking up the envelope and pulling out the two cords inside.

"He sent ya two?"

"No. One's a stringer cable. I'll need a few minutes."

"Would more light help?" Helena glanced over at Ivy and nodded, appreciating her willingness to deal with fire in a positive way.

"A little more would be great."

"Okay. Not so much that we draw attention."

"Right."

The other two girls scrounged for wood while Helena set herself up to carefully restring her crossbow. Ivy added bits and pieces of wood and dry weeds, while Harley lay on her stomach, blowing at the fire. They fanned the flames to brightness as Helena set the stringer in place before attaching the actual bowstring; first to one arm, and then, after several twists, to the other. It was a delicate procedure, and took somewhat longer than usual — especially in the flickering light. By the time she released the safety and trigger, the fire was beginning to die down to gentle flames again, and Harley was giggling from hyperventilating.

Helena exhaled and ran her hands over the wood of the stock, feeling the pent-up energy humming through it once more.

Ivy smiled her slow, lioness smile at her. "I take it she's happy?"

"Oh, yeah," Helena chuckled lightly. "She's much happier." She looked up in time to see Harley interrupt her giggles with a yawn . "Listen. I'm fully armed again. How about if I take first watch?"

"Fine with me."

"Hey, Helzy — if you see somethin' with legs, shoot it for breakfast!"

Ivy and Helena looked at her. "What if it's a tribute?"

Harley shrugged, tilting her head and looking unnecessarily thoughtful. "Prob'ly need ketchup _and_ must'rd for that. G'night."

Ivy shook her head as she settled down next to Harley close by the fire. "Wake me when you're tired."

"Will do."

 _But that may be a lie._ She was already tired, bone-weary, emotionally exhausted — but the idea of sleep scared her. She frowned at the low, licking flames as she stroked the bow and wondered why.

Alfred's voice came to her again, this time more theatrically. " _Sleep, perchance to dream, Miss Helena. Perchance to dream."_

 _Dreams. Okay. What am I afraid I'm going to dream about?_

The memory came back all at once, like a fist slamming into her. She hadn't remembered any of it in at least a decade. Frankly, she didn't realize she remembered it at all. It was as if it exploded, fully-formed, a supernova in the darkness of her mind. It felt like she was living it for the first time, while remembering it as well.

And it hurt.

* * *

 _She was six, she thought. She couldn't have been much older, since her mother was still alive, and Dick wasn't part of the family yet._

 _She remembered, in oddly vivid detail, sitting on the rug in the upstairs hall of the mansion. Several toy horses were laid out on the blue diamonds in the design of the rug. They had to be on the blue, because the wine red color was lava. Helena had to be careful herself, walking up and down the hall to place the horses, tiptoeing on the small diamond shapes. If she didn't, she had to walk all the way back to the top of the stairwell and start over, super quick._

 _In a couple more trips, she'd have the chain of horses all the way to her bedroom, and then_ —

 _She remembered stopping and standing very still. Not because she heard her parents talking in their room; that was nothing strange, although they'd been doing that for a pretty long time today._

 _She stopped this time, and listened very hard, because she could hear her mother crying, although very quietly. She remembered that she was standing on one foot, wearing her white lace-trimmed socks and her black lava-resistant shoes. She remembered feeling like she would balance there forever, hearing her mother cry._

 _She remembered hearing her father talk in his soft voice, the one he really only used with her mother. She remembered at that moment a cloud must have gone over the sun, because it got real dark in the hall for a minute, and even though it wasn't cold inside, she shivered._

 _She remembered feeling a little sick and swallowing hard as she heard bits and pieces of words, and names, and sobs, and feeling so sad. She wasn't sure why, but even the words_ — _lots of them, she didn't really understand_ — _made her feel so incredibly sad. She heard her mother say something about some man putting her 'out', some kind of out that Helena didn't understand, and heard her father keep repeating it wasn't her fault, even if whatever it was meant they couldn't have another one._

 _She remembered wondering what they could possibly want another one of._

 _She remembered it getting quiet in her parents room, apart from a few sniffles, and a couple more words in Daddy's soft voice._

 _She remembered deciding that it wasn't a good day for lava anymore and very quietly scooping up her horses_ — _three palomino, one black, one gray_ — _and putting them back in her room without worrying about the rug in the hall. Then, quietly as a hunter, she moved back down the hallway to the big stairwell and walked silently down the mahogany steps to the kitchen._

 _She remembered the smell of apple pie in the kitchen. She remembered Alfred was standing at the sink washing the measuring spoons and bowls he had used to make the pie that was currently baking. She remembered him glancing over at her when she climbed into a chair at the kitchen table, using her little fingers to draw designs in the flour still sprinkled there._

" _Good afternoon, Miss Helena."_

" _Good afternoon, Alfred." Alfred was a firm believer that children learned through example, and it worked._

" _Are you hungry, miss? Dinner won't be for a few hours, and as I recall, you were too busy building a fort for your dolls outside to eat lunch."_

" _It was a_ castle _, Alfred," she remembered saying with a distracted touch of exasperation. She remembered the castle, too. It had stones around the bottom and had sticks stuck into the ground to make the walls, sort of. There had been moss on the stones._

" _Yes, of course. My apologies." The butler looked at her again, and a hint of concern touched his eyes. The bright little girl was clearly very distracted. "Miss Helena?"_

" _Yes?"_

" _Can I do anything for you?"_

 _She sighed, a sound far beyond her age. "Alfred? Can I ask something?"_

" _As always, anything you like, miss."_

 _She sighed again, and her eyes began to water. She remembered the stinging sensation, the guilty feeling for a reason she couldn't pin down._

 _She remembered Alfred pausing for only a moment before drying his hands and coming to sit opposite her at the table. He adjusted his glasses and folded his hands, bracing himself for whatever the six-year old might have. "Anything." The rule in the Wayne house was that she could ask about anything, and use any language, even if it seemed questionable_ — _if it was in the setting of a discussion. All knowledge was powerful here._

 _The little girl looked miserable before she blurted out her question, and he saw she had written three letters in the flour dust. "What's 'hor' mean?"_

 _Alfred blinked once before tilting his head lightly, adding the missing letters. "Do you mean 'whore', miss?"_

" _I guess so."_

" _I see. Well, it's a very crude term, actually. For a woman who finds herself in the position of being bought and sold. A kind of slavery." He made a few marks in the flour himself, nodding thoughtfully as he casually rubbed out the letters. "I suppose, although it's generally used in reference to a woman, it could be a man as well, who finds himself in an unsavory situation."_

 _Helena's words were suddenly more of a wail. "I don't want anyone to 'whore me out.'" Clearly, she didn't understand exactly what she was saying, but still, having heard her mother barely able to say it through tears, it terrified her._

 _The butler's gaze met hers, the image of calm kindness. "I should think not. And no one would. Your parents wouldn't allow that kind of thing." He gave her a reassuring smile. "What brings this up, Helena?"_

 _She sobbed, slightly less coherent as she went on. "But_ — _I heard Mommy say that_ — _some man did that to her! It made her cry! Real bad! And if it could happen to Mommy, then_ —"

 _Alfred rose and stepped to her side of the table, scooping her up so quickly it was as if he was always holding her. She remembered he had his jacket off while he was baking, and that she cried into the spot where his black suspenders hit the shoulder of his white shirt. She remembered that he smelled good as he rubbed his hand on her back, that smell he wore that always made her feel safe._

" _My dear Helena," he had whispered into her hair._

 _She remembered him eventually handing her a handkerchief, and wiping her eyes with it. She remembered hiccuping her tears to a shaky halt and looking into his eyes._

" _Your mother had something happen a long time ago that made her very sad. She's fine now, and loves you and your father, and is happy_ — _but sometimes, she remembers, and the memory makes her sad. It's better to let the tears out when you're sad; you know that."_

 _She nodded, sniffing, and tried to feel like a grown up. She remembered trying to feel it. To understand it all. She remembered Alfred looking at her thoughtfully._

" _Perhaps the main thing to learn from this is that people shouldn't be bought and sold, yes? It makes them very sad. And it hurts them so hard that they find it very difficult to forget about it." He hugged her close, and she dropped her head on his shoulder._

 _She remembered nodding into it._ Yes. People shouldn't be bought and sold. It's bad. It's wrong.

 _It made Mommy cry._

 _And she realized that she knew, many years later, that same man made Mommy die._

* * *

Helena gulped hard, wiping at tears. She hadn't even realized she was weeping before that, staring blindly into the fire. Standing, she shouldered her bow and stumbled a few yards away from her sleeping cohorts, trying to steady her breathing in a more private setting. Leaning against the trunk of a solid tree, she found herself sliding down it until she was sitting on the ground, her breathing shaky, her face wet.

After a few minutes, she tilted her head up at the sky through the trees as her night vision slowly returned. _Damn it, Logan. It's wrong. It's bad. And you could have let Dad handle it. I hope that at least you didn't do it all on your own and let him help._

Exhaling a breath, she stood slowly against the tree, looking out into the dark. "I'd rather die than have you do what you did for this," she said quietly. "But it looks like I don't have a choice." Picking up a rock, she threw it deep into the swamp, where it splashed heavily. "I guess I should say thank you." She took a few steps toward their camp and stopped, not looking back.

"But don't ever make me feel like your pimp again."

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders

14\. Jade Nguyen, District Ten Female: Killed by Harley Quinn

13\. Kara Danvers, District Five Female: Killed by Kara Danvers


	98. Chapter 97: By Example

**(A/N): Hello! Here's our Friday update, this time peeking in on Logan and the victors and what exactly is up with sponsorships (and what they cost).**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed; we love seeing everyone get hyped! And thanks to Slim Summers2002 for sticking with this story; we love to hear what you enjoyed.**

* * *

 **Chapter Ninety-Seven - By Example**

 **SHIELD Triskellion, Day Eight of the Games**

 **James 'Logan' Howlett, 24th Victor**

 **By Canucklehead Cowgirl**

* * *

 _"Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win."- Sun Tzu_

* * *

Camera bulbs flashed rapidly every time Logan stepped into view. That had become a lot more prevalent in the past twelve hours or so. Not that Logan was sorry about it one damn bit.

It had been frustrating trying to pull together the money for his tributes with the goals set as high as they were. Especially when he took into consideration what he was working for. Dick had broken his arm and needed a cast. Helena had a crossbow but no string. And anything that would be of use to either of them this late in the game was insanely expensive on a regular year, let alone figuring in the provision that District Seven needed to earn four times over to 'even the playing field' after Thanos' doubled double down.

But … the fact was: Logan had played the game and had been steadily building sponsors. His popularity from being new was still high, and he _knew_ how to play the field. It was good for his tributes' benefit, even if he had to test the limits of his ability to endure Capitolites.

Groot was _trying_ to help ease the burden from Logan's shoulders. He really was. But he didn't have the means to really pull in anyone that would be willing to donate to someone that needed _that much_. His regulars were willing, of course, and every little bit helped, but Logan had his sights on bigger fish that would _never_ approach Groot.

Of course, Logan had an edge that the Capitol wasn't expecting him to use. He had known what he had to work with from Elizabeth Braddock and a slew of Capitol sponsors. He thought long and hard about what Wayne had told him, but he didn't care what Bruce had to say. He wasn't going to bankrupt the Wayne family. Not when he knew all the good they'd done for years in the district. Seven couldn't afford to lose that kind of philanthropic contribution — even with the changes he'd made with the Howlett estate's contribution to the orphanages and various foundations. It wouldn't make up for the loss of what Wayne brought to them too.

So, he did what no other victor had done before and donated _all_ of his winnings from his Games into the fund for the Wayne kids.

He had been with Fury when Dick got his gift, advocating that the Waynes be on his precious list of revived tributes should they die in the Games.

* * *

" _And I'm telling you that it's been taken care of a long time ago!" Fury shouted at Logan. "Not that it's any of your business who is and isn't on the list!"_

 _Just then, the screen showing the broadcast of the Games was highlighting a parachute dropping slowly from the sky, and it was clear even in the low light that it was for District Seven. "This … you weren't supposed to be able to sponsor either one of them," Fury said as they watched the screen._

 _Already, Trish Walker was excitedly talking about what District Seven's team of mentors had pulled together for Dick Grayson. But when the high-tech cast came into view, the speculation on how hard it must have been to fund it went through the roof._

" _You just started something that you can't hope to control," Fury said in a calm, low tone as he gestured toward Trish's excited chatter. "I know_ why _you did what you did. I'm still not sure_ how _you tipped the scales to help both of them was entirely legal. But you're going to have a hard time flying under the radar_ when you've spent your entire winnings on your tributes." _Fury was glaring at him in what Logan could only interpret as a concerned scowl._

 _Logan let out a breath and leaned forward. "I did fine when I was broke and working in the woods. That's common knowledge," Logan told him. "I don't_ need _the money I won. Or the money I 'earned'. And if you're actually gonna launch this thing_ — _I won't need it when it's done either. I'm fine in the woods living off the land either way."_

" _As long as this wasn't some big reveal to show you're back at the top of the social circles in Seven …"_

" _That's not going to happen anyhow," Logan said dryly as he got to his feet. "Inheritance or not, I don't fit into that group." He let out a breath. "I had to work for this, and I had to make plenty of promises to get this done for those kids."_

" _I know," Fury said, letting his tone soften a little as he leaned back. "Just be wary of how you handle the press. They'll be expecting you to be worn down after getting both of them squared away."_

 _Logan frowned at that. "Do I still have your little team following me around? That girl that's been hanging around the lounge is starting to get better at relaxing, at least."_

" _She's young, and learning," Fury said before he tipped his chin up. "Get outta here. I'll be in touch."_

 _Logan held his gaze for a short moment, then turned to leave. He met up with Agent May as soon as he stepped out of the office, and the two of them went silently down toward the elevator._

" _The buzz is hot," May said quietly as they reached the end of the hall. "Are you sure you're ready for this kind of attention?"_

 _Logan turned his entire body her way and gave her a dry glare in answer before they stepped into the elevator. "I'm not even gonna dignify that," he said, and May smirked to herself for just an instant before she turned her attention forward again._

 _When they stepped out of the building, however, it was exactly like walking into a wall of cameras and flashbulbs as the press descended on him shouting questions. Apparently, Helena had gotten her sponsorship gift too. And the press was nearly foaming at the mouth._

" _Was the sponsorship for Mr. Grayson harder to drum up than the one for Miss Wayne?"_

" _Did the other Seven victors join in the fundraising efforts?"_

" _Have you heard the latest odds on a brother-sister final showdown?"_

" _What are you going to do with your time now that both of your tributes have been sponsored?"_

" _Do you think it'll be harder to watch the Games now that you've done everything that you can for your tributes?"_

 _Logan turned at the last question to see the same perky little blonde reporter that had tried to get an exclusive on his first day in the shark tank. "Guess I'll find out, since I can't do a damn thing to help any of the others," he said as he tried to find a route through them._

" _Does that mean you'd keep fundraising if the rules allowed?" the blonde asked, shoving back several much larger men to keep the microphone closer to Logan._

 _He stopped when he saw how hard she was fighting to stick with him, and he turned her way entirely. "What's your name again?" he asked softly, nodding when the answer came. "Miss Vale, I would absolutely keep working to help other_ kids _if I could. To even out the imbalance of victors to tributes across the districts."_

 _But that just started up a near roar of questions, all piled on top of each other, and Logan felt May squeeze his arm just above the elbow hard._

" _Which district would you back?!" was the first clear question he heard._

" _Can we assume that you'd push for your own tribute's alliances?"_

" _Are you encouraging the romance with the Twelve girl?"_

 _Again, Logan waited for the questions to die out_ — _but it was clear he needed to say something or he and May flat weren't going to get out of the knot of reporters without a physical confrontation. "If it was me, and I hadn't already put in all I could for my kids, I'd put my support into Four, and do all I could to get what Diana Prince needs too." But that had the reporters up to a fever pitch, and the flashes only got more frequent and brighter as they all pushed for more._

" _Why Four?"_

 _May was pulling on him hard, but Logan really_ wanted _to answer that one. "They have a sense of_ honor _in Four that's sorely lacking elsewhere."_

 _A small faction of SHIELD agents made their way through to break up the knot and usher Logan out of the crowd as the reporters around him began shouting questions loud enough not one of them was actually discernable, and to the utter relief of every single one of the SHIELD agents, Logan didn't answer any more questions, instead simply leaving it at that._

 _Of course, May was tight-lipped and tense all the way up until they were in a secure room with no cameras, and almost as soon as the door was closed behind her, she slammed him into the wall and got right up into his face. "We're staging for the revolution and you're_ bringing down a spotlight on yourself? _What the_ hell _were you thinking?!"_

" _I was thinking it might do Diana Prince some good," Logan said, refusing to drop his gaze or fight her back. "And that's the best I could do, all things considered."_

 _She looked like she wanted to hit him, but Logan didn't even lift his hands to dissuade her from it. Instead, he held her gaze until the comm at her hip went off and she stuck a finger in his face. "That's going to be Fury. And he's going to be mad."_

" _When is he_ not _?" Logan asked as May stepped back and answered the comm. She glared at him the entire time as Fury raged into the comm._

 _May didn't say a word beyond a simple 'yes, sir' before she flipped off the comm and kept her gaze locked onto Logan. "Your detail just doubled."_

" _Yeah?" Logan said, crossing his arms._

" _Yeah," May shot back before she jerked her head to the girl on her left_ — _the one who had been hanging out in the lobby before and who looked like she was trying to be part of the scenery_ _. "Meet your second bodyguard. Skye."_

" _Wait,_ what?" _Skye said, wide-eyed, as she took a step forward._

" _She'll be helping me keep you safe," May said without looking toward a completely flabbergasted-looking Skye._

 _Logan smirked and crossed his arms. "Oh,_ now _? When she's just getting used to not looking completely terrified in the shark tank?"_

 _Skye's eyes widened, and she blushed deeply as May took a step forward. "I trained her myself. You'll be safe."_

 _Logan looked over at Skye and let out a breath. "Sorry about your luck, darlin'."_

* * *

Of course, he'd caught hell over the interview. The snide commentary had made it on the air before it was censored, and to Fury's shock, public support for Logan was through the roof. Even the Capitolites loved it. And they were _flocking_ to Odin to sponsor Diana.

Which was what he was sure Fury was going to be tearing into him about this time.

Logan stepped out of the elevator with Agent May and her cracker jack badge junior agent flanking him on the way down to Fury's office.

"Do I really need both of you following me everywhere?" Logan asked halfway to the door.

"Yes," May said flatly before she stepped ahead of him and keyed in her code to open the door.

Logan let out a breath and turned to watch Skye as she did her best impression of a serious agent watching for trouble.

"What?" Skye asked almost defensively when she noticed his focus was on her.

He tightened his mouth slightly and lifted his brow as he rolled his attention toward the opening door. "You're getting better," he said before May led the charge into Fury's office.

As before, Fury was at his desk, not sitting but standing there with his hands on his hips as the multiple screens showed different scenes around the Capitol and in a few of the districts. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" Fury asked without turning his way.

Logan turned to look at May, who hadn't simply stepped back out of the door. Instead, she and Skye were standing guard as Logan made his way toward a very still Director Fury. "Helped Odin get a parachute lined up for Diana Prince?" Logan replied dryly as he came to a stop almost next to Fury. He paused, turned the director's way, and plucked a cigar out of Fury's front pocket.

Fury, for the first time, grabbed a hold of Logan's wrist just as the cigar had cleared his pocket, and the two men stopped, staring at each other. Logan very carefully reached up with his free hand, took the cigar, put it in his mouth and lit it — all while Fury had a hold of his wrist. "That's just the half of it," Fury told him before he let go.

The two of them simply watched each other for a long moment before Fury, while maintaining eye contact, removed a cigar for himself and lit up. When they were smoking together, finally, the director let out a long, slow breath of smoke … and smirked. "I think it was a fluke, but … you and your giant attitude in the little bundle has got everyone in the Capitol all fired up," Fury said, gesturing for Logan to take a seat, which he did, at his own pace.

Logan watched the director with slightly narrowed eyes as he smoked, leaning back in his chair and not trusting the massive tone shift. He was rightfully expecting to get yelled at. Not … this.

Fury didn't say a word for a long moment, instead simply turning up the volume on one of the reports. Finally, he gestured to the screen. "Somehow, you have managed to completely do the opposite of what I asked, while simultaneously getting things done that I myself haven't been able to do in _years._ "

"Yeah? Like what?"

Fury fixed him with a serious expression as he started, but he couldn't hold it for long. "We've been trying to see which way the victors fall for as long as there have been the Games. The oldest ones are the hardest to reach, and you, my young friend, have gotten Odin's _approval_ with that little stunt you pulled." Fury's expression had turned into what looked suspiciously like a smirk as he continued. "The press has been having a field day. They're saying you've got all the _heart,_ and they have asked all the other victors who, if any of them, have put their _own money_ in to help their tributes."

"I take it that it's not all that common," Logan said, then took a long draw off of the cigar as he watched the broadcast.

"No," Fury said simply, not looking at Logan but letting the broadcasts and surveillance speak for itself. "It's not."

On one screen, Odin was looking almost overwhelmed in the shark tank as Capitolites were rushing to him — pledging to sponsor Diana. On another screen, a Capitolite was _gushing_ over how exciting the Games were with inter-district sponsorship possibilities. A third screen was Patsy Walker and Vicki Vale trying to draw up correlations between victors and tributes across the board and openly discussing how to get one of the victors that was done with their sponsorship drive into the studio for a sit-down interview, not that there were many that had that designation yet, so it was clear as to who they were hinting at.

"Thanos is angry," Fury said in a matter-of-fact tone that had Logan shrugging with a little grunt that showed exactly how much he cared about what they thought. "He wants to make sure that you won't be able to suggest any more crazy ideas that border on unification."

Logan could feel Fury's gaze on him, but he still refused to look like any of it was either a surprise or concerning as Fury continued. "So, you're going to find yourself forcibly out of the spotlight very soon. Until then, Agents May and Skye will be your ever-present shadows — everywhere you go. Twenty-four hours a day. If they say you need to go with them, you'll drop everything that you're doing and go. With. Them."

"What the hell am I supposed to do now that I did my job, officially anyhow?" Logan asked, honestly confused as to why he'd need to be in the public eye at all. "I already fulfilled all my obligations as far as deals made for the kids."

"All of them?" Fury asked, one eyebrow raised as he leaned forward. "Including the one you made with Selene?"

At that, Logan saw out of the corner of his eye the instant that both May and Skye straightened up, and he didn't need to see them fully to know that they simply didn't know what had happened. Logan stared at the cigar in his hand for a long moment before he tipped his head down, "Ah, no," Logan admitted, his gaze locked onto his hands. "That one is still outstanding."

Fury's smile had slipped off of his face somewhere along the line, and he leaned forward in his chair. "And what, exactly, were the terms of this deal?"

Logan glanced up at him and then over to the two agents nearby, both of whom looked like they were on pins and needles to hear what he'd had to do to ensure that both Wayne children got parachutes. "Not what you think," Logan said before he drew in a deep, cleansing breath and turned to relay the story to Fury.

* * *

 _Logan had been pretty pleased with himself on how incensed Selene was. He knew that she was ticked off and that she was now openly waiting for the opportunity to corner him. So of course, he made it as hard as possible to do so until, finally, the overly-rich Capitolite had enough._

 _He had only rebuffed her hours before with his snarky comment on how she couldn't afford him, so she was still steaming hot when he and Quill stepped out into the shark tank once again. They hadn't seen her tucked in between Victor Von Doom and Lex Luthor, but she'd seen them, and the moment Logan was within a reasonable distance, she darted forward and took a hold of his arm._

" _You and I need to talk._ Now," _Selene told him in a tone so venomous that Quill took a step back._

 _At the time, Logan looked her way almost patiently and let out a weary sigh. "I'm workin'," he told her, but that just had her glaring that much harder before she physically dragged him to a very private booth._

" _How much do you need?"_

 _Logan met her angry gaze and shook her head. "I don't think you wanna play with me now, darlin'. Not when you were just lookin' to make a deal a few days ago. I'm sure I'm outta your price range."_

 _She stuck one finger in his face with her lip curled back. "Do not talk to me like I can't get whatever or_ whoever _it is that I want, boy."_

 _Whatever it was over the course of the Games so far that Logan had done wrong, he'd read her right. She was more insulted than anything else_ — _the fact that he'd insinuated that she was less than one of the richest Capitolites in the city was just one step over the line for her. Logan let out a hollow laugh and drew in a breath with his eyebrows raised, as if he was humoring a child. "Let's see," he said as he took out the tablet and took a moment to pull up the number and simply turn the tablet so she could see._

 _Selene lost some of her angry glare, though, when she saw how short he was of helping the second Seven tribute. For an instant, he saw the flicker in her eyes that tipped him off that the game had only now just begun with her. "I'm afraid that's a bit more than simple wounded pride can cover," Selene said before she licked her lips and met his gaze._

 _The fact that she didn't push the tablet back simply meant that he was right about her. The negotiations would be that much more dangerous, though, all things considered. "Like I said," Logan said, reaching for the tablet, but Selene only pulled it to her chest and started to tut._

" _I think that you and I are past simple games," Selene said, though she wasn't quite back to her usual purring tone. "So lets make this easy. I'll cover your tribute's gift_ — _in its entirety_ — _but I'll need something from you. Something of equal value."_

 _Logan laughed openly and smiled her way. "I haven't got anything like that, darlin', and you know it." Again, he reached for the tablet, but this time, she snagged his wrist and held tight._

" _Then perhaps not a thing and instead something more visceral," Selene said, her eyes dancing with light and danger as the purr returned, though with a much more prominent sense of foreboding. She set the tablet down next to her in the booth and took a moment to turn his hand over before she entwined her fingers with his._

 _Logan frowned at her but didn't move, watching her as she chose her words carefully._

" _I want a favor of you_ — _whatever I say, whenever I say it. On your word," Selene said finally. "No questions asked. One favor."_

" _I'm not sure there's a way for you to enforce that, darlin'," Logan said._

" _Oh, it's not legally enforceable, no," Selene said, holding his gaze. "But I don't think that you'd break your word, not for anything."_

 _He narrowed his eyes as he weighed out what she might possibly want from him. She didn't press, and the two of them seemed to be more or less having a stare down for the longest time when it really sank in for Logan._

 _She had him, even if she didn't know it yet. If nothing else, because she was right. He'd promised to do all he could for the Wayne kids. And if that meant a promise to this nutbag in exchange for Dick's cast or Helena's bowstring … he was already honor-bound to do it._

 _Finally, he nodded. "Alright."_

 _She grinned widely and let out a little laugh that sounded half breathless before she let go of his hand and started to fan herself, grinning wider with every passing second. "Oh, that was the hardest negotiation I've been a part of in_ years _. You do know how to play, my darling Wolverine."_

 _She punched in her numbers to finalize the donation, and before she hit the final button, once again, she offered him her hand. "One favor, to be named at a later date," Selene said, only finalizing it when Logan took and shook her hand._

 _She looked pleased, but perhaps not nearly as giddy as she'd been at the start of the Games. He had no reason to believe that she was lying about their little game having been tough for her. Selene moved to his side of the booth and took his arm for just a moment. "I'll be holding you to your word. When I ask for my favor, it'll be between you and I, and you and I alone."_

 _Logan nodded, and with that, she slipped back out of the booth, leaving him staring at the tablet on the table. But when he picked it up to look at it, he let out all of his breath. It was all there in living color. The money had been exchanged and accepted, and there was a new screen that had basically locked him out of anything other than the countdown that showed for both of his tributes how long it would take before the transport holding their parachutes was sent from the Capitol._

 _His job was over for now, and he was honestly exhausted._

 _He put the tablet in his back pocket and headed for the lounge. He needed a drink, and he wasn't going to wait for Miss Melinda May to pour it for him._

* * *

"You did _what_?" Agent May said in a disbelieving tone, totally disregarding protocol as she stalked toward him.

Logan turned her way in time to see her apprentice rushing to catch up to May, looking somewhere between horrified and angry. "I got them what they needed," Logan replied, meeting her angry glare with his own. "And I'd do it again if I had to."

"But that's just it — _you didn't have to!_ " Skye pointed out, looking honestly scandalized.

"Yes, I did," Logan said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I promised that I'd do all I could to help them, and I did."

"And that … is exactly what Selene was banking on," Fury said in an even tone that didn't sound exactly angry. "She knows you'll bend over backwards and throw away anything else in the way to fulfil a promise. So now, it's just a matter of time before you know for sure what she wants from you."

"Do you have any idea how _vulnerable_ this makes you?" May asked in a venomous tone, her eyes flashing. "We're about to put plans in motion that have been building for over twenty years, and you left an opening so wide a _child_ could walk through it!"

"If their attention's drawn, what's the difference?" Logan asked. "You can't tell me that they're digging too hard on anyone else when someone's got their big purple panties tied up in knots over this." He gestured to the screen. "For as big as that ego is, he's not gonna try to wreck his illusion. Yeah, if the revolution doesn't kick up when you want it to, I'm dead. I don't care. It'd still get people pullin' their heads out at this point. But Thanos'll wait until his precious Quarter Quell is over to move on me."

May narrowed her eyes at him. "You don't get it," she said. "You have no idea what this favor will be, or _when_ it will come into play. And when we're fighting a war, don't you understand that a favor like that is a _huge_ security risk? What secrets will she ask you to give up?"

"I'm not breaking any other promises to cover that one," Logan swore. "That's not how it works. I won't betray one for another."

"An open promise is still an open promise. You didn't give her those caveats, did you?"

He shook his head and let out a breath. "No. But I'm not breaking honor for anyone. I'll find a way around it if I have to, but I'm not going to play both sides against the middle."

"The only good thing that's really come out of this is that you two won't have to hide the fact that you're guarding him," Fury said toward May and Skye. "All of the victors will have a SHIELD tail now. But since you're the one with the big attitude," Fury said, looking at Logan, "you get two. That they see."

Fury gestured for the door. "You're all dismissed. Do a pass by the press — and for the love of all that is holy, keep your mouth shut and try to look repentant."

"Fat chance," Logan muttered.

"Fitzsimmons is waiting for you," Fury called out, which at least got Logan to stop and turn his way.

"For what?" Logan asked, honestly not expecting a trip to the two scientists he'd met as part of the Tahiti tour.

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see," Fury said before again gesturing for them to go. "Agent May — once you and Agent Skye have taken our friend here to Fitzsimmons, you need to report to the hangar. Skye should be able to handle babysitting duty in the lab."

May reached over and grabbed a tight hold of Logan's arm before she pulled him out of Fury's office, refusing to let go all the way down to the elevator and only then once they were inside. It was clear she was still furious with him, and even Skye, who never really tried to catch his attention, was staring at him with an open mouth.

"If you do anything to make my job even _harder_ , I have absolutely zero qualms about putting you in a padded cell for the duration"

Logan turned her way and let out a sigh. "How am I going to do that when I'm not going to be around anyone anyhow?"

May's only response was to shoot him a venomous glare that clearly read she wouldn't put it past him, simply watching him with narrowed eyes as they headed back to Seven's suite.


	99. Chapter 98: Two In The Hand

**(A/N) - Good morning and welcome back to our Tuesday update! This time around, we'll be checking in with District Six's Jason Todd as presented by the talented Savy 160.**

 **As always, we would like to thank SlimSummers2002 for your review and for letting us know you're out there. I'd like to again encourage our other loyal readers to do the same. We look forward to your speculation and love to see your take on what we present.**

* * *

 **Chapter Ninety-Eight - Two In The Hand**

 **Day Eight**

 **Jason Todd of District Six**

 **Written by Savy 160**

* * *

 _"I let go. Lost in oblivion. Dark and silent and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom." – The Narrator from Fight Club_

 _"Death is inevitable. Our fear of it makes us play safe, blocks out emotion. It's a losing game. Without passion, you are already dead." - Max Payne from Max Payne 2: The Fall of Max Payne_

* * *

 _Jason pulled the cigarette from his lips slowly before releasing the cloud of smoke into the atmosphere. Peering over the roof, he watched the busy world roll by. But he lowered his cigarette almost immediately as a potentially interesting sight caught his attention. Jason leaned over the edge of the roof as a man, richly dressed with a somber look in his eye, shuffled past. His suit alone cost more money than pretty much anyone on this side of town had ever seen._

Drug deal. Definitely. People dressed like that don't just wander onto this side of the district.

 _Jason flicked the used butt off the roof and turned to head back inside when a scream caught his attention. He froze before turning in the direction of the screaming._

 _"No! Father! Please!"_

 _Jason internally groaned before launching himself off the short four-story drop. Grabbing onto the edges of the window panes lining the building, Jason rapidly descended. He heard Artemis bellowing his name from somewhere up above. After landing a nearly graceful roll, Jason got to his feet and looked up to see Artemis with her arms crossed, scowling back down at him._

 _Not wanting to be cursed out again, Jason saluted her before sprinting toward the alley where he'd heard the screaming. Ducking down behind a heap of trash, Jason peered around to find one of the local drug dealers manhandling a kid that couldn't have been older than, like, seven._

 _One of the man's large hands covered the boy's mouth, while the other held the kid's skinny wrists. Kid was fighting for his life as he was dragged inside one of the poorer buildings in the district._

 _Every ounce of logic told Jason to mind his own business. Yet his heart told him to go for it._

 _Creeping out of his hiding place, Jason noiselessly slid around to the back of the building, where he jimmied the old window lock before slipping inside. He silently moved throughout the building. Turning his nose up at the terrigen lab with a disgusted sneer, he continued until he found what he was looking for._

 _The kid was on his belly, squirming, with the dealer's knee jammed against his back to keep him floored. An old rag had been shoved into his mouth to keep him quiet while the dealer bound the kid's arm behind his back. For a brief moment, the kid locked eyes with Jason._

 _The purest and softest shade of baby blue met Jason's hard and deep blue eyes. It was all over then. All within the matter of seconds, the dealer's head hit the brick wall with a sickening crunch as Jason knelt over the kid._

 _"I'm not gonna hurt you. Just don't scream, okay?" Jason said._

 _The younger boy just stared at his rescuer as the ropes were untied and the cloth was pulled away. Jason took note of his expensive clothing and perfectly manicured hair and nails as he pulled the kid to his feet._

 _"What's your name?" Jason asked._

 _"Timothy Jackson Drake," the boy said in a wavering voice, but practiced, as if he was filling out a form._

 _"Don't move!" a harsh voice commanded beyond their position._

 _Jason whipped around to see the dealer's girlfriend pointing a crossbow. He wasn't really sure why, but Jason made sure the kid was behind him. Out of fear, the kids curled a tiny hand around Jason's battered t-shirt._

 _The next second, the girlfriend had an axe in her face. Literally. She hit the floor in a puddle of blood as Artemis stepped from the shadows._

 _"I've told you not to run off like that," she chastised Jason._

 _Jason shrugged as the kid slowly peeked out from around him. The kid's gaze landed on the corpse for all of a second before Artemis moved to block the body. She eyed the kid with a raised eyebrow just as Bizarro came lumbering in._

 _"You don't belong here. Where are your parents? Why don't you go back to where you came from?" she asked._

 _A single tear slipped from Tim's eye. He stammered, "I can't."_

 _That's when Jason put it all together. "That man… your father… He sold you, didn't he?"_

 _Tim's lip trembled before a few more tears leaked out._

 _Artemis sighed. "Sorry, kid," she said. "Word to the wise: get some old clothes. You won't last long on this side of town like that."_

 _She headed out with Bizarro on her heels. Tim just looked up at Jason with the most pitiful expression. Jason sighed before saying, "Tonight_ — _and tonight only_ — _you can stay with us."_

 _Jason instantly regretted his decision the moment they got back to the apartment. Not only had Tim revealed his knowledge of who they were_ — _apparently he had witnessed them steal weapons from a raid on the Sentinels when he was younger and recognized them now_ — _he'd turned out to be a real smartass, too._

 _The worst thing was the new sleeping arrangements._

 _"You can bunk with Jason," Artemis instructed._

 _Jason opened his mouth to argue, but Artemis shut him up with a glare. "The two of you are the smallest and the youngest. Therefore, you shall share."_

 _Jason cursed under his breath before shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his boots. Tim stayed frozen by the door. His bright gaze kept flickering back and forth from the door to the three other people in the room. Artemis and Bizarro had already bedded down for the night, leaving the two boys staring at each other._

 _Being short-tempered, Jason grumbled, "Come on, brat. I don't have all night. If I was going to kill you, I'd have done it already."_

 _Needless to say, that didn't exactly help Tim feel better. If it weren't for the fact that he had nowhere to go, he would probably have bolted. But, Jason had saved his skin, and now, he could practically see Tim working it out for himself: why would you save someone just to kill them later?_

 _Tim cautiously stepped forward. He crept past the snoring giant and the battle axe-rearing redhead before coming to a stop before Jason. And Jason jerked his head toward the empty space between himself and the wall. Tim hesitated and glanced toward the door again._

 _"Ain't nobody keepin' you here, Tiny Tim. Either get in or get out."_

 _Tim crawled onto the mattress but made no move to grab the blanket. He kept his back pressed against the wall and kept as much space between him and Jason as possible. Jason rolled his eyes before throwing the blanket at the younger boy._

 _The next morning, Tim awoke to find himself curled against Jason's side while using the older boy's outstretched arm as a pillow._

* * *

Jason jerked himself back into focus as he caught the object hurtling towards his face. Unclenching his fist, Jason found a small pebble. Looking over, Jason found Dick waving at him with a huge grin on his face.

"So you don't hear me calling your name a thousand times, but you can catch a rock?" Dick teased.

Jason just shrugged before climbing down from the tree branch he'd been perched on. Dick elbowed him gently before asking, "Whatcha thinking about?"

"None of your business!" Jason snapped.

Dick held his hands up. "Geez. Ask a simple question. You've gotta be the most defensive kid I've ever met."

"And you have to be the biggest, most annoying loudmouth ever to walk the face of the Earth."

Dick brought his hand over his heart as he exclaimed, "Jason, you wound me!"

Jason rolled his eyes in response as Kory jogged over to them. The redhead of the group tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Come now; we have to move quickly and find our missing friends."

Jason grumbled, "Sure thing, Mom."

Kory released an exasperated sigh before linking hands with Dick. The two merely exchanged eye rolls as Jason charged ahead.

The trio continued moving at a steady pace across the bayou. Every so often, Jason would occasionally fiddle with his snake fang trophy, while Kory would make googly eyes at Dick, who was typically somersaulting across the marsh on his good arm.

Pushing the brush and debris aside, while using his knife to hack at the overgrowth, Jason froze when an eerie sight came into view. A giant stone building with a large, wrought iron arch with rusted, dark letters spelling out the name of the forsaken place blocked the trio's path.

 _Who in the hell puts this shit in the Games? What dumbass in their right mind would ever go in there?_

"Arkham Asylum…" Dick read before turning to the others. "I vote we go in."

Jason turned around immediately and hissed, "Oh hell no."

"Jason, Raven, and Thea might be inside," Kory added.

"Sorry, it's a nope from me," Jason scoffed over his shoulder as he continued walking away.

"We could use the shelter," Dick pointed out. "There may be supplies inside. And I wouldn't be surprised if Raven or Thea thought the same thing."

"Pass. I'll sleep in the rain and heat. I've got all the supplies I need. Come on. We're moving on."

"Group vote," Dick announced before turning to Kory. "You with me?"

"Of course," Kory said immediately. "Jason, come along. You are outvoted, after all."

"We didn't even vote!" Jason yelled.

Jason turned back around to find both Dick and Kory headed off to the creepy asylum. He crossed his arms and snarled before shuffling off after the couple. After weaving in and out amongst the tall weeds and overgrowth, the three finally made it to the entrance of the ominous building.

Jason frowned at the giant spider rearing its legs and showing its fangs at the water moccasin that slithered by just outside of the entrance. A swamp rat appeared and snatched up the spider, only to be grabbed by the snake seconds later.

Dick and Kory didn't even notice as they stepped through the threshold, with Jason close behind them. The spiderwebs; blood-stained, rotting floorboards; peeling wallpaper; and the faint stench of copper and urine easily unsettled the trio.

Jason quickly spoke up: "If Raven and Thea went through here, they're frickin' insane."

"Or desperate," Dick said. "We should take a look, just to be sure."

Dick took his natural position as the leader, with Jason a step behind. Kory brought up the rear. The three moved slowly down the hallway. Jason barely had time to react when he heard the creak of a door. Dick yelped as he was suddenly tackled from behind by Jason. Kory quickly pulled her knife before Jason yelled, "Wait!"

She hesitated as Jason rolled off Dick before he pointed at the spot where Dick's head had been moments before. A knife was still quivering there.

Jason shook his head. "The place is booby-trapped. We need to get out of here."

"Jason's right," Dick agreed, eyes wide. "We need to leave."

They turned to leave, only to instantly stop as the floor creaked and shook beneath them. Kory gasped when she saw her foot had sunken down slightly; the floor had been weakened and wasn't going to take their weight. They tried to run, but Jason's left leg went straight through the rotting floorboard. He let out a muffled scream through clenched teeth as the shrapnel of wood pierced tender flesh. Dick immediately pushed Kory ahead before turning back to help Jason.

A moment too late, Jason cried out, "Stop!"

Dick's added weight caused the structure to collapse around them. They both plummeted down. Kory screamed for both of them before the two hit the world below. Hard.

Jason's vision began to blur as he laid there, partially buried beneath the rubble. Dick tried to crawl toward him before a wild cackle filled the air, and a set of pearly white teeth, partially stained with blood, were revealed. Jason knew nothing else as he faded into the blackness.

* * *

 _Jason's left leg dangled freely as he slowly kicked it back and forth from his seat on the window ledge. A cigarette loosely sat between his fingers as a cloud of smoke crept from his mouth. He watched as a rainbow had somehow managed to stake its claim on the forsaken part of the district._

 _"It'd be a lot prettier if your cancer-causing smoke wasn't blocking half of it."_

 _Initiating his famous eye roll, Jason glanced over at Tim's stern expression and angry body language of crossing his arms and tapping his foot. What should have been intimidating was actually quite cute._

 _Flicking a tiny bit of ash at the younger boy, who curled his lip in disgust, Jason replied, "We've talked about this, Tater Tot; I ain't quittin'."_

 _Tim puffed out his chest in an attempt to make himself look taller, but it really didn't achieve anything_ — _unless you counted Jason's smirk growing larger. Tim jabbed his finger toward the floor. Jason huffed before flicking the cigarette out the window. Swinging his left leg back over, Jason slid to the floor, while using the wall as a crutch. The older teen shrugged out of his jacket and pulled the grungy white t-shirt over his head. Tim frowned at the scarlet starting to seep from the cotton bandage over Jason's shoulder._

 _"You were being reckless again," Tim chastised him._

 _Jason shrugged. "Bastard got a lucky shot."_

 _Tim didn't respond. He merely cleaned the wound and restitched it. Again. He fitted a new bandage over the wound before softly stating,_ _"You were screaming in your sleep again last night before Artemis woke you up… Do you want to talk about?"_

 _"Sure, Baby Bird. Maybe after that, we can braid each other's hair and talk about rainbows, sunsets, and unicorns." Jason pushed Tim away and shrugged his shirt back on._

 _Tim couldn't hold it in any longer. He screamed, "Why are you always like this! You're going to get yourself killed!"_

 _"You say that like it's a bad thing," Jason tossed over his shoulder as he began walking toward the door._

 _"You promised that you weren't going to leave me!"_

 _"And I won't. I just didn't promise that I won't die, Baby Bird," Jason said before leaving Tim alone in the room to wish on a fading rainbow._

* * *

Jason let out a groan as he slowly faded in and out of the blackness.

"Jason! Jason, c'mon, wake up!"

 _Shit._ His head ached — and why the hell was it so friggin' dark? Jason groaned again before slowly opening his eyes — and then closed them when he noticed two Dicks floating above him. Slowly breathing in and out for a moment, Jason reopened his eyes to find one Grayson staring down at him with a worried expression. Would it kill him to turn off the puppy eyes for five minutes?

Taking a closer look, Jason noticed the crusty, clotted blood matted to Dick's temple and hair. Dick must have gone down hard too. Jason also took note of the dilated pupils. Like Jason, Dick had recently awoken in a concussed state. Dick was currently strung up by his wrists. His toes didn't even touch the ground.

Jason switched his gaze from Dick to their surroundings. He looked around the molding and dilapidated room to find all sorts of tools and glass jars containing dead specimens. _Why the hell would they put this place in the Games? Honestly, what is wrong with these people?_

They should have never have come into this asylum. They could have walked around it or stayed the hell away from it. But, no. Dick just insisted that everything was okay and safe. Idiot. And Kory just had to side with her twisty pretzel of a boyfriend.

"Jason?" Dick asked, the concern obvious in his voice

"There are like thirty different ways this could be better, you moron. I'm literally counting them all inside my head right now. I told you it was shitty idea to go in here," Jason mumbled before spitting a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the cracked concrete flooring beneath them.

"Well, good for you. I'm sure being right is really helpful to our situation right now," Dick shot back.

Determined not to end up like the creatures in the jars, Jason rocked back onto his heels... and immediately took note of the coarse rope biting into tender flesh. Thick cords lashed his wrists and ankles together. He pulled against his restraints and only succeeded in causing the ropes to tighten. A thick trail of blood soon coated his wrists. His leg was also throbbing from the splinters and the torn flesh.

"Damn it!" Jason cursed.

Dick drew his lip up into a grimace. He feebly tugged at his own bonds before wincing and releasing a small hiss of pain. Dick swallowed harshly before catching Jason's gaze. "Can't get down… you alright?"

"Just peachy," Jason huffed before nodding slowly. What happened?"

"It was another trap, Jay. There was nothing we could have done. We fell through a hole in the floor. You were knocked out on impact, but Kory wasn't with us. She's alright. She's gone to look for a way to get us out... I'm sure."

Jason pulled at his restraints again. "That doesn't explain why we're trussed up like this."

Dick went quiet for a moment. "After Kory left, Jack got the drop on me. Knocked me out."

The once fearless Red Hood fell completely silent as he looked away from Dick.

Dick shook his head and tried to reassure Jason. "She could still get us out and—"

"It doesn't matter. She'll never get here in time. Even if she does come, I can't run."

"I'll carry you."

Jason shook his head. "We're going to die down here, Dick."

Dick quickly shook his head. "Don't say that! We're going to be fine. Kory will get us out. I promise, Jay. We'll be fine."

The words never seemed to make it to Jason's ears as he shook his head, staring blankly at nothing but the molding brick rubble that was once a wall.

"Everything he did to me was for nothing. Every single second was for nothing!"

He wanted to cry, scream, and ram his head into the wall until there was nothing left but torn flesh and broken bones. Everything single part of the abuse, horror, and violence he'd endured was for nothing. Red Skull had tortured him for years, and now, the monster would just find another.

Tim.

Tim was not a killer. He was just a nerdy twelve-year-old that deserved nothing that was about to happen to him. If Jason could just go back and redo everything, everything would have been different. But he couldn't, and now Tim would be broken and molded into something too far dark and broken — and there would be no possible way to bring him back. He'd be as good as dead. And Artemis… Red Skull wouldn't have any more use for her.

Jason screamed in rage and anguish as he glared up at the ceiling. "Are you happy now? Everything was for nothing! Every damn thing was for nothing, you bastard! I killed them all for nothing!"

Dick's eyes widened at the sudden outburst. "Jason, what are you talking about?"

"It was for nothing, Dick. It was all for nothing."

A moment passed before Dick asked, "What was for nothing?"

Jason swallowed. "My life. It was for nothing. It was for nothing… And now they're going to die too. They're all going to die… I'm going to die."

"Who's going to die, Jay?"

"My br-" Jason began before abruptly cutting off and shaking his head. "I can't tell you."

Jason knew that Dick was really starting to question his sanity. The Games did that, though. They'd slowly eat away at your mind and soul until nothing but an empty corpse remained.

"Jason," Dick said softly. "What are you talking about? I'm worried about you."

Closing his eyes and continuing to shake his head, Jason mumbled, "I can't tell you. And even if I could, it doesn't matter. Not anymore. I… I can't save them. I can't even save myself." Jason's gaze met Dick's as he added, "It's scary that we're so ready to accept death at our age."

"But you must earn your death first," a high-pitched voice cackled from within the shadows.

A stretched, white-washed smile soon appeared as Jack moved into the light. Jason couldn't look away from the horribly disfigured face. The blood, the pale skin, and the disconnected smile left an ominous impression that would forever haunt anyone that looked at it. A smile that would forever be fixed on Jack's face thanks to Jason's knife.

The clown pulled a moldy old surgical glove onto his wrist and smiled as he let go of the plastic glove with a loud pop. Dick and Jason never bothered to say a single word as Jack pulled on the other glove before slipping into a smock that might have been white when this place was in use but was now yellow, almost green.

Jack's smile deepened as his gaze roamed over his captive audience. "You both fell for my trap."

Jason swung his head to make eye contact with Dick before exclaiming, "Oh my goodness gracious! We've been bamboozled!"

If it weren't for the seriousness of the situation, Dick probably would have laughed at Jason's comment. But instead, he just smirked before he turned a glare Jack's way. "What do you want?"

"For both of you to die down here as painfully and slowly as possible," Jack explained.

"Well, that's a nifty idea, but how 'bout no?" Jason answered.

Jack didn't respond. He chose to walk over to a table with an assortment of tools and knives instead. The harlequin picked up a strange-looking instrument that looked like an ordinary box with a hand crank on the side. Jason swallowed as Jack caused sparks to shoot out as he turned the crank.

"Jack, listen to me," Dick pleaded. "You can't—"

Interrupting Dick, Jack growled, "The thing is: we're all capable of murder, Bird Brain. Even you. Some of us are just too afraid. The ones who aren't have the power to control life itself. This is how you separate the strong from the weak, and I'm going to show you exactly how that works."

Within the next instant, Jason was screaming as Jack turned his box of torture on him. Dick couldn't even speak; he was so distressed by Jack's gleeful smile and Jason's wails of pain.

"Stop it!" Dick screamed at last.

And Joker did. He continued to cackle before pulling back his torture box. Jason flopped to the ground and lay panting heavily. Then, Jack zapped Jason a couple more times before moving back over to his table of torture tools.

"Jason, you okay?" Dick asked softly.

Jason was far too preoccupied with trying to get his body to stop shaking to answer, though Jack was more than willing to wait for his captive to regain his breath. Jack merely plopped down right next to him and gingerly ran his skeleton-like fingers over the set of pliers in his hands.

After taking a couple of minutes to breathe, Jason turned to glare at his captor. "That the best you got, you skinny, pasty-faced bastard?"

"Not finished yet. Now, I'm going to show you what happens when a little bird flies out of his nest too soon. Consider this a life lesson… not that you'll be able to apply it in the time you have left."

Joker was straddling Jason now. Jamming the pliers straight into his mouth, Jack dug his skinny fingers into Jason's gums as he attempted to pry Jason's mouth open. Dick's cries went unheard as Jack finally managed to lock the pliers around one of the back molars.

The tooth came free with a hard yank. Jason's voice was also freed as he nearly choked on the blood by screaming.

"Leave him alone!" Dick screamed.

"You shut up or I swear you'll suffer more!" Jack snarled before turning back to Jason, shoving him hard and using his feet to flip him over.

Jack dropped his bony knee onto Jason's back and pressed hard. He smiled as even more scarlet swirling with bile spewed onto the concrete from Jason's mouth. The clown backed off slightly to let Jason catch his breath before leaning down to his level.

"Why would Johann Schmidt choose you?" he sneered. "Why did he send you here to die?"

With a shaky breath, Jason answered, "Because I'm already dead."

"Not quite."

"Jack, stop, please. You're killing him!" Dick said as he pulled at his restraints.

Jack took a knife from his pocket and slowly slid the blade through the back of Jason's shirt, making sure to slice through bits of skin along the way. He peeled away what was left of the bloodstained shirt before taking time to admire the scars and abrasions that littered Jason's back, creating a ghastly work of art. The clown's long and bony fingers traced the old scars and fresh wounds. A jagged smile slowly spread across Jack's face at the way Jason flinched at every single touch.

"My, my, my. How'd we manage that?" Jack purred before his fingertips touched something raised on Jason's lower back near his rump.

Completely killing Jack's moment, Dick shouted, "I swear if you go any further, I'll kill you!"

Joker rolled his eyes at the supposed threat. The clown then sighed dramatically before leaning down to whisper, "Big Bird's getting awfully annoying, isn't he? I don't see why you put up with him. He talks too much… Another reason why you're much more entertaining. But, I think we can do something about that, don't you?"

Jack slapped Jason hard before he snatched up the bloodied, sweat-stained rag that had been Jason's shirt once. Jack marched his way over to the bound Dick, who continued to struggle while shouting insults at Jack and pleas to release Jason.

"Look, you little shit, this is my moment, and I need your silence to work! You're killing the momentum!"

"Don't do this," Dick said, his gaze still locked on Jason. "We can make a deal, Jack. Whatever you want."

"I want you to shut up and wait your turn! Believe me, you're next. Now, open your mouth!"

Dick firmly clamped his jaws shut while glaring at the clown. Jack sighed before cursing the teen for his stubbornness. The next second, Jack grabbed a long crowbar and slammed it into Dick's broken arm. Dick released a painful, blood curdling scream just as Jack shoved the balled up fabric into his mouth. Forcing a strip of cloth between Dick's teeth to hold the packing in place, Jack tied the strip tightly behind Dick's head. Dick released a cry that was halfway between a gargle and a cough as a few tears slipped from his eyes from the pain.

"Chirp for me now, Bird Brat," Jack sneered with a smile before harshly slapping Dick across the face.

"L-leave him alone," Jason threatened with what barely passed as a whisper.

With smiling eyes, Jack turned to where Jason struggled to make it back to at least a sitting position. Knocking the younger boy back down, Jack cackled, "Don't get up on my account! Now, where were we? Oh yes! Your little tattoo."

Jason grit his teeth together as Jack peeled the waistband of his pants down slightly to reveal the blood-red image of a skull forever burned onto his flesh. Jack took his time tracing the image before grabbing a fistful of Jason's hair and whispered, "Well, that's not a tattoo at all. It's a brand. You know, where I come from, that's the mark of a slave. Who owns you?"

Running his tongue over his bloodstained teeth, Jason spat a glob of bloody spittle right between Jack's eyes. Jack carefully wiped it away before slamming Jason's skull against the floor. Jerking Jason's face back up by his hair, Jack smirked at the trail of fresh crimson sliding down Jason's face.

"Let's try this again. I ask a question, and you answer. Now, who owns you?"

With every agonizing breath, Jason mumbled something so low that Jack had to tilt his head down just to be able to hear. "Come again, Bird Brat?"

Jack tilted his head closer until his lips were just an inch away from Jason's cracked lips coated in scarlet. Jason suddenly twisted just as Jack barely managed to turn to the side, and Jason only managed to sink his teeth into Jack shoulder instead of his jugular, which he'd been aiming for.

With a cry of pain, Jack backhanded Jason so hard that a sickening crack could be heard. A stream of crimson rushed from Jason's nostrils, and he hit the concrete gurgling blood as Jack glared down at him. Dick's muffled cries went unheard as the Joker pulled a dagger out.

Jack growled, "I suppose that answer doesn't matter anymore. It's not like they'll have use for your corpse… Then again, I think you need a new owner. You need someone who will truly appreciate what you have to offer. You need to belong to someone in death."

Jason spat a mouthful of blood onto Jack's boot. The same bloody spittle-covered boot was lodged into his side a second later. Jack seized Jason's chin with one hand, making sure to dig his nails in deep. He then reached out to trace the long scar running down Jason's cheek with the tip of the dull blade. Jason's eyes narrowed even further.

"How did you get this?" Jack asked gleefully. "Back talked? Stole? Lied? Hmm?"

"Go to h-hell."

"Only if you come with me." Jack sighed before leaning down and whispering, "I'm going to give you your new brand now, and you're not going to scream, talk, fight me, or even move. You'd make me mess up if you did. Ruining my masterpiece won't be good for my temper… And if you piss me off anymore, I'll just have to take it out on Dickie Bird over there. You don't want me to hurt him, do you? Hmm?"

"You're sick," Jason spat.

"Thank you! I was beginning to wonder if anyone was ever going to notice."

"I'm sure Harley did when she kicked your ass."

Joker's cheshire grin faltered as he bared his teeth at Jason and then slammed his head into the concrete forcefully. Jack dug his nails into Jason's scalp as he forced the scarred cheek into the light and slowly pulled the dull and rusted knife vertically through Jason's cheek. Skin and flesh slowly unraveled. The vertical line soon was connected to the horizontal line left by Red Skull years ago. Jack took his time adding a hook to the bottom of his masterpiece. The image of the letter J slowly tore through flesh and skin.

"Perfect! J for Jack and J for Joker!"

Jack pulled Jason up enough to jerk the boy's head in Dick's direction. Dick merely locked gazes with Jason with a mixed expression of pity, anger, concern, and anguish. When Jack let go of Jason, he fell to the floor with a thud while Jack headed back over to the table containing his tools.

Jason tore his eyes away from Dick's pitiful yet vengeful expression to look at Jack. The insane teenager had pulled a long, metal crowbar back out from his pile of torture tools. The clown smiled darkly before meeting Jason's gaze.

Jack cackled as he repeatedly smacked the cold steel bar against his palm. "You've been a bad boy, Jason. You need to be punished! Prepare yourself for a severe spanking, young man. But let's get one thing straight… This will hurt you a lot more than it'll hurt me."

Jason glared down the clown, but the glare was gone the second the metal bar connected with his thigh. Clenching his teeth was all he could do to keep from crying out. Jack sighed exasperatedly at the lack of a cry of pain.

"Oh, dear! I seem to have broken that, didn't I? Oopsies!" Jack sang.

The bar was brought down again, completely shattering Jason's ankle. Jason sucked in a sharp breath as he dropped his head down against the cool concrete stained with blood. Jack seized a handful of Jason's hair and jerked the boy's head up.

"Come on, Birdboy, you're not going to sleep on me already, are you? Wake up! I want you to sing for me!" the clown demanded before landing another blow.

The tears rolling down Dick's cheeks never ceased. The crowbar never stopped coming. Jason never opened his mouth to scream. He wouldn't give the clown the satisfaction — though he did break his teeth clenching his mouth shut.

The Joker bent down and started running his fingers through Jason's hair. Jack removed his hand and smiled at his pale white flesh covered in Jason's blood. He carefully began painting a smile onto Jason's face with his own blood.

"Let's put a smile on that face. You have to go out happy. I'll miss you," Jack soothed before looking at Dick, "Don't worry though. You'll have company soon."

Jack dropped the bar and planted a quick kiss against Jason's temple. He then walked over to Dick. Dick sucked in a mouthful of fresh air as the gag was removed before he yelled,"You bastard! You're nothing more than a monster; you're insane!"

Jack threw his hand over his chest theatrically before saying, "Thank you! Enjoy the credits! I'll be back to start shooting your final role, but first, I have to find your girlfriend."

"Stay away from—" Dick began before Jack squeezed his wrist just where his cast ended, sure to put his fingers through the holes in the netting to get to the bruised, broken arm.

The acrobat hissed and drew in a sharp breath. Jack walked out cackling. Dick took a few breaths before catching Jason's eye and whispered, "Jay."

Jason coughed a gurgled response that would never be deciphered.

"It's okay, Jason… you're gonna be okay. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Jason couldn't breathe. His lungs were literally filling themselves with blood. Blood was flowing out, but air wasn't flowing in. Ribs crushed, bones broken, lungs collapsed, internal bleeding, and a damn 'J' across his face were how he'd die. This was it. His spirit and mind were broken long ago, and now, with his body broken, all hope was obliterated.

Tim and Artemis were as good as dead anyway. Even in death, he'd failed them. They'd died a worse death than Jason would. And he'd die without one last cigarette — which was the most pressing issue at the moment.

Such a failure. If only he'd tried harder. If only he'd have just stayed on his own. Bizarro would still be alive, and Tim and Artemis wouldn't be tortured or worse. He'd only die forever labeled Red Skull's biggest failure.

A few tears rolled down Dick's face as Jason's eyes finally closed after fighting for so long. Jason had lost hope. He couldn't save them. There was nothing left to live for.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders

14\. Jade Nguyen, District Ten Female: Killed by Harley Quinn

13\. Kara Danvers, District Five Female: Killed by Kara Danvers

12\. Jason Todd, District Six Male, Killed by Jack Hamill


	100. Chapter 99: Great Responsibility

**(A/N) - Hello, and Welcome back, friends to our Friday update! Many thanks and happy returns to our wonderful authors that reviewed and to Slim Summers2002 for speaking up and letting us hear your thoughts.**

 **Today, we're peeking in the incomparable Diana Prince of District Four, presented as always by our rambunctious red-head, InDeepDarkWood. Enjoy! It's an incredible one!**

* * *

 **Chapter Ninety-Nine - Great Responsibility**

 **Day Eight, Evening**

 **Diana Prince of District Four**

 **Written by InDeepDarkWood**

* * *

" _When the time comes, let loose a tiger and a devil; but wait for the time with the tiger and the devil chained -not shown- yet always ready."_ ― Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

* * *

 _Diana watched her aunt, halfway out to the sandbank, a tall graceful being of land moving elegantly through the water. Though resistance at thigh level was high, Antiope cut through the waves like a well-made yacht, leaving little wake. Diana glanced down at her own legs, weak and feeble in comparison, and frowned, her brow furrowed into little crevices._

" _Come, Diana!" Antiope called out, and Diana glanced back up to her, trying to smooth her expression and mimic Antiope's poise. Her purposeful stride quickly became clumsy leaps as each wave, though calm for the day, pushed her back toward the shore. The water crept up to her knees, then her thighs, then lapped hungrily at her waist line, and she hesitated, then ploughed through at the look on Antiope's face._

" _What took you so long, little niece?" she asked when Diana finally made it out to her level. Here, with the aid of the sandbar, the breakers never slapped higher than her chest and reached just below her aunt's waist._

" _I...I was planning my route," Diana said, nodding in affirmation of her words. "A good warrior always thinks ahead and knows the path they tread." Antiope held up her right hand, her index finger raised in quiet reprimand._

" _A good warrior knows when to feel fear and embrace it, Diana, not try to hide it through petty white lies." Diana's expression fell, and she hung her head, her gaze darting away from her aunt's god-like ability to read her like an open book._

 _The pair stood in the water in silence, the sounds of the ocean washing over them, from the gentle breeze that lifted Diana's hair and tasted of salt to the squawk of the gulls and the_ plip-plop _of a fish leaping from the surface. The water was clear in Four, the shadowy depths deceptive in many places, but Diana could see her toes on the ground, so knew she was safe._

 _She braced her body as an eel swam lazily through the water by her leg, her eyes wide._

" _A good warrior," Antiope finally continued, breaking the silence, "knows that something to fear can easily be used to their advantage, once they understand it." She trailed her hand in the water, brushing off against the eel as it passed between them. Diana felt a very low tingle in her muscles. This was not the type of eel to be caught and eaten in a stew; this was Capitol spawn, its true nature cut and spliced so finely that little of the elegant and elusive being remained._

" _Is it right to use it so?" she asked, her fingers trailing toward the eel despite the previous shock. The mutt's coloring changed from a shocking blue to a deeper green as it tilted its head toward her, one eye glinting as it surveyed her with a predatory intelligence. "Is it fair?"_

" _A battle is never fair," Antiope said as Diana's fingers came into contact with the eel. The jolt she received was far greater than the little hint from the previous one, and she yelped out loud, her arm flopping like a dead fish against the tide, momentarily incapacitated. "If you expect it to be fair, Diana, you will be dead in the water. There are no warning shots in battle, little niece. Only shots."_

* * *

She couldn't feel her legs.

No, that wasn't entirely true. She could feel her legs, but it was the way one would feel something through a quilt, or a large package wrapped up in so many layers that there was only a hint of what could be felt underneath. She knew she was standing, and not just because she was still upright. She knew she was standing because the ground was definitely beneath her, beneath the layers of quilting, a tiny hint of safety and salvation.

That was all it was, though: a hint.

Her hand flew up to her chest, because Antiope had taught her that _that_ was the most important place to check for injury no matter what had occurred, and she let out a brief sigh of relief when her heart pounded under her rib cage and against her fingers. She moved to bring her other hand up, only to find her fingers weren't cooperating with the rest of her body. There was no fist to form, no fingers to point in reprimand.

 _John._

Her gaze snapped to her left, to her ally, who was shorter than her by a hair, but the hair was possibly enough to cause his diaphragm to fail and send him to an unfortunate demise. She let out another sigh as she took in his posture; both of his hands were in the water, useless in their current state, but he took a breath, and she knew he would survive.

 _Raven,_ she thought, her heart feeling like it suffered another jolt. "Thea," she breathed, turning to the scene directly in front of her, where the younger girls had ploughed ahead recklessly. She had sent them ahead through the unknown.

 _A good warrior knows the path she treads._

"Raven!" she called out, and spotted the first of her allies, drooping in the water like a sad flower, face down. Diana tried to take a step toward her, to help her from drowning, because even if the divers thought it a fitting way to go, Diana didn't quite agree, and Raven wasn't even from Four.

"Bloody hell," John said.

Diana's legs wouldn't listen to her beneath the quilting, and she splashed downward, keeling sideways as she unbalanced herself with her movements. _How long does it take to die?_ she asked herself. Glancing upward toward a camera, because she knew there would be cameras around the trap they had strolled into so carelessly, she called out, "How long does it take to die?!" Antiope had never told her that. Her aunt had taught her so much, yet Diana was finding she had left out more than she realized, and she was floundering now without guidance.

Diana could see Thea just ahead of Raven. She was facing toward them, her eyes open, a look of disbelief and tense pain all across her face, and Diana resumed her splashing and agonizingly slow race to get to the two younger girls. It was different from the rapids of the floods; every muscle beneath the water was against her, weighing her down with their uselessness, and Diana was left with one good arm and one half an arm to attempt to close the gap.

"Di, your legs!" John yelled at her. She glanced back at him to see he had started to follow her, only to be utterly unbalanced as she was, struggling to remain upright.

"They cannot wait, John," she replied, gesturing to their allies. She glanced back at Thea, who had that awful look on her face people got when they realized they couldn't breathe and were going to die.

 _A good warrior knows the path ahead._

"I think they can wait forever," John said, his gaze on the unmoving Raven, the slowly sinking Thea. The words were like a blow to the stomach, and Diana thought she was choking as her chest closed up.

"They _cannot_ ," she insisted, though the words had lost some of their previous weight, and she reached up again to touch where her heart lay. John had stopped fighting his dead legs, and the water stood still around him. His gaze was filled with some mixture of sadness and pity, but all Diana saw was the pity he had for her, and her chin lifted, chest opening once more to let in a _whoosh_ of air. "I _cannot_ —"

"You _haven't_ failed them," he interrupted her, before she could even try and finish her words, and she deflated once more. Her hand and legs began to tingle ever so slightly, warning her of impending feeling. _I have known him no longer than a summer storm,_ she thought, _yet he knows me as I would my own blood._ It was a comforting thought, though his words did little to ease her conscience.

"Do you think this is the Gamemakers at it again?" John asked, glancing around the deep water suspiciously. He grimaced for a moment and lifted his hands. Diana figured he was also feeling the reclamation of his body.

"I don't think so. Yet another electrical trap? That is not unique enough for those making these Games..." She trailed off, her mind whirring, her brain foggy as the tingling in her legs intensified and occupied a large portion of her brain.

 _Tingles._ The feeling of Kaldur's hot breath on her face came back to her, his rough voice full of pain as he had uttered the single word. Beside her, John swore loudly as a cannon rang out — and then, shortly after that, another.

Her teeth gritted together as a thousand, thousand needles rattled into her legs as the paralysis began to wear off, threatening to tip her over and fall for an entirely different reason than earlier. _You are a foolish man, Kaldur Ahm_. Her words echoed in her head as her brain screamed for the needles to stop, though no amount of movement would aid her. She recalled a brief moment in the interviews, the night that seemed so long ago, when he had given the sullen girl from Two a smile. _Harper_.

"Harper," she repeated aloud. She twisted back to face John, whose face was contorted in a way she knew mirrored her own. His hands trembled, matching her legs as they struggled to comprehend the nerve endings.

"What?" John managed to get out.

" _Harper_." She spoke the name with more conviction, a feeling of rage welling up within her, sliding over the pain of her legs, washing briefly over the guilt that was trying to eat her up inside.

 _Harper_ was the one who had killed Thea and Raven. _Harper_ was the one who had killed Kaldur. _No, worse,_ she thought, her head heavy with the flood of emotions. Harper had not had the decency or the _honor_ to kill him. Instead, she had left him to suffer and die. _A coward._ He had died with dignity with Diana, but he could have been spared suffering and died with _honor._

There was a splash behind them.

It was a small splash. Another may have put it down to a creature of the swamp. Diana's lip curled upward, and she tore her gaze toward the sound.

" _HARPER!"_ she bellowed. The tribute who had caused the splash froze to the spot, thinking on some instinctual level that if she just stayed still, Diana would not be able to see her. _I am no mere predator,_ she thought, jerking her legs toward the other girl.

"Ah, shit," Harper splurt out, stumbling backward through the water and back onto the drier land. Diana forged ahead, though the splashing beside her indicated that John was following her. Even without the burden of partial paralysis, Diana's heart sank as she watched Harper run, squelching in the mud but moving at a much faster pace than the pair could ever hope for in the water.

They pressed on until the water was at their knees, then their ankles, and Harper had disappeared from view. Diana was already breathing heavily, the extra strain of deliberate movements taking its toll. John drew up level with her, his hands on his axe, the weapon trembling. She could hear the squelch of mud in the distance as Harper, invisible to the eye, made her loud getaway. Above them, a low whirring sound had started up.

"She was trying to get that, I bet," John said, gesturing down towards a contraption in the shallows. He put a foot out, nearly toppling over as his other leg weakly supported him, and gave the box a kick. A wire, hidden in the water, shimmered with the vibration, casting ripples in the surface all the way back toward their allies.

"We _must_ find her," Diana answered, casting an eye toward the sky as the whirring noise grew louder, drowning out whatever splashes Harper was making.

"Di, we're in no shape to go running right now," he pointed out. Diana's hackles rose at the words.

"Perhaps _you_ are in no shape, but _I_ will not stand idly by while the cretin who _murdered_ our allies disappears into the dusk," she growled.

John shoulders slumped slightly, and he took a small step back from her. He had a look on his face that she had not seen in days; a mixture of shock, fear, and anger. "I am not _idle_ ," he retorted.

"You seem fine with the idea of allowing someone of your _ilk_ to vanish without justice," Diana snapped. "As she is not a true 'Career', she is allowed to pass freely?"

The helicarrier causing the noise in the sky grew in size as it approached, hovering around the area of the swamp for a few moments as John matched Diana's gaze evenly. "I will be showing our allies the dignity and honor they deserve. Like _you_ have shown me."

The accusatory tone in his voice was plain to hear, and Diana's head spun with all the times those words had been used in her presence. All the times she had thrown them in Odin's face. All the times Kaldur had spat them out against her tirade. All the times she had used them to earn the trust of her allies. All the times she had used them to earn the respect of the friend that stood before her. _You fear becoming the villain of your own story._ Crane's eyes floated before her in her mind's eye, and with that, her anger dissipated. Her shoulders sagged, and she dropped her gaze away from John.

The helicarrier whirred away, unable to pick up its cargo with Diana and John so close, the only sound in the area for a very long moment.

* * *

" _Diana."_

 _She was half lost in thought, her mind still on the moment she had felt her district partner slip away from her arms and enter the void. It had seemed only fitting that she should watch him die; he had watched her try and decide how to kill him with a blade. The least she could do was give him the honor of_ not _looking away._

 _Her heart was heavy though, full of guilt, in part for not doing_ more _to try and save Kaldur, and partly for not doing_ less _to prolong his suffering._ John was right, _she thought, sighing to herself._ He had seen from the being what I was too blind to see.

 _Death was as much a part of life in Four as birth and celebration. Had Kaldur Ahm passed in the ocean waters, Arthur Curry's people would have thrown their hands to the sky and rejoiced in all the years he had spent in the waking world._

 _Yet here, the responsibility for him, despite Odin's voice of reason stating they were equals in partnership, weighed on her shoulders. She felt them slouch from the mental fatigue, struggling to comprehend they had only been in the arena for three days._

" _Diana." John had his hand on her shoulder as he spoke. It took her a moment to turn and face him, and when she didn't shrug his touch off, he squeezed her shoulder gently. Kara was aiding Clark to stand, much more lively than the latter after being woken by Diana, and she watched the two of them begin to chat as they moved around their camp._

" _Don't get disheartened by Kaldur's death," John continued after a moment. "You did the right thing here. That honor and dignity you're always talking about? You did a pretty good job last night giving a dying man both." At her silence, he persisted. "Kaldur wouldn't want you to dwell on his death. His soul's still enjoying its life, away from here."_

 _He gave her a small smile as she nodded after a moment, dropping his hand from her shoulder after giving it another squeeze. Diana rolled her shoulders back, straightening her posture, and lifted her chin._ Life is a blessing. Death is one too.

* * *

She jerked slightly at the touch to her shoulder, gentle with the still healing wound she bore. When it didn't automatically go away, she glanced over toward its owner. John stood quietly by her side, his axe hanging down against his leg, his other hand squeezing her shoulder.

"I apologize," Diana said stiffly. "To suggest you do not care — while my intention — was cruel of me."

"Huh." She watched him frown slightly. "I didn't honestly think you'd say sorry first." She started to scowl, when his face softened. "Bloody hell, Di, do you really think I wouldn't understand why you said those things?"

"I..."

"I honestly didn't think you'd be at a loss for words either," John continued. "What happened here was not your doing. You know that, right?"

"I should have gone before them," Diana responded, tensing up under his hand. "I should have been the _leader_ I have made myself out to be." John snorted at her words.

"You _were_ the leader you made yourself out to be, Di," he pointed out. " _That's_ why they went ahead. They were _trying_ to be you. So you better be your best self, and go back in there, and help me give those girls a better end than this god-awful shit they're currently floating in."

Diana blinked rapidly a few times, taking in her friend's words, and then nodded slowly. John gave a nod of his own back and set the axe down beside the circuit box. After a few moments' hesitation, Diana did the same with her sword, and the two waded back into the water, the swamp ground sucking at their feet and dragging them down.

She hooked her arms underneath Raven's as she reached the dead girl and began to pull her slowly back toward the shore, watching John do the same with Thea. Raven's arms hooked around Diana like an afterlife embrace; she wondered if it would make others uncomfortable. She found it comforting in a way. _The dead see what they want to see_. She hoped it was the good she knew she had inside.

"Dammit," John huffed as they reached the dry land. "Didn't think Thea would be _that_ heavy." Diana looked over at him as he spoke, and his words seem to dawn on him after a moment. "Well, I was always going to Hell anyway, Di. We can just add that to my list of offenses against me."

There was a pause between the two, and then Diana gave him a small smile. "You would have received an arrow before those words had finished leaving your lips."

"You would have gotten a right rollicking for being so touchy-feely with Raven," he pointed out.

"Aye," Diana conceded, the smile still on her face as they laid the young girls next to each other. John crossed Thea's arms at the chest, while Diana folded Raven's across her lap, closing her eyes from the world's view. She took a moment to appreciate her friend's customs from Twelve.

"I feel like there should be flowers," John said soberly. "I think there were flowers at my mother's funeral." Diana nodded and moved away a short distance. Beneath one of the gnarled trees, a few purple weeds had survived the floods of the Games. She plucked the two most appealing weeds and carried them back, handing one over to John, and placing the second on Raven's lips. "At least they had each other," John added, as he rested the flower on Thea's chest. "In the end, they died with a friend — and not alone. That counts for something."

"Sleep well, my sisters," Diana murmured. "Enjoy all the splendors of your afterlife in the Elysian Fields. Life is a blessing, and death is a part of life, so we... _must_ say that death is a blessing too."

"I usually believe there's no good guys and bad guys. There's just _us_. But I think...I think you two girls... were pretty good guys."

They stood in silence until the helicarrier whirred closer again, its prize now safely ashore to be reclaimed. Diana turned to face John, her face dry. _There is no time for tears,_ she thought, noting her friend's face was equally unstained.

"I will end Harper Row, John." It was a simple statement. _A fact_. "I have asked you to be a part of my alliance, but I will not bear you ill will if you decide to part at this time." The words filled her with the choking sensation of before, of the idea of losing yet another ally. _A friend._ "I fear the path I tread is one of darkness."

John picked up his axe and shifted it in his hand.

"I'm used to darkness, Di. Hunting Harper… won't that be murder?" He paused, kicking at the mud. "Murder's got a pulse all of its own, Di. It's different from Kaldur… Jonathan. It's a cold, slow electricity."

"This is not murder. This is justice."

"Two-on-one isn't really fair though, is it?" John had started nodding, though, swinging his axe into its holster.

"Aye, but a battle is rarely fair, John." She picked up the sword and sheathed it by her side, stepping away from the two girls. _I will_ not _be dead in the water._ John followed without hesitating.

"And fair is a child's word."

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders

14\. Jade Nguyen, District Ten Female: Killed by Harley Quinn

13\. Kara Danvers, District Five Female: Killed by Kara Danvers

12\. Jason Todd, District Six Male, Killed by Jack Hamill

11\. Rachel Roth, District Nine Female, Killed by Harper Row

10\. Thea Queen, District One Female, Killed by Harper Row


	101. Chapter 100: Cuckoo's Nest

**(A/N): Happy Tuesday! Here we are with another update to this amazing chapter; can you believe we're a hundred chapters in? This time, we've got Canucklehead Cowgirl bringing us Harley and the ladies of that alliance ;)**

 **Thanks again to our writers who have reviewed! As we rush toward the last few tributes in these Games, we're loving hearing from everyone as things heat up!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred - Cuckoo's Nest**

 **Evening Eight**

 **Harleen Quinzel, District Eight**

 **Written by Canucklehead Cowgirl**

* * *

 _He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you. - Friedrich Nietzsche_

 _Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of other people.- Carl Jung_

* * *

Harley was still feeling sorry for herself, but not to the same degree or tone as she'd been feeling up to this point. Here she was, with two of the prettiest girls in the whole swamp, slogging through muck and mud up to her hips, gettin' chewed up by mosquitoes and whatever tha heck these rotten big bitey flies were. "They didn't bite me when I had Petey around," she muttered to herself. "Stupid bugs. Stupid _swamp_. Stupid helmet-headed mentor."

"What are you muttering about, Harley?" Ivy asked as she caught up to her blonde compatriot.

"Just figured out the whole mess, that's all. You got a cryptic kinda pot thingy to work your butt off to make yourself something to win with … Miss Moneybags over there gets a whole friggin' kit — and _I can't even get a lousy can a' bug spray_! I'll bet if I had a mentor that wasn't a butt-ugly, helmet-headed weirdo or a ... a mentally unstable spider worshipper, I'd've had a whole fifty-gallon drum of the stuff."

Harley let out an irritated little noise and slapped at the mosquitos that were plaguing her. The plants that Ivy had given her to smear onto her skin had helped with the tracker jacker stings, but they weren't doin' nuthin' for the rotten mosquitoes anymore. "We're gettin' eaten _alive_ out here," she muttered to no one in particular. She was in a foul mood, and she was sore. Hurting. Grumpy. And she knew the girls had heard just about enough of her complaining — but they weren't any kind of fun anyhow. Not at this point. Not with Ivy goin' all mistress of the plant world focused on … _whatevah_. And Hel was just too serious all the way around.

"You're probably just low on Vitamin B," Helena said under her breath, but Harley was honestly miserable at this point — and wasn't really joking around.

"Nevermind!" Harley shouted, tossing both hands in the air as she slogged past Helena into the lead. "I've had it with this friggin' swamp."

"Harley …"

"Ah, don't mind me, Red," Harley said with as much of a cheerful lilt as she could manage, all things considered. "Maybe I'm just wishin' I had a lollipop or somethin'. You know. Somethin' sweet for the sweet? Seein' as _apparently_ I'm not as _loveable_ as Miss Wayne here. And I _thought_ gentlemen preferred blondes."

"Maybe that's the problem," Ivy said. "No gentlemen sponsors."

"I'm sure that your mentor is waiting for you to _need_ something, Harley," Helena said — obviously in an attempt to get her companion to quiet down, and not at all happy to hear her bring up the sponsorship gift. Again.

"Yeah, _right_ ," Harley said. "If that was the case, he'd'a sent me some friggin' _bug spray_. I mean, who doesn't need bug spray in a _swamp_?" She shook her head and crossed her arms as she continued her stomp forward. "Worthless helmet-headed egomaniacal psychotic. Probably got a substance abuse problem too, if his looks are anything to go by. Hmph. I'd have a drinkin' habit if I had to look at that in the mirror every day." She looked irritated as she thought about her mentor. "Why couldn't I get someone like either one'a you? You both got hunky guys doin' double time."

"I thought you had Jessica Drew too," Ivy said.

"Yeah? They're all supposed to work together, but if you think for one flippin' minute that _Miss Jessica Drew_ 'd do anything for anyone but _Miss Jessica Drew_ , you're outta your melon." She turned and gestured to Helena. "You think that big, dumb bottle blonde in Seven is stickin' his neck out for anyone but himself? Pfft. Whatever."

" _No,_ " Helena said strongly. "There's no way he helped Logan get my string."

Ivy put her arms out suddenly, shushing both girls as something in the darker shadows made an unsettling noise. "We need to get out of the open."

"That's what we were doin', gorgeous," Harley said at a whisper, rolling her eyes and not at all amused, though a distant banging noise caught their attention, and all three girls turned toward the sound in the darkness.

They stood there, listening for a moment before Harley simply started walking toward it. It almost sounded like it was someone hitting something. She had no idea what it was — but it wasn't natural. Not by a long shot. And whatever it was, it didn't belong out there in the swamp.

Harley barely watched where she was going, and she nearly lost her footing, had it not been for Helena catching up to her and taking a hold of her arm — to stop her from slipping into what they'd learned to identify as moving water in an arena full of standing water.

"Watch your step," Ivy nearly hissed as she joined her very soggy companions.

"I was just tryin'ta get closer to the … the pounding. Or whatevah," Harley said, wide-eyed as she gestured into the darkening trees ahead.

"Well you just barely missed stepping into a river, Harl," Ivy said. "Please. _Be careful._ "

Harley didn't argue it or talk back this time as Helena navigated along the river that was hidden by shallower water along its banks. Instead, she nodded and tried to force a little smile that got Ivy to let out a breath and relax her shoulders a hair before she started out trailing behind Helena again.

But the sound of banging had suddenly stopped, and Harley frowned, sure that there was laughter echoing the trees. "Stupid swamp's playin' tricks on me," she muttered, barely louder than a whisper. She turned and, with one final look over her shoulder, followed Ivy and Helena along the bank.

* * *

Darkness came up quickly in the swamp, and with it, the lively nightlife started up in earnest. "Best and worst part of this whole mess is the lightshow," Harley said.

"Lightshow isn't until it's totally dark, Harley; you know that," Helena said, still watching carefully for trouble.

"Yeah, but that's not the lightshow I'm talkin' about," Harley said before she waved off a mosquito near her eye and then gestured to the area around them as a trickle turned into thousands upon thousands of lightning bugs that had started to rise up from the grasses and bushes all around them, flickering their bright green light like tiny lanterns across the water. They didn't rise up to the top of the trees, but for as far as they did go up, the world seemed speckled with gently flashing neon green lights.

The girls continued on, but Harley's complaints drifted off as she watched the fireflies with an almost childlike awe as they continued their march. "I don't know what it's like for you gals back home, but we don't have nearly this many of these little beauties where I'm from," Harley said, her voice full of affection for the little insects. "Course, they're about the only damn thing around here that ain't trying to eat us alive, too …"

After the lightning bugs began to disperse into the upper sections of the trees as dusk deepened into true darkness, the anthem began to play, and the three girls all paused. "Oh, ain't this a friggin' riot?" Harley said with her arms crossed and her fingers tapping on her baseball bat. "Just when we start lookin' for something good, the _stupid_ lightshow turns on to utterly destroy any semblance of sneakiness we had goin' in our favor."

"I think your shouting destroyed that a few miles back," Helena said calmly as the emblem shimmered into the the first new face.

Thea Queen was new, though for her age, Harley wasn't surprised at all to see her. She was a fighter, sure. But that wasn't enough most of the time. She was scared of all this nonsense. She'd'a been stupid not to be.

Harley watched, waiting to see someone new, making faces at the ones she was glad to see gone and blowing kisses to those that she had hoped would do better. "Ya bring a tear to the eye every time, Big Blue," Harley said quietly when Clark's chiseled features showed yet again.

But then...

"Holy smokes," she said, sitting up when Jason's picture appeared in the darkness. That was one she wasn't expecting. Jason'd been a little rough around the edges, and he'd tried to kill her, sure. But she thought he'd go further than this.

When Rachel Roth appeared a moment later, she turned toward Helena. "What's with all the birds tonight? Wasn't she in with Tricky Dicky's crowd? The birdbrains of a similar feather flockin' together and all that noise?"

But if Harley was expecting much conversation from Helena when her brother's alliance was so clearly in trouble, she was sorely mistaken. The dark-haired young woman was simply frowning deeper and deeper, clearly lost in her thoughts.

Harley watched her for a moment in her peripheral vision, trying not to be too overt about her observation. The Wayne girl was an interesting person all around. In spite of the horrid conditions, and the fact that they were facing a death match at some point — because Harley was sure that Miss Helena Wayne was going to go far — Helena seemed to be almost regimented in how she approached the Games. She had her weapon. She had her allies to watch her back — and though she didn't truly relax, that seemed to be enough for her. For now. She was good in a fight. Good in a pinch … but geez-lo-pease, she was no fun when it came down to gettin' the dirty work done. And Harley wanted to at least _play._

With the last name in the sky, Harley shut her eyes tight to try and speed up how quickly she could adjust to the much lower light level, covering her eyes with one hand while the other held her bat a bit tighter. "Please don't let anyone sneak up on me, please don't let anyone sneak up on me," Harley muttered quietly until the last straining chords faded into silence .. and moments later, the ambient sounds of the swamp began to pick up once again.

Crickets and frogs were first, of course, and the soft chirping of God only knows what squeaking and croaking. Somewhere off in the distance, the little critters started their back and forth, and if she wasn't hip-deep in the water, it might actually be relaxing to listen to. "I'm gettin' real tired of the constant nature show on display," Harley said, though that only really earned her a tired look from Ivy before she started off in a new direction.

"Where are you going now?" Ivy asked before she turned to catch up to her, moving as quickly as she thought was wise to keep the sounds of water moving to a minimum.

"We already went that way," Harley said, pointing off to the left. "I can see a couple of my traps down thataway. So I'm gonna go thisaway to see if I can figure out some more. Those whippy vines are just as good as rope, an' we got plenty of that around here."

The three girls took their time moving forward, and when they hit shallower water, they all began to move slower, since the more movement that there was at the surface, the louder they were. As Harley was straining her ears to listen for trouble, she could hear in the distance something that definitely didn't blend in with the ambient swamp sounds all around them.

"What's a building doing way out here?" Helena said, her eyes narrowed as she pointed with her crossbow at the edge of a dark form, half hidden in the trees.

Harley moved to her right, ducking down partway to change her angle as she looked the way Helena had been pointing. She was right. "Holy crap, that is a building," Harley said, wide-eyed and in pure disbelief of what she was seeing.

The closer they got to the building, the tenser the girls were. It was plain to see that someone was home, though who, they weren't sure of simply from the flickering light through the windows.

When they were near enough to the building, it became apparent that it was the driest spot in the swamp. Dry enough that the ground didn't squish underfoot. Dry enough that there wasn't any standing water in the divots and scoops in the dirt. There had once been a fence around the building, but large sections of it were bent over or entirely obscured by kudzu vines and even trees that had overgrown around and into the rusty wrought iron.

Even before they were entirely on the dry patch of ground, they could hear noises, sort of thuddy footsteps, from within the ominous-looking building. And here, in the shadow of this old building, the swamp had gone quiet. There were no singing frogs or crickets. No thrumming rumble from the alligators. No rattles or hisses from what had seemed like an endless string of venomous snakes crossing their path or blocking their way during their soggy trek.

The lightning bugs weren't even sticking around, even though the dry patch _should_ have looked like a bright green disco like every other little bit of semi-dry ground they'd seen so far.

Which only meant that this wasn't going to be good. "Who do you think is in there?" Ivy asked as they watched the light flicker in several windows.

"Field's narrowing down substantially," Helena said through gritted teeth as the trio continued slowly toward the building.

The smell of freshly-turned earth was thicker the closer they got to the building, but they couldn't see the source. "Someone's been digging," Ivy commented, "though I doubt they're putting in a garden." Her eyes narrowed as she looked for whoever or whatever was behind this particular new level of hell.

They shared a look, and as without a word spoken, they all nodded in turn. Helena put her crossbow at the ready, the stock at her shoulder, though she wasn't holding it up to shoot — yet. Harley readjusted her grip on the baseball bat and raised it over her shoulder as she and Helena led the charge forward — creeping slowly enough that Harley's sideways stance wasn't any kind of hinderance to either of them.

They edged their way around the building until they came across some graffiti that had Harley doing a double take. She stiffened up at the familiar scrawl on the walls outside the entrance … a solidly thick-lined ' _Ha Ha Ha'_ that could only have been put there by someone who _knew_ the tags … which meant …

"Puddin'," Harley said in breath of a whisper that would have been too quiet to catch if the girls hadn't been right there with her. Feeling as if she'd been hit with cold water, Harley's mind's eye went right back to district Eight.

* * *

 _It had only been a few days since her near miss in the alley on the wrong side of the tracks, but she'd paid close attention to the graffiti tags littered in the alleys and dumpsters of the biggest city in District Eight. She'd skipped school that day and had spent most of it simply walking._

 _She knew she'd been far from home, but she didn't realize she'd been that far out. Her eyes were still puffy, and kept finding herself in tears again when she'd spot some familiar landmark that she knew Peter Parker frequented._

 _It wasn't even a conscious thing_ — _the walking tour of Spider-Man's hangouts. But she was doing it all the same_ — _and spiraling out from the safest part of the city the whole while._

 _Until that day, Harleen had never really noticed the amount of spray-painted-on tags littering the city. Closer to the school she was supposed to go to were a few little bits of graffiti that were obviously done by kids tryin' ta be cooler than what they really were. Horrible spelling_ — _nothin' tyin' one tag to the next outside 'a the sloppy handwritin' … but it was all stupid things. People's nicknames and stuff they wanted to be known by. Like they were a victor to be or somethin'._

' _Gambit' in hot pink that almost glowed and 'Domino' predictably scribbled on a wall in black and white were a couple that had her scratching her head. "Who'd even wanna be addressed like a buncha tiles that just get knocked over any-hoo?" she muttered under her breath when she found a third 'Domino' tag that was a lot more refined than the first one she saw. "Lame-o-rama."_

 _Clearly, they were tryin' too hard. Whoever they were._

 _But there were real tags. More thought out and simple all at once. Like the zodiac signs … different signs in different sections of town_ — _but painted over some of the other tags. She was still in the financial district when she saw the first deep red handprint that looked as if someone had dipped their hand in blood and set it against the wall_ — _complete with drips that trailed down from the base of the palm._

 _Further down the road, not three blocks from Oscorp, she saw a green skull with tentacles writhing out behind it_ — _or she supposed that's what it was. It coulda just been a really crappy octopus. But no one tagged over that one._

 _She tripped over her own feet as she turned_ — _shouted insults from a few blocks ahead echoed down to her and tore her from her inner artistic critique. And she finally saw it. The first 'Ha Ha Ha'. Her heart leapt in her chest, and her eyes widened as she automatically looked around her to see if she could spot another one._

 _Harleen started to move a little quicker, even if she didn't realize it_ — _and another couple blocks down, she spotted another of the Jokerz' tags. And over it was a bright red 'T'. She tipped her head to the side, and her nose crinkled up. That … that couldn't stand._

 _She turned and headed to one of the few stores still open and dug into her purse. She didn't have a spray paint can … but she did have a little jar of paint_ — _and a brush._

 _She looked both ways, then headed over, paint in hand … but instead of just covering the 'T' with a black 'Ha Ha Ha' of her own … she added three diamonds next to it before she stepped back, looking overly proud of herself._

 _She stepped back just as some guy wrapped in black shouted out at her. "HEY! What do you think you're doin', blondie?" He and two of his friends came rushing over as Harley put the paint and brush back into her bag. The guys were wearing white tee shirts with a bright red 'T' on the center of the chest that had to mean they were from the gang tag she'd just painted over._

" _Oops!" She squeaked as she turned tail to run, but she didn't get far before the guy grabbed a hold of her arm. She spun on her heel, and her other foot popped up in the air as she turned, catching the second guy in the face and knocking him out cold._

 _The one that had a hold of her stared at his downed friend for a moment before he punched her in the stomach and doubled her over. When he reached around her to pull her upright, she bit his arm. Hard._

 _Screaming echoed the alley, and the final member of the gang rushed in, trying to help his friend_ — _though once Harleen stopped biting, she lunged for the new attacker, rage in her features before she started pounding on him bare-fisted._

 _She walked home, her purse swinging freely at her side and her head held high. And every single bit of graffiti she found on the way back was quickly covered with a black 'Ha Ha Ha' and the treble diamond design of her own imagination. Even the green octopus got one. She wasn't scared a' none a' them idjits._

* * *

"Harley..." Helena started to say, and by the expression on her face, it was clear to Harley that Helena was concerned. "Hey. Are you gonna be okay?"

She bit her lip and looked between her two friends, then back to the blood and mud graffiti on the walls. "Yeah, I'm gonna be just fine." Harley nodded her head once and steeled herself. "But we're gonna have to get rid a' _Puddin'_ first." The two girls shared a look, clearly not trusting that Harley was over him yet. "Before he hurts someone important." Harley turned toward Helena with an almost sympathetic look. "He's got it out for the Boy Wonder, and he didn't do nothin' to deserve it. He'll hurt him real bad if he gets a hold of 'im. I know he will."

She looked between her two friends and took a deep breath, setting her shoulders. "So let's figure out what we gotta do."

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders

14\. Jade Nguyen, District Ten Female: Killed by Harley Quinn

13\. Kara Danvers, District Five Female: Killed by Kara Danvers

12\. Jason Todd, District Six Male, Killed by Jack Hamill

11\. Rachel Roth, District Nine Female, Killed by Harper Row

10\. Thea Queen, District One Female, Killed by Harper Row


	102. Chapter 101: Jack's a Jerk

**(A/N): Hello and welcome back to our Friday update! This time around, we've got abrokencastiel writing the Joker and continuing to prove that she can disturb everyone with her Joker. Seriously, cas, you're too good at this...**

 **Thanks as always to our writers for reviewing and to Slim Summers2002 for sticking with us!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and One - Jack's a Jerk**

 **Nightfall, Day Eight**

 **Jack Hamill of District Eight**

 **Written by abrokencastiel**

* * *

" _A soul needs a purpose to live and so I concluded that my purpose was to kill everyone besides myself. I felt alive."_ \- Masashi Kishimoto

* * *

Joker wiped off his blades on his captive's shirt with a whistled tune. "You know, Dickie, I'm running out of places to clean my knives. It's going to be quite nasty when you try to put this back on."

The young man groaned in response from where he hung from ropes by his arms. His bare torso was covered in blood from the many superficial cuts, and his black hair stuck to his face with sweat.

"What? No witty comebacks?" Joker pouted. The whole point of not killing Dick outright was to see his overly optimistic and heroic attitude break. Not to mention the fact that the birdbrain was one of the main reasons Harley had turned against him. That was unforgivable. "Is it because I killed your friends?"

Dick looked up ever so slightly and gave Joker one of his characteristic grins. "Just can't decide what to comment on first: your terrible penmanship or your smeared mascara." His voice was hoarse from screaming. It was amazing the pain a few dull knives could cause.

Joker's smile revealed all of his teeth. He tilted his head to one side and examined the work he had done on Dick's chest. "I admit I'm experimenting with a different makeup regimen — I think the charcoal from the fire accents my eyes — but you can't say anything about my writing. I mean, the spacing between the letters is practically perfect. I even used my best knife to keep the edges from being too ragged." He traced a long finger over the carved JOKER across the bird boy's torso. Jack pressed down hard enough on the R to make Dick hiss. "Maybe I should have written it backwards so you could read it in the mirror. Still, it is truly magnificent, in my opinion. What do you think, Batsy?"

A brief twirl across the floor brought him to the large jar, where his bat now floated in formaldehyde. The creature had died faster than he had wanted, but that didn't stop him from keeping up their one-sided conversations. He leaned on the jar while looking at his captive. "He just doesn't appreciate good art. But, you know, I think in a few days, he'll really appreciate what I've done. I mean, who wouldn't? Only the very best are blessed with my mark." He glanced at the floating bat and nodded thoughtfully. "You bring up a good point. That little green boy wasn't exactly _worthy_ himself, but he was my first kill — so that counts for something." Jack snapped his fingers. "Is that what this is about? Are you jealous you weren't my first?" He strode back over to Dick and lifted his captive's chin with a finger. The young man glowered back at him. "I can assure you there's no need to worry. That little green brat meant nothing to me. Nothing at all. I don't even remember his name." Jack patted Dick's clenched jaw, the last pat hard enough to be a slap before he turned. "You were always my true goal; just don't tell the others," he stage-whispered.

"Oh yeah, because what I really want to tell the Titans _when_ I get out of here is that a psychopathic clown is obsessed with me. What, do I get an award?"

"Brilliant idea!" Jack snapped his fingers before bounding over to the audience of dead people. Their blank eyes and gaping jaws seemed to be in a permanent state of laughter. Joker thought for a moment before picking out a fairly decomposed corpse halfway up the amphitheater. His long fingers gripped the lower arm of the dead man as he attempted to rip the arm off. It took more than a few tries before he was able to wrestle the appendage away from its body. It gave way so quickly that Joker teetered for a second on the stairs, almost plummeting down them.

A chuckle from Dick drew his attention. "Very graceful. Gravity not your best friend?"

Joker hurried his gangly form down the stairs back to Dick. "You're so funny I forgot to laugh. Luckily, with your new, bonafide Joker Award, you can give yourself a hand." He shoved the decayed arm into Dick's hand, though Dick dropped it immediately, his face looking green. Jack cackled at the expression.

The large windows above the amphitheater showed a swiftly darkening sky. Soon, the greatest show would start, and he couldn't be late. "If you'll excuse me," he said with a low bow and a wide smile. "I mustn't miss the night show. Batsy here will keep you company. Don't have too much fun without me!"

He snatched up his pocket knife from the table on his way out. There was a difference between cockiness and stupidity, and going out without a weapon was akin to the latter.

The Joker strode out of the room with a skip in his step. He easily evaded the traps he had laid along the way. There had even been a few upgrades that he hoped the unwitting Kory would trigger should she try to rescue her Romeo. A swinging corpse, makeshift barbed wire, and a chandelier of broken glass ready to descend at the slightest touch were a few of his favorite additions. No doubt she was still lurking nearby, plotting a rescue attempt of some sort. The honorable and brave types were always so predictable.

But the only way in was through the front door and his danger hallway — unless she planned to scale the outside of the building and slip in through the big windows. But even that would lead to a mostly fatal fall to the amphitheater floor. _Actually_ , Jack thought to himself, _I would love to see Dick's face if she fell through the skylight._

The night sounds of the swamp greeted Jack as he left the building. He leaned in the doorway, not wanting to go too far from his prisoner. The atmosphere was peacefully filled with crickets, bullfrogs, and a few birds that had yet to turn in for the night. _Boring_ , Jack sighed. _I haven't even been thrown a mutt to play with._

Above his head, a dark shape flitted around, diving down occasionally in a way that would make most people duck. He didn't move as the bat zipped past. He watched it fly around for a few minutes as it chased invisible moths. Then, he expertly flung his knife and pinned it by a wing to the building. The small creature screeched in its high-pitched voice as it flapped desperately with its free wing.

"Did you know," he told the struggling creature as he removed the knife. "You can't take off from the ground? You have to climb up somewhere and fall in order to fly. How silly is that?" The bat dropped to the ground, and he watched it as it scrambled away with a disappointed frown.

The loud blaring of the Marvel anthem brought a smile back to Jack's face. He couldn't remember how many cannons had sounded during the day due to his birdy distractions, but he knew at least one face would be appearing.

The face of the girl that flashed across the sky first was new. _Queen_ , he recalled. One of the youngest. She'd lasted surprisingly longer than he had anticipated.

Other faces passed that he knew from other nights. Ones he was surprised had given up so easily, a few that didn't shock him at all, and mixed throughout, the traitors that had failed him. Jason's face flashed across the sky with the same level of smugness Jack had hated. He barely contained a manic laugh as he waited to see if his greatest disappointment would be next.

Harley did not appear after Jason. Relief briefly filled Jack. If she were to die, he wanted to be the one to put the dagger through her heart. He was the only one who had earned that right.

Instead, the sullen girl in the sky was none other than the Titan that had escaped during the bloodbath. Jack allowed himself a quick dance of excitement before watching the remaining faces. Even Jervis and Jonathan couldn't ruin his excitement at telling the bird in his hand another one of his Titans had died.

"Did you see that?" Joker crowed into the night. "Did you see that, Kory? Oh, just wait until I tell your boyfriend." Jack controlled his features, his grotesque smile returning to a more neutral state. The partially-healed Glasgow smile betrayed the true joy he was feeling as he returned to the operatory.

"You missed quite the show tonight," Jack said as he strolled into the room and retrieved a large knife. He started picking at the dirt under his nails and sat on the operatory table.

"I've seen it before."

"Oh, I doubt you've seen this one. There were some new additions to the cast that made it especially entertaining." He waited briefly, but Dick didn't react. Unperturbed, Jack continued, "Let's see, of course there was our dear friend. The other bird. You know, you really should thank me for taking him out. It's much easier with only one Robin running around. Let's see, the One girl. The young one. What's her name? Queen?"

His captive's head snapped up, and Dick stared at Jack in shock. "Thea?"

The sudden turn of events made Jack's eyebrows raise. "Oh, ho. Did you know her? Most interesting. I didn't think you associated with those outside of your little Titan circle. Was she a replacement for the green one?" Jack stood and began pacing. "I've been meaning to talk about why you keep the weak ones around. It is a brilliant strategy, just not one I pictured you using. Keep the weak ones around as scapegoats. It's like I always say to my boys: if you need to outrun a killer attack dog, you just need to run faster than the slowest person."

"That's _not_ why I teamed up with them." Dick glared at his captor. "We actually cared about each other. Not that you'd know how that works."

Joker snorted loudly. He moved closer and tapped Dick's nose with the tip of his knife. "You don't need to lie to me, my boy. I understand. After all, it's survival of the fittest."

"I told you it wasn't like that!" Dick pulled against the ropes that held him up, only rubbing the skin there ever more raw than before. If he pulled just a bit harder, he would break the skin.

"Lie to yourself all you want, Dickie Dear. I know the truth." Jack turned away and pulled out the old deck of cards from his pocket. The swampy air was encouraging a colony of mold to grow on the package. Soon, the dampness would no doubt sink into the cards themselves. Slowly, he laid out the chosen cards of the deck on the operatory table. He flipped each down with a snap, making sure to catch Dick's attention.

"What, are you opening a casino now?"

A dark chuckle escaped Jack. "I'm not one for gambling. That was more Harvey's game."

After all twenty-four cards had been assembled, Jack began systematically flipping cards face-down. "Let's see, we've lost all of our Jacks. How disappointing. Though they were never really destined to win, only to help the stronger along the way," he said before he paused over his cards. "Why, how strange. We've only lost one Queen, and you are the only King left. I feel like there's something poetic in that, don't you think?"

Realization lit Dick's blue eyes. "You gave everyone a card."

"Of course I did. Did you expect me to actually remember everyone's name?" He left two Aces face up, along with both Jokers. "Now, these last six are a bit of a hassle. You see, they're the ones I didn't give much credit to. This one here is the green runt—"

"Gar," Dick interjected.

"Whatever." He flipped over two more without comment on their identities. The fourth he made sure to emphasise. "I'm actually surprised that one of these outliers has remained in play. Perhaps I underestimated him. It's the boy from Twelve. Who knows? Maybe if you die, your girl can snag him next."

"Kory's still alive," he breathed.

"Of course she is. So is your sister. Five's super-girl is the only dead Queen. Pay attention." The hope that flitted across Dick's face made Jack sick. _It will be worth it when I get to see the crash_ , he consoled himself. He flipped over another with a snide glance. "Of course, you know this one. Little Thea. Can't say I'm surprised. I had her pegged as a low card."

Jack could see that Dick was now on the edge. It would take little to tip him over the edge. Just a small nudge was needed.

Jack held up the Nine of Spades. "I'm curious to know how they managed to find so many birds for these Games. Almost too many to keep track of. At least now we are down another."

"Stop. Bringing. Up. Jason." The steel in the young man's voice almost made Jack shiver.

Jack cocked his head to one side as his cheshire grin cracked his face in half. "Who said I was talking about Jason?"

Dick's eyebrows knit together for a moment before his eyes widened.

Joker's grin grew with the horror on his captive's face. "Ah, I believe we are on the same page now." He slammed the card facedown triumphantly. "Another little Titan dead and gone, and you still want to tell me you didn't plan this?" Jack flipped his knife in one hand. "I wonder why little Raven wasn't with you when you reached me. Did you two lovebirds ditch her along the way?"

Dick began to say something, no doubt to defend his honor, but Jack slid up to him and pressed the knife to his throat. If the rusted blade had been sharper, it would have left a line of red blood. "No, don't tell me," he ordered. "I enjoy guessing." He kept his knife there while he continued to babble. "Maybe you left her in your little nest and promised her you and Mommy would be back soon. Whether or not you actually intended on keeping that promise we will leave up in the air. Then, while you and Kory played games with Jason, some terrible fate befell her. A thought strikes me. I'm guessing Thea was with her as well?" Jack pursed his lips. "What if Thea was the one who killed her? How much thought did you put in before letting that girl into your group? I must say, you haven't exactly shown the greatest interview process. You just collected all the weak ones together. Maybe the newest addition was a cuckoo bird and tried to get rid of the other egg so Mommy and Daddy would love her best." Jack leaned until his face was mere inches from Dick's. "Looks like your lack of judgement killed yet another of your Titans."

With a sudden movement, Dick headbutted Jack, sending him reeling backwards a few steps. Dick coughed harshly without the knife pressing against his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing underneath the red welt it left. "When I get free, I'm going to kill you," he managed to say.

Joker laughed harshly as he rubbed his painful nose, which was already crooked from previous captives' sad attempts at lashing out. "That's such a boring threat. Can't you be at least a little more creative? Like 'I'm going to peel your skin off your body' or even 'rip that grin right off your face.' At least that has a little more pizazz."

"Yeah? Let me down and we'll see how creative I can get," Dick said with his lips curled back, pulling against the ropes again. As Jack had anticipated, the thin skin along his wrists began to bleed.

"I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid." Jack walked back to his cart of tools and retrieved his trusted pocket knife. "Even with that broken arm of yours, you would be quite formidable, and I don't really want to have our final showdown quite yet." He tested the blade against his own thumb, pleased when it proved to still be sharp, even after his earlier carving. An idea was forming somewhere in his demented brain. "You know, Dickie, you've done a wonderful job at failing everyone who trusted in you. Green kid, Jason, Raven, Thea, even Kory. No doubt she's still slinking around somewhere. I'll get her eventually. She can't avoid the traps forever."

"You're wrong. She's smart. She'll know better." The usual sass of the young man was absent. He sounded tired. Boring. Jack couldn't stand for that.

"Please. You know that's not true. A little teenage lust and everyone loses their heads. Start acting like idiots. What fun is that? How am I supposed to have a good time when everyone is just chasing tail?" Joker frowned and marched up to Dick. "Love just leaves you with guilt. You see that, don't you?" He forced Dick's head upward with the tip of his knife until the young man looked him in the eye. "Why don't we try to manifest that guilt a little bit? It will make you feel better. I'll just need to find more canvas space." Jack examined his prisoner's torso. It was littered in cuts of varying size and shape. Some were ragged from the rusty blades, others so smooth that you might not even notice them. He was particularly proud of a smiley face just over Dick's left hip bone. "Maybe I should just use your face. No." He quickly dismissed he idea. "I want to save that for when I have your girlfriend here to witness it."

Instead, Joker focused on the unsplinted arm. He gripped the elbow and chuckled when he felt the muscles tense. "Don't worry; I'm a professional. You won't bleed out. Now, hold still or I'm going to mess up."

The first name he carved was Thea's, since it was the shortest. He etched it along the inside of Dick's bicep, delighting in the noise Dick made with every stroke. "Just imagine the conversations you can start with these scars. You can tell everyone how you failed to protect these children." Jack's laugh caused the tail of the "a" to zig-zag a bit. "Of course, that's assuming you win."

Jason's name ran along the top of Dick's bicep from his shoulder to his elbow. "This one has to be obnoxiously large, so you'll always remember how truly annoying that boy was. Do you know how hard it was to drag him out of here? Even when he was a stiff, he refused to cooperate."

His company refused to speak other than the pants and gasps of pain.

"Oh, come on. That was a good one." Joker sighed and finished the name. "Poetic necessity means that Raven and her green beau must be together. Don't you agree?"

Still, Dick refused to participate.

With a sudden spark of annoyance, Jack grabbed his captive's pinky finger and snapped it. The howl of pain from Dick calmed him. "Start playing nice, or I will most definitely break more things."

Another yell echoed around the chamber as Joker twisted the finger once more for good measure. A half-sob escaped Dick.

Jack whistled as he carefully etched "Raven + Gar" on Dick's forearm with a little heart. "Perfect. I'm almost jealous I don't have someone who can do this to me."

"I thought you didn't remember his name." The bird-boy's face was ashen as he looked at Jack's handywork.

"Of course I remember." Jack rolled his eyes. "And now you'll remember, too." He cackled and stepped away, wiping his knife on his own shirt.

Dick's breathing was heavy, and he was pale, but he finally lifted his gaze to Jack's with an honest glare. "And when I win—" He pulled on the ropes, red blood dripping from his wrists. "—they'll forget yours entirely."

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders

14\. Jade Nguyen, District Ten Female: Killed by Harley Quinn

13\. Kara Danvers, District Five Female: Killed by Kara Danvers

12\. Jason Todd, District Six Male, Killed by Jack Hamill

11\. Rachel Roth, District Nine Female, Killed by Harper Row

10\. Thea Queen, District One Female, Killed by Harper Row


	103. Chapter 102: Second Generation

**(A/N): Hello again! This is the start of the fourth round of our Games chapters, and things are really heating up... but first, a peek into the mentors behind the scenes. :)**

 **Thanks again to our writers who reviewed and to Slim Summers2002 for your continuing support for this story!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Two - Second Generation**

 **Late Night, Day Eight/Early Morning Day Nine**

 **Written By Canucklehead Cowgirl and robbiepoo2341, with InDeepDarkWood**

* * *

 **Peter Quill**

 **Victor of the Twenty-First Avenger Games**

* * *

" _The extreme form of passionate love is secret love."_ — _Japanese proverb_

* * *

The sounds of the party were still easily discernible from where Peter Quill had half-hidden himself. It wasn't the first time that he'd been tasked with a job like this — but it was probably the most public meeting he'd ever attempted. He was sure he'd done a fair job of staying hidden, too, considering that none of the Captiolites had found his tucked away spot, and the little device that Agent Coulson had handed him was supposed to kill any recording or monitoring devices anywhere near him. He was _positive_ that was working, but it didn't make him any less nervous — or get him to stop checking that the light was on.

He was starting to get antsy as he looked out into the darkness. His contact was running late. And that rarely meant anything good.

"Your little friend's absence has been noted by my father," an almost stern feminine voice rang out — not quite echoing along the balcony where Peter was leaning near the door. When Gamora made her presence known, it was with a critical eye as she raked her gaze over him. "Or has someone's attempted poisoning stuck this time?"

"Ah," Quill leaned forward to see if she was alone, and from the raised eyebrow she gave him, it was clear that she was. "I don't know, to tell you the truth, but last time I saw him, it was with a SHIELD agent on either side of him so … maybe."

"He was assigned a detail when he stepped out of line with the press," Gamora said, still watching him critically.

"Yeah, listen, I really don't want to talk about him, if that's alright with you."

She dropped one shoulder slightly and took a step toward him as her tone softened. "We still need to anyhow, even if you find it unpleasant. Thanos is suspicious. He's considering making an example of him if he doesn't tone it down immediately." She took a few steps closer until she was hidden with him out of sight from the party, then she laid a hand on his shoulder for a moment. "If there is to be a revolution, then it _cannot fail_ , Peter."

Gamora leaned closer still, and Peter smiled crookedly, though the obvious stress of everything happening was showing at the corners of his eyes even when she was nearly pressed against him. Peter was half-holding his breath, his focus on her mouth until she slipped a small cube into the front pocket of his jeans and let her gaze slowly slide up to meet his. She stayed there, close and in his space, until he began to lean forward to try and steal a kiss, at which point she stepped back.

"Do _not_ let that fall into the wrong hands, Star-Lord."

It took just a moment for Peter to realize what she was talking about. "Wha- no, no of course not," he said, his tone almost scoffing. He wore a frown on his face that only accented the crooked expression at his lips. "I just … I don't know what the story is. Or, you know … if you have an exit strategy …. That's a thing, right? It sounds like a thing."

Gamora couldn't quite hide the little twitch at the corner of her mouth that betrayed her amusement. "Yes, Peter. That _is_ a thing. Don't worry about me. I will be fine."

Peter desperately tried to get his swagger back — and fast. "But you know you totally owe me a dance when this is over, right?"

She stopped halfway to the door that led to the party beyond, then turned to meet his gaze with an almost troublemaking smile. "When there is something worth celebrating, and Thanos and those that follow him are dead, you'll have your dance."

"Well alright," he said a little louder, not even trying to hide the crooked smile. "But you gotta know — I'm pretty popular. And you should probably just … you know ... cash in on that now. Before I get too busy. I mean … who knows what will happen? Hopefully my dance card won't be full."

She smiled over her shoulder at him as she left, obviously amused, and Peter grinned outright. As she disappeared into the crowd, he popped one fist into the palm of his opposite hand, nodded to himself, and then set to work slipping out of the party to find Coulson.

He still didn't know what kind of information Gamora was passing on, but … that really wasn't his job. But he wasn't going to ignore the fact that she was the one to request him. He saw her across the crowd at the party, and couldn't stop himself from giving her a wink that had her raising an eyebrow just before he slipped out of the door.

He was grinning still when he finally caught up to Coulson. "I was _this close,_ " Peter said, holding his hand up with his thumb and forefinger nearly touching.

Coulson narrowed his eyes as he watched Peter grin. "Does that mean you didn't get the cube?"

"What? No. No, I did _that_ ," Peter said, looking as if that was an insult. "I was this close to getting her to kiss me again. I'm telling you, Coulson. That girl …"

"She's one of the most dangerous people in Marvel," Coulson pointed out.

"Well. Yeah," Peter said, rolling his eyes and letting his shoulders drop. "But that … that is _so_ not the point." He grinned widely as he reached into his pocket. "She's gorgeous. And she digs me. I'm telling you. You watch. Me and her. It's gonna be a thing." He was nodding his head as he held his hand up, palm down. "Come on, give it up, man."

Coulson let out a sigh and looked both ways with that enigmatic sort of smirk on his face before he put his hand out low, palm up — and Peter slammed his hand down, frat-boy style, with a triumphant sort of look. He held tight to Coulson's hand, still celebrating as he pulled both of their arms toward his chest.

"That's what I'm talkin' about," Peter said, in high spirits still, even though Coulson looked as if this was the low point of his week.

The older man didn't even glance at the cube that Peter had given him once Peter let him go, instead watching his surroundings as he pocketed it himself. "Is there anything else she had to say — your impending love affair notwithstanding?"

"Oh! Well. I mean, that was most of what she had to say? You know. Priorities. But she _did_ mention that Thanos isn't happy about Logan's um … vocal stance on things. You can say a lot about the guy, but he can spot shade pretty easy. She said he's considering making an example of him. So… you might want to get someone to keep that from happening."

Coulson gave him a tight smile. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Quill. We'll be in touch. Be ready to move fast."

"Yeah, okay. Move fast. Sounds like an invitation," Peter said, nodding his head slowly. "I have time to take a pretty girl for a dance still, don't I?" He grinned as he watched Coulson walk down the hall, of course not commenting to him as he left, and before Coulson turned the corner, Peter went right back to the party. "Here I come, Princess ... "

* * *

 **Reed Richards**

 **Victor of The Eighth Avenger Games**

* * *

" _Family is not an important thing. It's everything." - Michael J. Fox_

* * *

Thea's death had come as a shock to everyone watching — if nothing else because there had been no real warning for the alliance when they stumbled into Harper Row's trap. On the other hand, it was clear to the Capitolites and everyone watching away from the arena what was happening, as the Gamemakers' camerawork lingered on Harper's traps the closer that alliance came to her setup — and the broadcast had even gone so far as to switch away from Jack and his victims, so the viewers all knew something was going on — but that really only made watching it so much worse, waiting for the trap to close around the hapless tributes.

Reed hadn't liked the idea of sending in a 13-year-old girl to the arena in the first place, but he had still been impressed with her survival, with her ability to make alliances and to stand on her own as a contender.

Then again, what else should he have expected of Malcolm Merlyn's daughter?

Reed rubbed his temples. With both of One's tributes out of contention, he didn't have to deal with the Capitolite sponsors anymore, and that was the one thing he could say he was grateful for at the moment. He had a building headache — and on top of that, Ben was the only one in the Capitol willing to speak to him at this point.

When Merlyn had said he had a daughter to enter into the Games, Reed had expected someone older, more terrifying. He hadn't expected to see the little girl on the train, and he certainly hadn't expected to see the compassion that she showed throughout the Games.

It was frustrating, to say the least, to scramble to try to undo what he'd already done. Fruitless.

At least when Thea had been alive, protected in strong alliances, he could try to help her with sponsorships, but with the new rules in place, and with Thea's odds of survival definitely on the low side with the Capitolites, that had been fruitless, too.

The one thing that Reed had keeping him from going insane was the fact that he had helped to invent a great deal of the equipment being used, he knew, at this very moment to bring tributes back. He didn't know if Fury would order Thea's revival, but that had been the subject of debate that morning when Merlyn invited himself to the seat across from Reed.

Merlyn was not supposed to be in the Capitol, no matter what kind of influence he had in One — but then, there were a lot of things Merlyn wasn't supposed to know. He had to have backing of some kind, but Reed didn't know who yet.

"You're going to help me bring my daughter back," Merlyn said, with no preamble whatsoever. He didn't need to negotiate with Reed, and he knew it.

"You're the one who sent her into the Games," Reed said, shaking his head at Merlyn's tone. "You can't ask me for a miracle _now_."

"Don't play games with me," Merlyn said in a dangerous tone, leaning over the table. His gaze was almost frantic and not at all the relaxed, controlled dealmaker that Reed was used to dealing with. "I'm well-aware of what's going on in SHIELD's secret labs. You think I don't have a backup for my own daughter?" His voice dropped nearly to a hiss, though he grabbed hold of Reed's arm in a grip strong enough to leave a mark. "If I lose Thea, I'll make sure you know _exactly_ how it feels to lose a child."

And there it was.

When Merlyn had approached Reed just days before the Reaping, Reed hadn't been interested in listening to him. He'd already worked out with his family what they were going to do, choosing students from the Academy that they thought might actually have a shot at survival — but ones that they could also _live_ with if they did win. No criminals, no psychopaths.

He'd listened to Merlyn's suggestion simply because Merlyn had real power in the district and would track him down to keep arguing the point otherwise. And then Reed had turned him down, tried to walk away — until Merlyn had said just one word that stopped him in his tracks: "Franklin."

There was no reason Merlyn should have known about Franklin. Reed and Sue had been so careful — she had stayed out of the spotlight during the pregnancy, and the others had taken their turns in the Capitol instead. And they had been careful not to let anyone outside of the family near the little boy after he was born.

So there was no reason for Merlyn to know Franklin even existed, let alone his name.

It left Reed at a distinct disadvantage, especially with Thanos' rule this year that all of the mentors had to be in the Capitol. That meant Sue and Reed had to be away from Franklin… They'd decided to leave Franklin with Alicia, but even with as much as Reed trusted Ben's girlfriend… that still left his infant son in a different district. Vulnerable.

So what other choice did he have but to call Thea's name?

He'd rationalized it at the time, thinking Thea would be as sharp and deadly as her father, but now, he had nothing to hide behind but his own fear for his son.

And looking at Merlyn now, seeing the almost unhinged fire in the way he stared at Reed, it was clear Merlyn would have absolutely no qualms about going after Franklin if he didn't get his way.

"She's probably already on the list," Reed said at last, carefully, which got Merlyn to let up his grip on Reed's arm, at least. "But I'll look into it."

"I'll know if you don't," Merlyn swore, still without dropping Reed's gaze.

"Right." Reed nodded to himself before he got to his feet. "If we're done here, I apparently have some SHIELD agents to speak to."

Merlyn held his gaze for a moment longer before he stepped aside, and Reed breezed past him, determined to find the first SHIELD agent he could get his hands on and work from there. And not just on Merlyn's behalf, either.

With all of the victors being monitored, it was a simple matter to _find_ someone, but finding someone who could _do_ anything was another matter. "I need to speak to someone above your head. _Now_ ," Reed told the agent assigned to him, who seemed thrown off by the change from isolation to determination but went to his comm all the same when it was obvious Reed wasn't backing down.

Eventually, a tall woman who introduced herself as Shayera Hol made her way down the hall to meet Reed and pull him into one of the SHIELD offices on the premises, looking far too serious as she examined him. "You have to know we're busy right now," she said. "What do you want?"

"If it wasn't important, I wouldn't be here," Reed answered, somewhat irritated with the tone she was giving him. It wasn't as if he'd _ever_ gone to SHIELD for anything, so he didn't have a record of being a pest. "I need to talk to someone close to Fury, since I'm very sure the director is out of reach."

"Tell me what you need, and I'll see it done," the agent said, her arms crossed.

"No offense, Ms. Hol, but it's no secret that Fury doesn't tell his agents everything, and I'm afraid I can't say anything to someone who's not in his inner circle."

Shayera rolled her eyes for a moment. "Believe me, your message will get to Fury. I may not be an assistant director, but I do have the ear of his son." She paused, smirked, and added, "And a few other things."

Reed thought about it for a long moment, his brow furrowed as he weighed it out. He drew in a breath and narrowed his eyes. "Just … a request from the family of Thea Queen. They'd like special arrangements to be made. And I'd like to back them up personally. They'd like to see her remains sent to a more magical place than District One."

Shayera pursed her lips, leaned forward, and pulled a device from her pocket — one that Reed recognized as cutting the feeds to the room. As soon as it lit up, she leaned even farther forward until her hands were on the table between them. "We _don't_ take _requests_ for Tahiti," she said in a dangerous tone.

Reed matched her body language — a move that he rarely did with anyone threatening. "I'm sure you don't, but I've got your attention," he said evenly. "I'd _like_ for Thea's name to be on the list — but whether she is or not isn't anything I can change. I know that. What I do need, though, is to get you to take my _son_ out of One before Malcolm Merlyn does something irreversible." Reed let his voice drop to a much more threatening tone. "And if I have to _use_ what I know to make that happen, I will."

Shayera was silent for a long time as she watched him. Finally, she took in a deep breath and let it out. "If he needs protection, then the best option is to get him to you and your family and to get you _all_ to safety. Fast."

" _Yes_ ," Reed said, his shoulders dropping substantially. "That's what I'm asking for. Fury knows we'll do all we can to help. I'm just asking for the same in return."

Shayera considered him for a long, long moment before she got to her feet. "Several of our agents are prepping a new site. It's secure. Get your family, go to your suite, and I will meet you there. We'll go to One along the way."

"Thank you," Reed breathed out before he simply turned to find Sue. He didn't care about the details or the fine measures that were sure to go along with Shayera's plans. He just needed to be sure that his family was _safe._ Or at least as safe as he could manage.

Thankfully, most of his family was already in One's suite anyway, mostly because there was nothing left to do for their dead tributes. So it was a simple matter of asking Ben to come with him to where Sue and Johnny were stretched out on the couch together to watch the Games, and with that, all four of them were gathered.

"Oh look, he exists," Johnny said when Reed walked into the room, though Sue didn't say anything but to shake her head at Johnny.

Reed gave him a dry look and simply started grabbing a few things. "I don't have time for this, Johnny. We have to get moving. All of us."

"Did you make another _executive decision_?" Johnny said, not moving from where he was sprawled out lazily.

Reed slammed his hands down on the table and glared at him. " _Yes_. I did. And it's for all of our safety. I'll explain on the way, but we need to move."

Johnny looked surprised, but if he meant to argue, he didn't get the chance. Instead, Ben took him by the scruff of the neck and simply started to direct Johnny on getting a move on. "You heard the man," Ben said, over Johnny's protests.

But Sue hadn't quite moved yet, her gaze on Reed and an obvious frown tugging at her expression. "You hide away after that stunt on Reaping Day, and _this_ is what you do when you decide to rejoin us?" she asked at last, her tone measured, like she was trying hard to be reasonable and just barely doing so.

"I promise to you, I will explain everything — but I _can't_ do it in the suite."

Sue let out a sigh that conveyed exactly how frustrated she was, but she did started to move again, at least.

"Susan. You know why I can't," Reed said.

"I know," she said. "But I don't have to like it."

Reed let out a sigh, and though he at least had a way out, it was clear that it was all still weighing on him far too heavily. By the time Shayera arrived with a few SHIELD agents, he was ready to be done.

Of course, he wasn't expecting to see Fury's own son at the hovercraft either, or to see the severe SHIELD agent in charge of the move lean over to kiss John Stewart's temple either. But that wasn't really his focus when he saw Alicia and Franklin in the hangar.

"Figured it would be easier to bring them to you," John said with a crooked sort of smirk.

Reed let his complete relief show as he dropped into a seat and all but melted, his hands covering his face, not even looking up to see Sue and Franklin reunited.

"You alright, Reed?" Ben asked, and Reed felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Lookin' pale, there."

"It was Malcolm Merlyn," Reed said finally. "He found out about Franklin. He threatened him to get me to choose Thea. And he started threatening him again to try to get her back." His tone was one of pure misery, though it had been long enough that he'd been dealing with this mess that he was simply relieved for this much of it to be behind him.

Ben's grip on Reed's shoulder tightened, showing his shock, but Johnny was faster on the uptake of rage — not even pretending he hadn't been eavesdropping when he heard it. " _What_?" he blurted out. "Well, where is he? And when do I set him on fire?"

"We don't have time for that right now," Stewart said as he got the engines fired up. "We need to get you to a safe house first and foremost."

"SHIELD has Merlyn under tighter surveillance with the new information you gave us," Shayera explained. "He's not getting away. But you _are_." She looked between the members of the gathered family. "You have a limited window of time here. You can have the rest of your family reunion on the way out." To emphasize her point, she simply took hold of Johnny's arm and pulled him toward the transport — and Reed saw just before they ducked inside that she smacked him upside the head for whatever it was he told her in a low, flirtatious tone, too.

Ben pulled Reed to his feet, though by the time Stewart had the transport ready to go, Sue had come over and simply let Franklin lean over to pull on Reed's shirt until he had no other choice but to hold the little boy — not that he needed much prompting when he was so completely relieved to see Franklin safe and unharmed.

"You should have told me," Sue said quietly, barely heard over the sound of the craft taking off.

"When could I?" Reed asked over Franklin's shoulder as he held the little boy close. "I didn't have a chance."

"You're a genius, Reed. You couldn't find the time to write a note or something?" Sue pointed out, her arms crossed before she finally let out a breath and relaxed, leaning over to brush Franklin's hair and then Reed's. "This is the kind of thing you _tell me_ about."

He looked up at her, honestly still out of his depth. "I panicked."

Sue couldn't help but let out a little breath of a laugh at that. "Yes, you did," she had to agree before she leaned over to kiss his cheek and then simply laid her head on his shoulder for the duration of the flight out.

* * *

 **Odin Borson**

 **The First Avenger Games Victor**

* * *

" _When men meet foes in fight, better is stout heart than sharp sword." - Volsunga_

* * *

It was a mark of how influential the new victor could be when a simple word or a nod toward the first ever victor could cause the tides to change their flow. Once more, Odin, who the crowds seemed to have scarcely remembered, was the center of their attention. And in a manner that Odin simply had not experienced himself in years.

It was not, as he had initially thought, a case of a lack of interest in other victors that had caused this newfound adoration for the eldest victor. No, this interest was purposeful.

In the year previous, when Odin had so much to lose — and did lose _almost everything_ — he'd found himself all but powerless, unable to obtain the patronage that his sons and niece so desperately needed. And Odin's youngest sons found themselves being offered up as blood sacrifice.

So plain was the insult that even those in the Capitol saw it for what it was — a punishment to the first victor. Penance to be paid by his own flesh and blood for the perceived insults that Bor had made toward the Capitol so many years ago, all while Odin, son of Bor, was forced to spend his life relegated in subjugation to Thanos. An example to all those who might stand against the might of the royal family.

Odin had dedicated his life to preserving what little peace he could in Four, usually at a cost that he himself felt as keenly as the men and women that he was trying to protect. No one knew the true cost of the peace that Four usually enjoyed — but when he tried to save his kinsmen, the Capitol turned its back to him.

Until now.

The sudden influx of donations and pledges was not something that Odin had expected to be attainable, particularly with the multiplier rule in effect. He'd watched from the lounge as the victors who represented their districts as their lone champion took the run of the donations. Few, if any, of those who did not hold the title in their home lands alone even bothered to speak to the Capitolites who were so eager to throw their money into the bloodsport. The lounge had never been so full of disheartened and hopeless 'victors'.

Blackagar Boltagon of Twelve had sat with him for a time, merely raising his hands in a shrug when approached. He was no fool; though both his tributes were alive, it was as futile as a One prowling for sponsorship. Men and women alike wanted someone to flirt back to play the game of donations — not a mute.

Odin had marked James Howlett for a fool when he saw the young man — _third_ to hold the title of victor for District Seven — putting in real effort for his tributes. The price the boy would have had to raise for _one_ tribute, much less two …

But somehow, Howlett had managed it. And not for something so simple yet priceless as purification tablets or some balm to treat a painful wound — but a _cast_ and the means to repair a _weapon._ All of the victors were surprised at the first gift finding the boy from Seven. But they were silenced when the young lady from Seven was gifted the crossbow string mere hours later. The entire gathering of Capitolites had gone quiet, and the victor's lounge perfectly still.

That was precisely the kind of influence that Thanos was trying to quell. And just when they all thought the young man had used up all that he had to offer … Howlett threw his support behind _Four._ It was a move no one had ever considered before.

The reaction was almost instant with the Capitolites. A quiet awe shifted to excitement, and new possibilities, and then pure _glee_ — and very suddenly, Odin found himself being called for by those that had turned their backs to him just last year.

A lesser man than he would have turned his nose at how easily the Capitol's people moved from one loyalty to another, but Odin wasn't one to ignore any such gift if it could bring some sort of blessing to his remaining tribute. Diana Prince was as solid a pledge as Four had ever seen, and Odin truly wanted to see her take the prize, not only to return glory to Four but to unite its unstable peace. Even her hotheadedness and shortsighted view of their world was one that he would endorse if it meant a clear route to unity.

At the same time, however, he was getting older. _I have not yet reached my quinquagenary,_ he thought as he stood, yet he felt he had aged decades since the deaths of Thor and Loki. He was unused to the time required to even be in attendance to take the offerings that the Capitol was blindly throwing at him. The constant cordiality he was forced to put forward as Capitolites took their turns bequeathing him their support grew tiresome. In his district, he could command silence and tranquility; it was not the case here.

To make matters more interesting, the dark-haired young man from Seven was nowhere to be seen when Odin began to seek him out to speak with him. This in itself was more than enough to make the All-Father pay closer attention to that which was not easily seen. The winds were changing, and swiftly so.

Odin had carried deep doubts about the boy, particularly since when Howlett had found himself in Four on the tour, he hadn't seemed interested in engaging any of Four's people. But the boy's inner power had shown, and it had caught not only Odin's attention but all of Marvel's as well. Win or lose, the country had its eye on Four _and_ their deep traditions of honor above all else.

He found himself wondering when or where the boy had even managed to learn such things, since if the past victors of Seven were anything to go by, honor was not something so deeply ingrained there in the trees and snow. Even if the boy had once been born of a higher caste than where he stood before falling to that of victor, Seven's _honor_ was not known.

And now, Octavius, as he had done for so many years past, was watching the broadcasts in the suite that the Four victors were expected to make use of. The images on the screen were flickering between the conflict in the swamp not far from Four's borders and bits of the impromptu interview earlier that evening given by James Howlett. The message, of course, had been cut, but the damage had been done before the Capitol could rein it in or cut it off. The entire country had seen it.

James Howlett was calling for unification.

And though Odin didn't know what was happening in the districts at large as a result, those in the Capitol were clamoring to do as Howlett had suggested. Odin did his best to repress the smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips when he thought about it. Other victors had families to be used as leverage, but this one … he had nothing to lose. Much like Odin himself at this point.

The similar perspective rekindled a flame in his chest that had long ago been reduced to a mere flicker. There was nothing to lose, and everything to gain.

Across the room, Octavius let out a disgusted sort of noise and reached for his glass, already grumbling to himself about how the tape had been edited. "First time a Seven's made sense, and they cut him off. Typical. Can't have a victor with a _brain_ after they worked so hard to call him a beast."

The oaf had interrupted the All-Father's thoughts but not derailed them.

Odin turned his gaze to the footage once more, and though the audio was cut, the action was not, and Odin did not miss the look of genuine concern on several of the SHIELD agents' faces as they blocked Howlett from view and ushered him out. This was a step beyond the usual SHIELD protocols and protection. It was subtle, but the agents around the boy were invested in his well-being.

His interest piqued, Odin found himself watching far beyond the focus of the cameras and started counting SHIELD agents that had their eyes on the crowd. SHIELD knew the boy's standpoint. And they weren't trying to scare him into submission.

Odin took his leave of the screens with a glance toward the door that led out into the hall. Outside, he knew that the Sentinels that had always stood watch over the victors had been joined by a pair of SHIELD's elite special agents, ones that could likely put the Sentinels on the ground without a second glance. After the poisoning attempt on James Howlett — unrelated to the successful poisoning of Taneleer Tivan — SHIELD was taking great care to watch over their victors. But the young man had far more than one or even two keeping watch.

There was certainly more to the tree rat from Seven than anyone had initially thought. Anyone... except perhaps Nicholas Fury.

Fury, who had tried for years to get a reading on Odin, while Odin had always been well-aware of the man's subtle feelers, seeking out what his alliances were. Octavius was easy enough to read — give him room and privacy with his gadgets and toys, and the man would putter away his life. He'd not likely choose any side if a conflict should arise again. Odin himself refused to even entertain such thoughts when he was certain that it could well be a trap or misdirection from SHIELD in service to Thanos.

Yet with no prior discussion or even words spoken between the victors, Four was reaping the benefits of a kind word from Seven.

 _They have a sense of_ honor _in Four that's sorely lacking elsewhere._

The boy wasn't wrong. But he couldn't possibly have known how Bor had been one of the rebellion leaders so many years ago, or how he'd tried to unite the warriors across not only Four but all of Marvel to fight with that sense of purpose and honor. All of the books and scrolls had long since been burned, their texts no longer common or even legal to find. The old ways had been relegated to simple word of mouth to be passed from father to son, mother to daughter.

Odin was sure that it had been the Capitol's hope that the strict codes of honor would fade with each telling, twisted to the teller's own code. And perhaps that had happened elsewhere. But it had not happened in Four. And James Howlett had known it. Somehow.

"She's faring well," Odin said suddenly as he watched Diana on the screen — though the statement was quiet enough that it was almost certainly something he was simply saying to himself. "As strong and skilled as Antiope and Hippolyta both."

On screen, the girl's actions were fluid — and it was clear she was taking each step with purpose. Her features were creased in concentration as she hunted her quarry through the swamps.

"She's hot-headed like her father was," Octavius noted, then let out a low chuckle, swirling the glass in his hand. "Thought she was going to give us a repeat of training with Boltagon's man."

"Aye," Odin responded slowly, his gaze fixed on Hippolyta's eldest child. "Perhaps she heeded my words. It may still be the gods will smile in favor of a Prince this year."

 _They have a sense of honor in Four._

That much was easy enough to see by watching Diana throughout her Games. She cared for her allies and avenged their deaths and the wrongs done them. Even Kaldur Ahm, who Odin had hoped would be a boon to her, had received an honorable death and grace at her hands. She valued the honor of Four above all else, above even the old family divides that would have precluded Diana and Kaldur from speaking in their home district at the same level.

Howlett had _seen_ that honor in Diana — and SHIELD hadn't silenced him. Not entirely.

Odin kept his gaze on the screens that played Diana's quest, but his mind was elsewhere, on the war that he still remembered and the atrocities he had seen from the Capitol.

For so long, he had kept his silence. He had seen in his own family, his own father, what war could do. He had been a young man who had done his part in any way he could, leading and fighting in his homeland in a manner that befitted his standing in the district. He had longed to follow Bor into battle with fire in his heart when Hydra had their ill-fated attempt at rebellion snuffed. He could remember the bloodshed and the terror that war brought with it and the price that the most innocent in Four had to pay for that uprising.

He swore he would never bring that down on his people; it was his promise to himself and his people when he emerged victorious from the Avenger Games a quarter century ago. He had managed to bring some semblance of peace to his homeland, though Four was fracturing despite his best efforts.

That was _why_ he had chosen the tributes he did. The Capitol had shown him in the previous year that they could and would destroy his legacy given the slightest chance. All he had left to give his people was the promise of a future, and he had tried to give them that by looking outside of his deepest circle of influence to find those from the other great leaders of Four that might find a way to unite them — to make Four greater than the Capitol allowed it to be.

And yet there was something outside of Four that drew his attention. _A change in the winds._ A call for unification in the open, something that Odin had not seen since his youth.

It was not something to be ignored, nor could it be trivialized. With SHIELD not crushing the boy and making an example of him … this was no mere act of simple defiance.

Odin nodded to himself as the cameras shifted their focus once more, switching between the madman from Eight and his captive to Diana and her quarry. It was clear that those running the show were unable to decide which story would keep their audiences sated in their thirst for bloodsport.

Odin turned to leave at last, listening to Octavius complain once more over the Capitol's depiction of the new victor's brawn. He had done what he could for Diana, giving her advice when all she could see was deceit and even making use of the Capitol citizens' frenzied donations to win her support. There was little else he could do now but to watch her as the tempest brewed on the horizon.

Perhaps the time had finally come for Odin to speak with Nicholas Fury about the plans he had in store for Marvel — and to find out what role Four could play in the coming shift in the tides.


	104. Chapter 103: Lasso of Truth

**(A/N): Happy Friday, everyone! We're back in the arena with what's left of our Justice League, with Diana Prince, written as always by the lovely InDeepDarkWood.**

 **We say this all the time, but seriously, thanks to Slim Summers2002 for your reviews and for letting us know what you enjoyed about our story. We love getting your feedback!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Three - Lasso of Truth**

 **Night Day Eight**

 **Diana Prince of District Four**

 **Written by InDeepDarkWood**

* * *

" _Grief does not change you, Hazel. It reveals you." -John Green,_ The Fault in Our Stars

* * *

There was something beautiful about the swampland at night, once the anthem had faded into the quiet, and the lights had been shut off. When the night sounds erupted, and the gnarled trees obscured the view to the sky, casting strange shadows in a grotesque attempt to frighten tributes, Diana recalled the purple flower in the rainstorm. She had thought the daytime with distaste before that. This night was no different.

 _The night is full of suspicion,_ she thought, as one foot squelched into a particularly deep patch, momentarily slowing her stride. _But now it will cloak us and keep us safe._ She cast a quick glance back at John, who despite his gaze half on the ground in front of him, caught her look and gave her a quick, small smile. She couldn't help but smile a little in return.

She hadn't thought he would come along with her endeavour. Before the Games began, when she was Diana Prince, striding over to him with a perfect appearance and extending an invitation, she knew he would have followed her without a second thought. Now, though, she was dirty and bloody, and he called her Di — and the only physical resemblance she had to her time in the Capitol was the self-assurance that she was doing the right thing.

It was funny, if she thought about it, how the self-assurance she had during training was built up around her like Hippolyta had taught her. _Wear a mask for a long enough time, daughter, and you will become what you disguise yourself._ Diana gripped her sword's hilt unconsciously as she stepped doggedly on, her other hand grasping at a strong bough of a tree for balance as the ground shifted upward and the footing became uneven and slippery.

She didn't think she would have followed herself in training. But she did think she might want to follow the person she was becoming in the Games.

She felt more like a leader with every passing hour and day, surer of her decisions than she could have ever dreamed in Four. Without Hippolyta's stabilizer, she was forced into the steep learning curve of being _alone_. She thought she was succeeding at it. Though her alliance had dwindled down, she had never let them _starve_ , and she had always tried to put the needs of her allies above those of her own. That was what leaders did; they helped others survive.

They had never put Harper in their sights since they started after her, but occasionally, there was a branch cracking or a loud, accidental swear ahead of them that convinced them they were on the right track. _Twos do not know hard work,_ she thought during their pursuit. _She will tire. She will_ stop.

Odin's words crept into her thoughts, invading the silence between the two allies that she had felt so comfortable residing in. He warned her on more than one occasion about the lambs of the Games, had even gone so far as to compare her to her mother when it came to shepherding the weak — though Diana knew it was no compliment from the All-Father.

 _Perhaps it is hasty of me to throw myself in with_ my _lot,_ she mused, throwing another quick glance back at John, the small smile she had been wearing fading into furrowed brows and a frown. Not a fortnight previous, she had made empty promises to Kaldur at the prospect of him returning home in her wake. Her feelings on seeing Four again had not changed in that time. _And therein lies the problem of what I am, and what I shall be._

The Games had made her a leader; that was true.

They'd also made her a murderer.

At that thought, her mind swam with the lingering picture of Jonathan Crane's bloody mouth, drowning in his own life, choking out his final words for all the world to hear the truth about Diana Prince. She could feel droplets of warm liquid on her face, and though part of her knew it was sweat and swamp water, the other, more irrational part, could taste the metallic, bloody droplets that Crane had coughed up onto her.

"Di." John's voice broke into her thoughts. "Di," he said again, his hand touching her shoulder, and she blinked rapidly a few times until Crane's face disappeared and the swamp came to the forefront of her vision. She looked back and up at John, seeing the concern on his face. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she responded, her voice smooth and even. It took her a moment to realize they had halted their assault on the arena, her sword hand back on the hilt like a baby's blanket, her boots sinking further into the mud.

"So, no," John clarified, keeping his hand on her shoulder even when she stiffened at his words.

"I am well, John," she said firmly, her brow becoming deep crevices as her friend let out a low chuckle. It was the only human sound around; Harper's trail had gone cold once more.

"You're _well?_ " he asked incredulously. "Well, if you're _well_ after being on the move for hours, nursing insect and stab wounds, post electrocution from a goddamn _trap_ made by some piece of shit who killed two young girls right in front of us, not to mention drinking the entire _swamp_ during that bloody Gamemaker storm, then I'd hate to see you _un_ well."

"John," she said quietly.

"What?!" he exclaimed, his voice at the similar decibel and fervor that he had ended his speech with.

"You're swinging your axe very close to my arm hair. It is...slightly unnerving."

John followed her gaze to his weapon and slowly brought the axe to a stop, his face flushing. "I'm sorry. It's been a long night."

"Aye," she said after a few moments, a strange little part of her wondering if Odin would be proud of her next words. "And maybe there is truth in your words. Perhaps I am... _un_ well."

John shuffled his feet from side to side, his shoulders bouncing awkwardly upward, as though expecting further conflict to require argument. "Well then. Glad we got that all sorted out then."

The silence that hung between them crackled with extra tension, just asking to be dissipated.

"We must keep moving, though," she said. _Our quarry is escaping,_ she added in her head as an afterthought.

"For Thea and Raven." John's grip tightened on the axe, though he was careful to prevent a wayward swing.

* * *

" _What_ are _you doing?" Raven asked John. Diana was sitting on the far side of the knoll they had decided to make a temporary camp, a pile of semi-dried mud at her side. She had instructed Thea to keep watch, which she was undertaking with all of her training skills, and the gloomy swamp sun had broken through the gray clouds, casting a few warm rays onto waterlogged clothes in a feeble attempt to dry them out._

 _Diana leaned back on her hands, her head tilted up toward the sun, eyes half shut in a semi-relaxed state, listening to their conversation to her right._

" _Sharpening," John eventually replied, his voice quiet and seemingly brusque. Diana knew better, though; days of just hearing his voice made the hint of surprise easy to spot. She was a little shocked herself that Raven not only was speaking with John but initiated conversation._

" _But you couldn't even kill a rabbit," Raven pointed out. Diana's lips twitched up into a small smile_ — _even over the distance, she could hear the small intake of breath and the pause of metal against stone. "What's the point?"_

" _I'll have you know I killed some bugs with this thing," he responded._

" _Oh, sorry. I didn't realize how similar bugs and bloodthirsty humans are," Raven said. "In size and behavior."_

" _They were_ large _bugs," John argued, the whetstone noise starting up again. "Bloody hell, for..." His words descended into mutterings, with an occasional interruption on Raven's part._

 _At times, Raven reminded Diana of her young sibling at home, full of spark and defiance and naivety; it would take Diana a moment to remember that Raven was not all that younger than she was._ But, _she reminded herself, casting a glance over to the pair awkwardly bickering,_ she knows of hardship, not of battle-weary toil. She is still a child in a world of villains.

" _Am I?" Diana asked quietly, her brow knitting together._

" _Are you what?" It was Thea who asked the question; Diana hadn't heard her descend from the tree they were using as lookout, and it made her smile just a little at the jump her heart gave at the words._ Caught unawares, Diana. You're turning weak.

" _Nothing of concern," she answered smoothly. "John says I talk to myself when I'm looking for someone to agree with." Thea's eyebrows rose up toward her hairline, and she gave Diana a small laugh, dropping down to sit cross-legged beside her. The two sat in silence, an opposite of the pair with the axe, with Diana enjoying the sun, her mind half on her family, half on what the girl next to her was thinking. "How are you faring?" she asked after a time._

" _Huh? With what? I mean, I'm fine." Thea's arms crossed, exuding a carefree attitude that didn't crumble as Diana tilted her head to give her a pointed look._

" _Your loss of Slade was different to Raven's loss of the Hatter," Diana said in a matter-of-fact manner. "I understand it."_

 _Thea's reply was too low for her to hear initially, and Diana tilted her head with a blank look. After a moment's hesitation, Thea repeated her words: "You and Kaldur hated each other. How is_ that _understanding?" She dropped her gaze away from Diana as she digested the words, straightening up and drawing her knees closer to her chest._

" _Kaldur and I came from different worlds," Diana explained carefully. "The choices we made to reach this place as well as our views shaped how we saw each other. I think if we had never come to the Capitol, we may have hated each other even without knowing each other's face." She nodded to herself, looking back at Thea. "Kaldur forced me to think of things I would not have considered before. I think, were he not with his drowned gods, we could have been friends. Good friends. He would make me be my better self."_ Unity, _Diana thought, aware of the cameras in the swamp and keeping quiet about his last few words whispered to her._ Stronger together.

" _You and Slade were less...divisive than I, but there is that same hint, that had the gods smiled upon ye, a friendship would have been struck. So, I understand." She continued to watch Thea intently, even as the girl looked away, lost in thought._

 _Then, Thea laughed and looked back at her, shaking her head. "Divisive is not the word_ I _would use," she said. "Argumentative, maybe. On a scale of 'one' to 'Infinity War', you came in near the top."_

 _Diana smiled, letting out a small chuckle of her own. "Perhaps I felt the might of Ares in my bones when he called me 'princess'," she conceded, picking at the drying mud by her hands and molding it gently. "Although that also appears to come forth when certain people decide not to heed my words."_

 _Thea laughed again. "I never thought you would be the funny type. You were always so serious in training."_

" _Training is important. You know this, One."_

" _I guess, but you already knew how to train, coming from Four."_

" _Aye, but_ they _might not have known that," Diana pointed out. "And then I would be the first person John would be suspicious of."_

" _Suspicious?" Thea asked, and Diana saw her muscles tense ever so slightly under the fabric. "Of what?"_

 _Diana gave her another smile and then sent the little mud ball sailing high over Thea's head, soaring silently across to where the other pair of tributes sat, and casually dropping down to hit her friend square on the back of the neck. She returned to her basking position as John swore loudly, turning his head this way and that, craning upward to examine the Gamemaker's sky while Thea snorted back a laugh beside her._

" _Maybe it was one of those_ large _bugs getting back at you, John," Raven suggested._

* * *

They had barely gotten a few hundred yards ahead when John held up his hand, pressing his finger to his lips and gesturing to their right with his axe. Diana paused, snapping her gaze to where he was pointing, slowing her breathing to cut out the noise. ' _Squelch'_ went a bootfall into mud. ' _Snap'_ went a twig as something stepped on it and split it in half. " _Shit,"_ came a half-whispered betrayal of a location.

Diana leaped forward from the runner's position she hadn't realized she'd taken up. John was off half a heartbeat later, their movements no longer stealthy as they raced to close the gap to Harper. They hadn't been this close for hours.

Then came another sound, one that started in the background but slowly increased in decibel until it drowned out the desperate escape Harper was making.

 _Bleep. Bleep. Bleep._

"I swear to Zeus, if this is yet _another_ puzzle, I will break through these arena walls and crush the Gamemaker who decided to gift us a present," Diana growled, her fury rolling over her like a maelstrom.

"That's not the sound the question marks make, Di," John pointed out, looking up and around to try and identify the source.

 _Bleep. Bleep._

"Harper is getting away, John," she countered, slowing her pace so as not to leave her friend behind, her anger bubbling as she cast a look ahead. She thought she caught a glimpse of hair in the distance but reminded herself that her mind had been playing tricks all night.

"There!" John exclaimed, dropping the axe to the ground and heading over to one of the trees. Diana groaned, skidding to a halt in the mud.

"What _are_ you doing?"

"This could be important Di," John huffed, scaling the tree with the ease of a Twelve native. " _Parachutes_ don't come down for the sake of it. That's not good television."

"You sound like Octavius," she grumbled.

"Good. He had the right idea." John reached over to where the silver cloth lay snagged in the tree branches. "Gotcha." One-handed, he made his descent, sloshing down into the mud. "It's a lot slippier with one less hand to grip." He wiped the sweat from his hands in the cloth before handing the package to Diana, picking up his axe once more. "It's for you," he added at her questioning look.

 _Bleep._

Diana turned the pod over on itself, where the inscribed ' **4'** pulsed with the familiar blue light of the Tesseract.

" **Diana Prince?** " the pod asked.

"I am," Diana answered, and the pod let out a low hiss. "Great Hera," she breathed out as the top of the pod cracked open and upward like a treasure chest.

"What's in the box, then?" John asked, peering over curiously. Diana carefully produced the contents for her friend to see. "A rope?"

It was beautifully made, and she could tell immediately that it was no Capitol craft but from the weavers of Four that had knotted the fibers together so densely. Even in the gloom of night, what little starlight there was reflected off the material, and it glistened with the hint of gold. She ran it through her fingers, coiling it as she went, appreciating the softness of the fiber and the suppleness and ease with which it bent to her will.

Her mind cast back to the bloodbath's treasures at the Tesseract, and she wondered if the Gamemakers knew even then how much she loved the particular weapon. They had watched her in Four; it made sense that they would toy with her at the launch. _But this is no toy,_ she thought.

"Not just a rope, John," she said, tearing her eyes from the gift to her friend. "A _lasso_."

* * *

" _Do you truly believe you prefer a_ rope _to a sword?" Hippolyta asked her while they walked back to the house from Antiope's home, Donna slung safely across her mother's back in a blanket._

" _Both are excellent weapons, Mother," Diana reminded her mother_

" _Yes, but a rope is so...Atlantean. No, not even Atlantean. It is very Asgardian of you," Hippolyta commented mildly._

" _Nobody will expect a rope. They will be ready with their blades gleaming, and their warrior stance, and I will rip their weapons from their hands and tear their legs from under them," Diana stated smugly. "Do not think, Mother, that sticking with our own ways is always the best route. I will keep my rope, and_ —"

"And _, oh little Asgardian?" Hippolyta asked, her eyebrows raised._

" _And I will have my dagger to finish what I began."_

* * *

"There's something else here, Di," John was saying, bending down beside the empty container and picking up a piece of paper in the mud. He handed it over to her, shrugging his shoulders. "Hopefully it's not telling you how to strangle me in my sleep."

"Don't be foolish, John," Diana said as she took the paper, "I already know how to do that." She caught her friend's eye roll as she opened the folded note and squinted to read it in the faint light the parachute pulsed outward. "It's from Odin," she informed him, struggling to read the sloped handwriting of the All-Father in the darkness.

"Yeah, no shit, never would have guessed that."

She could pick out only a few words in the note, trying to make sense of them and piece the words together. _Coping. Ally. Power. Daughter. Four. Unite,_ she ran the words through her brain, the sentences between them a mystery.

"Di," John broke into her thoughts, his voice a whisper to what it had been before. "I can see her."

At once, her mind left the note, and she folded it back and put it down her shirt to reassess later. She followed the direction he was staring and was nearly surprised to see their quarry in the open. It was a large expanse of swamp, with small gnarly plants and bushes — but no real protection. "She probably heard the parachute," he offered, "thought she could make it to the next lot of trees."

"She won't." Diana's grip on the coil tightened, and she gestured to the left. "We'll catch her in the middle. Her time is up."

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders

14\. Jade Nguyen, District Ten Female: Killed by Harleen Quinzel

13\. Kara Danvers, District Five Female: Killed by Kara Danvers

12\. Jason Todd, District Six Male, Killed by Jack Hamill

11\. Rachel Roth, District Nine Female, Killed by Harper Row

10\. Thea Queen, District One Female, Killed by Harper Row


	105. Chapter 104: Reckoning

**(A/N): Happy Tuesday! We're back in the arena and picking right back up where we left off, with Harper Row being chased down by our Justice League, written by the lovely pekuxumi.**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed. As for our guest asking about Phase Three... you'll have to PM the account so that the people running that story see it. There's a different group of people running that story than this one (this is a collab after all) and I don't know that they'll see a review on the story they're not working on. Those of us running WBCFB legitimately can't give you an answer, sorry!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Four - Reckoning**

 **Pre-Dawn Day Nine**

 **Harper Row of District Two**

 **Written by pekuxumi**

* * *

 _I'll take a quiet life  
A handshake of carbon monoxide  
No alarms and no surprises  
No alarms and no surprises, please  
-Radiohead, "No Surprises"_

* * *

Harper stopped running only when the dark spots wandered from her vision into her brain, making her sway to the side dangerously and loudly. If she kept going like that, she'd simply run into a tree, and the two tributes pursuing her would catch up with her quickly.

So, Harper slowed down and tried not to fall over as her vision careered out of control and the swooshing in her ears roared up to a frightening level. Breathing in desperate gasps of air that hurt her throat and made the stabbing in her side throb only more, she screened her surroundings.

In the pitch darkness, all she could make out were silhouettes of trees and large plants. There was no rippling when she walked, so she must have found a spot of dry ground — Harper couldn't tell otherwise. Her feet were sore and achy; every step and every sensation translated into simple pain in her feet and legs.

She stumbled toward a tree trunk, embarrassingly loud, leaned against it, and savored a sweet moment of closing her eyes. Diana and John were behind her, chasing her, but Harper's chest hurt, and her feet pulsated in pain, and the thought of just lying down and sleeping on the spot was overwhelming.

Running further was not an option anymore. The fatigue drowned out even the panic in her stomach, but not the ache from running for so long. She needed a break. As the drumming of her own heartbeat mixed with the roaring in her ears faded, Harper waited anxiously for any noises or signs of her two pursuers.

There were none.

No noises.

Now with newly awoken suspicion and fear, Harper craned her neck and glanced around the tree — no signs of movement, no dashes of color. They had been close behind her when their game of catch began, no seconds wasted by trying to move quietly, but Harper's panicked and noisy run had drowned out the sounds of her surroundings.

Not for a second was she naive enough to believe that Diana had given up her hunt. Harper had seen her face, the hatred and wrath when she had spotted Harper. Diana would not give up on her. The electronic shock must have weakened them, yet Harper had to be a lunatic to believe herself safe.

And she was not a lunatic, even though in her own estimation, she was pretty close. Playing catch in a murder arena with one of the strongest tributes left — and after killing two children — kind of did that of you.

 _Playing catch_ and _hide and seek_ , she thought as her gaze landed on a green, spiky spot.

There was a large fern a few feet to her right. Its huge leaves bowed and hung heavy to the ground in a dark green circle, each as big as Harper herself. _A bold hiding place_ , she argued to herself as her body was moving already toward it, longing for rest. _She doesn't think of you as bold. She thinks you're a coward._

She knelt down and rolled under the leaves, snuggling around the thick stem of the plant. She grabbed the knife she had strapped at her waist and held it closely in her hand. With a few flicks of her other wrist, the broad and heavy leaves fell over her side and hid her. As she slowly regained her composure, her breaths coming more evenly and her legs finally at a rest, she closed her eyes for a few wonderful seconds.

When had she slept for the last time? Before Jade died. The few seconds in the branches of the trees, waiting for her prey, didn't count and hadn't been very peaceful. Now, the exhaustion made even the earthy and stony ground seem comfortable as she relaxed further.

Maybe there had even been a few seconds of sleep before Harper's ears caught a rustling behind her, and her eyes snapped open.

Not moving, not even breathing properly, she concentrated on her hearing.

There was a steady, silent rustling of leaves, the slightest squelching noise as feet rose from the mud and entered it again. A few seconds later, the squelching changed into a thin crumble as her pursuers moved further away from the mud and to her dry spot.

 _Here they are._

Harper's heart beat in her throat, painful and loud. The sound of the steps came closer, slowly and searching. She could only hear one person, but she knew that there were two pursuers, and suddenly, Harper was thrown back into a memory of Kaldur. When they met in the arena, he had approached her in the water without making any noise. How did they do that? How did the Fours manage to move so quietly, when they were so sure of themselves and their pride?

Her reminiscence was cut short when a small pebble rolled close to her ear. Harper's body froze, her breathing stopped, and apparently, it worked — the steps went past her. Through a crack in her cover of leaves, she saw a pair of boots, moving slowly away from her. The blade of a sword trailed behind them, its sharp edge turned toward Harper like an ominous warning.

 _It works!_ her mind screamed. _It works! You're lying under a plant, and the strongest tribute is walking right past you!_

If the situation wasn't so tense, her life at stake and every inch of her body hurting, Harper would have laughed out loud about the ridiculousness of it all. Maybe she could simply wait out the games living under the fern. Surely the stem was edible. There was enough space and no crazy killer people endangering her new, cozy, plant-based lifestyle.

Maybe, after she won the Games by hiding, Harper could even stay beneath her fern and ignore the Capitolites and their little aprés-games freak show. The small window into reality the leaves of the fern presented her was enough for Harper, who was done with the Games, the Capitolites, and her shitty life in Two as well. There were Cullen and Steph to think of, but maybe they had found themselves some nice plants as well...

Lured in by those nice fantasies and the sight of the boots and the blade that slowly and carefully distanced themselves from her, trying not to laugh at the thoughts she was having and at the same time wondering if that meant she had snapped now completely — _but crazy people don't know they're crazy, right?_ — it was understandable that Harper forgot for a minute about the other tribute chasing her.

"Diana."

A soft, male voice behind her suddenly disrupted any coherent thought she was still capable of, and to Harper's utmost terror, the boots that had covered such a lovely, comfortable distance spun on their heels and turned around.

In the millisecond Diana needed to move toward her hiding place, Harper darted.

Adrenaline rushed through her and allowed her to move faster than she ever had. A hand tried to grab her at her left, a pair of feet started to run at her right. With a blind, violent jerk, Harper slashed her knife at the left and registered faintly that it hit its aim, that there was resistance to her movement as a strangled, pained cry rang out.

Any potential feelings of satisfaction that might have swelled up in her chest were prevented abruptly when something solid suddenly yanked at her ankle, wrenched her foot backward, and made her stumble to the ground unceremoniously.

Immediately, two pairs of hands were on her, and no amount of wrestling or speed would have helped her get away. They yanked her around roughly, two hands keeping her arms down, and just as she was able to make out Diana towering over her, the tribute from Four quickly pulled a rope around her neck.

 _A rope?!_

There was no time to process what happened. In the next second, Diana arms twitched, Harper's throat closed, and she gasped for air. She tried to wriggle away from them, but every time she moved her foot, the noose only tightened.

"What do you have to say for yourself, Harper Row?" Diana asked, disgust visible in her eyes as she stared down Harper.

Inexplicably, John let go of Harper's arms, and her hands shot up to grab the rope around her neck at once. Diana loosened her hold, and Harper managed to get her fingers between her skin and the coarse rope.

Greedily, she sucked in the air. Her breathing was still constricted, but at least she was not choking anymore. The air made her panic swell down to a manageable level; her brain started to function again and searched for answers.

 _They want something_ , she realized. Otherwise, she would be dead already. The rising panic ebbed down to a manageable level she could work with. Her thoughts turned to survival mode.

Letting her gaze slip from the seething Diana, she focused on John Constantine, who stood a few inches to Diana's left. He watched her sullenly, one hand clutching a nasty wound on his right forearm. It was bleeding freely, and Harper deducted that this was where her knife had hit earlier. Her sympathy kept itself within bounds.

At the same time she was glaring at the boy who had found her in her hiding spot, Harper carefully moved her left foot. The rope that Diana had now wound around her neck must have been the same that wound around her foot and had made her fall earlier. The noose was still tightly around her ankle. Anytime she tried to move her foot, she only pulled at the rope around her neck.

" _Harper,_ " Diana hissed. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Turning her attention back to Diana and her question, Harper managed to croak out, "How are your legs?"

Reminding Diana about their painful encounter in the swamp, when the strong electronic current had shocked the two older tributes into a short paralysis, obviously triggered her. Her beautiful face turned into a grimace of anger.

It wasn't the right place or time, but Harper had always loved to rile up the bullies stronger than her or Cullen. The rich and snobby Two kids had always looked looked down on them, on their dirty clothes and crappy lunches, but Harper knew how to push their buttons from day one and had always done so gleefully. A small smile appeared on her lips, which was quickly wiped away by Diana's strong tug of the rope around her neck.

Of course the thing that killed her had a better material quality than all of her clothes in Two. Maybe the arena wasn't all that different from her home district? While the fingers Harper had managed to claw under the rope helped the choking somewhat, she tried desperately to push the noose down her ankle with her right foot without them noticing.

"Diana," John said, in a soft voice just like when he had spotted her, and immediately, Diana relaxed.

 _Interesting_ , Harper thought, coughing and working her toes against the rope around the ankle. They really expected some sort of answer. While Diana was clearly the leader, John held some sort of power over her. What was _his_ role in all of this?

"You killed them," Diana said, her eyes glittering with righteous indignation. "Our teammates. How could you kill two _children_?"

 _Is she serious? This question in the arena?_

"I killed two _tributes,_ " Harper answered with the only reply she had been able to bring up to satisfy her own guilty conscience. "They would have killed me otherwise."

"They were children!" Diana shouted back, furious. "In the same cowardly manner as you sealed Kaldur Ahm's fate!"

Diana knew about Kaldur? Had she been with him at the end? Harper's heart missed a beat, which was apparently showing on her face. The horror of seeing his face up in the sky burned a hole into her heart. Unfortunately, though, Diana misread her shocked expression, and her fierce anger seemed to take on a sharper edge.

"Yes, let's talk about Kaldur." Maybe unconsciously, Diana started to pull the cord tighter again, and Harper's thoughts settled on getting air into her lungs again. "My district partner, whom you left to die."

" _Have..._ " Harper barely whispered the croaked words across her lips. Diana made sure not to strangle her, but the prolonged lack of sufficient air brought colorful dots into her vision. Still, now she had Kaldur on her mind, the way he looked at her that last time. "Have you been with him... at... the end?"

Diana froze. "Yes. I was with him when he died."

In the middle of the night, only seconds before the canon had boomed, in this stingy, dirty arena... Kaldur had not deserved this fate. Out of all the tributes she had known, he had been the kindest, noblest.

"Was he... in pain?" Whether or not the cameras and the Capitol interpreted the break in her voice as emotional or due to the strain of her throat, Diana and John apparently believed in the first.

It was the right question as well, because suddenly, the rage dropped out of Diana's body, and the grip around her throat lessened considerably. Harper, who had been swaying on her feet and only stood upright by now because Diana had held her up, fell to her knees, the lasso rope still around her neck.

As she sucked in huge gasps of air, she pulled the rope further away from the throat with one hand. When Diana allowed it under her and John's careful supervision, she wound one hand completely under the now loose rope around her neck, while the other fell away to her side. All the while, Harper was very aware that while she had hit a soft spot, but Diana held her right hand close to the hilt of her sheathed sword, showing her that she was not playing around.

"He was in severe pain," Diana answered, finally.

Harper closed her eyes and swallowed. Electrical burns, inside and outside. The infections must've attracted all kinds of insects in this area. And in addition to Kaldur's, Harper could now see in her mind's eye Harvey's scarred face as he begged for her to help him. The arena was a monster devouring them all.

"It was an accident," she said slowly, silently. "I didn't want to hurt or kill him."

Diana was quiet for a long while, contemplating her prey's answer. "And yet you left him to die."

"He would have died anyway. Kaldur wouldn't have survived the arena, one way or another."

None of the sane ones could, anyway. Had so many victors chosen the deranged and crazy tributes because of that? To protect the sane children of their districts?

Diana's short emotional break was over. Her voice got harder again, the grip on the rope stronger. "You also killed Thea Queen and Rachel Roth. They were but children."

Harper looked up at her, meeting her gaze. "I set up a trap. Four tributes walked into it. Would I have preferred if it had been you deeper in the water instead of them? Sure." Diana didn't pull a muscle in her face, but a gleaming in her eyes told Harper that she had given her an answer Diana could respect. "But they walked in first, and I took advantage of it."

"You took advantage of the moment," Diana resumed, not happy with the answer but accepting it. "So you're telling yourself that in here, all that matters is 'eat or be eaten.'"

"Yes," Harper answered, carefully putting more weight on the other foot, the one she had just managed to free from the noose. "It's all about the right moment."

With that, she threw up her right arm and flung the handful of dry earth she had collected in her hand unnoticed right into Diana's eyes. The right-handed tribute jerked back on reflex and threw her hand up to protect her face, just as Harper had predicted.

Harper used this moment of confusion to rush forward with all her weight. Dashing into Diana, she felt the rope loosen further when she rammed her knee into Diana's crotch with all the strength she was able to muster up. Diana folded with a grunt. The rope, a moment ago still loosely wound around Harper's neck, fell from her shoulders, and Harper shoved the girl from Four away and ran.

As she darted forward, she heard Diana roar in anger (and pain?) and John charging after her.

Her mind roamed, searching for ways to get rid of him — he was a curious one, difficult to assess and so far strangely elusive. Was he strong? Was he quick? Harper didn't know, but maybe he would stop chasing her in order to look after Diana. Would they separate? Was there a possibility that—

A sharp, blinding explosion of pain flashed through her body. Harper went down immediately, her legs useless all of sudden and her mind too occupied with pain to order her arms to break the fall.

Lying on the ground, groaning, she felt the pain, not lessening in the slightest, recede to her leg. Trembling, Harper stared down at her left calf and saw the blade of an ax protruding from her shin like a knife that was stuck in a piece of butter.

 _Oh God_.

Blood flew freely as John and Diana approached, but Harper was hypnotized by the sight of _an ax stuck in her calf_ , basically splitting the bone and the flesh and the sinews into two halves and—

 _Oh God oh God oh God oh God._

Futilely, she scrambled backward when their shadows fell over her, still wide-eyed and in shock, but as Diana grabbed her under the armpit and yanked her up roughly, the pain burned through her body so badly that Harper instinctively hit Diana and John repeatedly, trying to make them stop. At least until her back hit a tree, halting her stunted attempt at retreat.

Slowly, the blazing pain ebbed away, and her thoughts returned to a somewhat coherent state. Prying her eyes open again through pure power of will, she saw Diana and John standing in front of her through a layer of tears. Her breaths came in shallow, clipped puffs, and the only reason she was still standing was that she was balancing on her good leg and didn't dare to think about how painful sitting or falling down _onto a leg in which an ax is stuck, dear Lord,_ would hurt.

With hatred, she stared at the two tributes in front of her. It took her a moment to discern the unsheathed sword through the tears and anger, which Diana held point-blank to her chest.

"I can forgive you for Kaldur's injustice, Harper Row," Diana started in a voice that could freeze the swamp. "But for your incapability of giving an honorable death to—"

"Oh, spare me!" Harper spat out, unable to take anymore of Diana's holier-than-thou attitude. How did these two dare to hunt her down, to act all sanctimonious on her?! From deep within her, all the hatred and spite she had built up flew out of her mouth. "Shut your sanctimonious mouth. What would you have done if I hadn't killed them, huh? Let them trod beside you until you stuffed your pillow into their faces at night?""

Diana's expression turned grimmer with each word; the sword was trembling with anger. The words poured out of Harper, and she loved every second of it.

"Or would your highness have sent them away into the wilderness if you were the last four survivors? Cleanse yourself of guilt once a mutt tore them apart? Would _that_ have been a fair chance? _Honorable?_ "

Caitlin had been torn apart by a mutt, her blonde hair shining even when caked with blood. Harvey and Kaldur both believed they had been betrayed by their ally, truth be damned. And Jade? Where had the honor been in fighting to the very end? Had it made dying any easier?

Next to Diana, John's eyes were widening as he listened to her words. He had thrown a goddamn ax into her legs. The desperation in Harper turned into even more anger as she directed her gaze at him and ignored Diana for all it was worth.

"And _you!_ Where do you think you'll end up? Will you do her dirty work 'til the end? Then what? Do you think she'll let you live? Or would you have done what she ordered, killing your two precious little friends had I not done the job first? What, are you her _boy toy_? Or her _servant_ — until she finds a better one?"

She sneered as he paled and looked back at Diana. In a calmer, quieter voice, she went on.

"Oh, go on and kid yourself with your false pretense of honor. Deep down, you're glad I got rid of that little problem you didn't consider."

"You should talk less," Diana said, simply, and icily matched Harper's glare.

There was _a lot_ more Harper wanted to throw into her face, but all of sudden, the words died on her tongue, and no voice made it across her lips anymore. An ice block prevented her from breathing. An ice block in her chest, heavy and cold and pulling her down.

With wide eyes, she looked down and realized only slowly that Diana's sword had pierced her right through the chest. Only a few inches of the blade were still showing, the handle eerily close to her sternum and blood spreading around it. Her blood.

The ice in her chest grew into her body, spread into her limbs — and underneath was pain, the kind of pain that shock numbs down and you knew it was supposed to be much worse.

Her gaze found Diana's stern glare as she tried to take a last breath. The hot blood shooting up her mouth was a confusing contrast to the ice that engulfed her body and now her mind.

Harper's last instinct was to spit it into Diana's face.

She didn't see anymore whether it hit or not.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders

14\. Jade Nguyen, District Ten Female: Killed by Harleen Quinzel

13\. Kara Danvers, District Five Female: Killed by Kara Danvers

12\. Jason Todd, District Six Male, Killed by Jack Hamill

11\. Rachel Roth, District Nine Female, Killed by Harper Row

10\. Thea Queen, District One Female, Killed by Harper Row

9\. Harper Row, District Two Female, Killed by Diana Prince


	106. Chapter 105: Lab Work

**(A/N): Happy Friday, and happy June! Here is a peek at what's going on outside of the arena for our first update of June ;)**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed. We love to hear from you on every chapter that you chime in on!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Five- Lab Work**

 **Written by robbiepoo2341 and Canucklehead Cowgirl**

* * *

" _Our scientific power has outrun our spiritual power." - Martin Luther King, Jr._

" _Strategy without tactics is the slowest route to victory. Tactics without strategy is the noise before defeat." - Sun Tzu_

* * *

 **Bruce Wayne**

 **District Seven**

* * *

Bruce hadn't even considered the fact that the final eight tributes' families would be interviewed soon — and that he would need to take a quick trip back to his home district to be available to the interviewer. Protective custody or not, the Games were most important to Thanos, and therefore, important to Nick Fury to keep Thanos' attention.

But Bruce hadn't been thinking about that at all. He hadn't been thinking about much of anything since Dick and the boy from Six had been captured, if he was honest.

That was his _son_.

Bruce couldn't help but miss Alfred's calming presence as he remained glued to the screen set up in the transport that took him out to Seven. If he hadn't sent Alfred ahead to Seven to deal with the business for the Howlett estate, his butler probably would have turned the screen off or at least turned the volume down. He would have told Bruce not to torture himself watching helplessly as that lunatic from Eight gleefully tore Dick down piece by piece.

But the SHIELD agents in the transport didn't try to say anything to him, and neither did the black-clad young man Fury had sent with him.

If he had been paying more attention, he would probably have been more curious about how Fury had managed to bring Clint Barton back from the dead twice now. Now, however, he was just grateful for the visual reminder that Fury had a way to raise the dead when it was clear his son was going to die.

That might have been why Fury sent the kid. That and the fact that it meant he didn't have to send anyone else that Alfred might knock out, unmask and compromise.

It was still dark when they landed in Seven, and the SHIELD agents quickly directed their exit to the manor under the cover of a night sky darkened by clouds. It was a quick transfer, and the SHIELD transport had left before Bruce had even reached his study. And still not a word had been spoken that wasn't absolutely necessary to the move.

Bruce didn't blame them. He didn't know what he would say anyway. He half expected to snap at the first SHIELD agent who said anything about Dick. He had half a mind to tell them to go back to their precious director and tell him that any organization that would let his _son_ be tortured on live television didn't deserve his backing…

He'd had that argument with Fury in his mind for the past several hours. And the only thing holding him back was the fact that he knew the SHIELD agents didn't deserve his anger. No, he would save that for the man at the top. He knew how to direct his rage.

That and the fact that he simply couldn't bring himself to take the time to chew anyone out when he was watching the Games footage, knowing there was no way Dick could get out, not injured as he was — and still, he was unable to stop watching. Dick might slip away from the insane clown, but surviving the arena simply wasn't feasible, and Bruce knew it.

As soon as he arrived in Seven, he headed to the television in his study to turn on the broadcast of the Games, though he didn't get there before there was a quiet sort of cough as Alfred cleared his throat to announce his presence and get Bruce's attention an instant before the usual "Master Bruce" echoed the still room.

Bruce turned to see Alfred frowning in the doorway and strode toward him, meaning to put his hand on Alfred's arm to comfort him. After all, he was sure Alfred was just as torn up about Dick as he was. But when Bruce got closer, he saw that Alfred's expression was one of determination, not despair, and he paused. "What's going on, Alfred?"

"Perhaps it would be best if you heard it from our guest," Alfred said, pure fury flashing just behind his eyes as he gestured down the hall.

Bruce raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything further. It had to be something serious for Alfred to look like that. So he simply let the old butler lead the way down to the receiving room, where Barbara Gordon was sitting on the couch watching the Games with the volume turned down low, her hands clasped to her mouth. It was obvious from her body language alone that she was upset — but then, the most exciting thing that had been playing from the Games was…

Wait, that wasn't Dick on the screen.

The footage had shifted to show Diana Prince and John Constantine chasing after Harper Row from Two — and Bruce saw now that he was closer that Barbara's gaze wasn't on the screen anyway. Not really. She was looking that way, but not _seeing_ the screen a few feet from her.

"Barbara?" Bruce prompted.

Her head came up, and when she saw him, her eyes flashed with the same anger that Bruce had seen in Alfred's gaze. For just a moment, her gaze found his black-clad shadow, too, but she must have decided that whatever was going on was far more important than that mystery, because she simply breezed past Clint's presence to lock gazes with Bruce again.

"I need your help relocating a few dozen orphans," she told him.

Of all of the things that Bruce was expecting to hear, that was the last one. With everything going on with the Games, the impending revolution, even the will that old Howlett left behind, he hadn't thought kids would be on that list — especially not with the huge donation he had specifically sent Alfred to put into motion.

"What's going on?" Bruce asked with a frown.

"Some creep took over the orphanage," Barbara said, venom dipping off of every word. "And he's been hurting the kids."

"What?" In an instant, Bruce was ready to go. Forget Fury's plans; he wasn't going to let this kind of thing happen under his nose if he had anything to say about it. This was something he could _do_ , a way he could make a difference instead of sitting _uselessly_ watching Games that Fury himself had orchestrated.

Bruce was already moving when Clint broke his silence. "How'd you find out about it?" Clint asked. It was a tone that Bruce had never heard from him, almost strained, and he remembered from the boy's file that he had been orphaned at a young age as well. The almost open tone was certainly enough to get Bruce to stop — at least long enough to listen to what Barbara had to say.

For a moment, Barbara's expression tightened before she looked over at Clint. She seemed to size him up, clearly not trusting the black gear.

"You can trust him," Bruce said, stepping slightly to the side to catch her gaze. "Go ahead."

Barbara still didn't look like she quite believed that, but she nodded all the same and let out all her breath in a rush. "Dad asked me to deliver the paperwork from the old man's will," she explained. Her expression hardened as she remembered her trip to the orphanage. "I know the kids there, and they're usually fun to be around, but it's dead quiet over there. The kids are all on lockdown — and that's when they're not being used as — as _lab rats_!" The last two words burst out of her all at once, forcefully, and she looked like she wanted to hit something then and there.

" _What_." Bruce met Barbara's gaze and saw his same anger reflected there as she nodded slowly.

"I took one of the kids to Dad — his name is Scott, he's one of the oldest ones there — but Dad's got orders from the Capitol not to interfere with this new guy," Barbara said, falling into an even deeper glare. "He's not happy about it, but if any of the Sentinels get involved… It might even be harder for the kids, and my dad would be out of a job or _worse..._ "

"What's the Capitol's interest in a bunch of kids, anyway?" Clint asked, his arms crossed and his tone almost dangerously low.

"I don't know," Barbara said, still glaring. "If I knew, I'd figure out a way around it. All I know is that those kids are stuck with a _monster_ , and _when_ we break them out, it has to be undercover so my dad doesn't lose his job the _hard way._ "

"I like her," Clint said.

Bruce ignored him. "It sounds like you have a plan," he said to Barbara.

She glanced toward Alfred, who nodded almost imperceptibly, before she turned back to Bruce. "Part of one, anyway," she admitted. "If we can get them past the gates, Mac Hudson and his wife have agreed to help smuggle them out. But we need a bigger house than theirs, and I'm not really comfortable letting him keep the kids at his place for any amount of time, considering the non-interference directive the Sentinels are under." She shook her head. "I like Mac. He's one of the few good guys on Dad's force, and I don't want him to get killed over this."

"So you need an end destination," Bruce said, though his tone suggested that this wasn't the big obstacle she seemed to think it was. "I've got plenty of room in this house that I'm not using. That's easy enough." He breezed past that aspect of the plan without much further thought. "The real problem will be getting all of them out without getting caught. Do you think your friend would be willing to go back with us to help? He'd know the layout of the place better than we do, especially with any changes this new director has made."

"He's there right now," Barbara said with her eyes narrowed.

"What? Why?" Bruce demanded — probably a bit more sharply than he'd meant to.

Barbara's eyes narrowed further. "Don't you think I tried to stop him?" she asked, gesturing with one arm behind her, in the general direction of the orphanage far from where they were. "But he said if he got caught running away again—"

"Again?"

"Yeah, he tried to come tell my dad what was going on, got caught, and got in trouble for it," Barbara said, though she kept right on past that point. "The point is, this Pearson creep is keeping the older kids _in line_ by threatening to punish the younger ones."

"So, when do we leave?" Clint cut in. He'd clearly heard enough and was ready to tear this man apart, judging by his tone.

"Tonight," Bruce said decisively. "We can use the cover of darkness. I'm not going to let those kids sit there any longer." He turned to Alfred. "Alfred, can you set up the rooms — and make sure there are plenty of blankets downstairs? If anyone comes looking, we can send the children down the staircase behind the clock to wait out the search until we come up with a reasonable excuse for them to be here."

"Already arranged, sir," Alfred said. "I thought it might be best to move the children directly into the basement for the time being, what with the interviews from the Games and all."

 _The Games_. Bruce turned toward the screen, where the focus was still on Harper Row trying to run from the Four-Twelve team-up. He had almost forgotten about the Games, so caught up in what he was doing.

He shook his head to himself. No, he had something to focus on that he could actually _do_ something about. There were lives that he _could_ save, kids that he _could_ help. And if he thought too much about the Games, about Dick...

He turned toward Barbara. "Let's get moving."

* * *

 **Skye**

 **In the Capitol**

* * *

Whatever disbelief Skye had over how incredibly stupid Logan had been with his fundraising techniques — it was all more or less off to the wayside with their newest set of orders. She hadn't even been on Logan's protective detail for more than a few _hours_ before May had been temporarily reassigned, leaving _Skye_ in charge of keeping the newest victor safe. Alone.

Well. Not exactly _alone._ That … that would have been awkward. At least she had two senior science agents working with her.

Fitz was quiet… even if the rest of the lab was a buzz of activity. He was staring at Simmons as he tried to help her prep Logan for … something. Some kind of medical procedure. Skye had no idea what it entailed, but whatever it was meant her protective detail involved watching over a shirtless victor.

Which she was absolutely not going to complain about. At all.

Simmons was hilarious to watch; the normally eloquent doctor had been reduced to sputtering and very small words as she started some kind of physical on Logan, though it was clear by Fitz's reactions that she was taking much more time than necessary.

Fitz stepped toward their patient, leads in his hands, though Simmons was already taking her time in carefully placing some. "Can you just …" Fitz started, and Logan looked up at him almost innocently. It was clear Fitz was irritated with Logan's very presence. "... roll your shoulders forward a bit."

Logan looked him square in the eyes and shook his head, completely seriously. "No. They don't do that."

Fitz paused and looked as if he was trying not to scream. "Well, don't be ridiculous. Of _course_ they do. Just …" He let out an exasperated kind of noise and gritted his teeth. "Then would you at least stop _flexing_."

"I'm not flexing."

Fitz tightened his mouth and poked Logan in the chest, then paused when Logan glanced down at how Fitz was poking him and _did_ flex. "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, which at least got what looked like an amused sort of smirk out of Logan, though he didn't say a word while Fitz looked entirely off-guard — and Simmons perfectly delighted.

"Do you _want me to flex again_?" Logan asked, perfectly straight faced.

"Just sit normally," Simmons said in her most professional voice, smiling broadly — though Skye was barely biting back a laugh and the desire to say, "yes please" as Logan leaned back and tried to comply with what Simmons was asking as much as possible.

Both of the girls in the lab kept sharing little grins with each other — but that only seemed to fuel Fitz's frustration as he grumbled out a quiet, "He's not that — come on!"

"What are you doing anyhow?" Logan had to ask as Fitz gave up trying to assist Simmons and started up with his own measurements and computations.

"Oh, it's very impressive," Simmons said with an affectionate smile Fitz's way before she put a few more leads on Logan's torso. "Fitz designed it — a new biomechanical weapon that should allow you to have something on hand no matter the situation."

"Biomechanical …" Logan narrowed his eyes slightly at that. "You sure this isn't a punishment for making progress I wasn't authorized for?"

"No! No, no, no … of course not," Simmons said quickly, resting her hand on his bicep. "No, you're the best option for this. Fitz was _inspired_ —" She glanced at her partner. "Really. We were going to have you come to the lab sooner or later anyway."

Logan nodded again but didn't ask anything else as they puttered about the lab and left him covered in wires and monitoring equipment.

Skye couldn't help but grin to herself as she hopped up on one of the tables, letting Fitz and Simmons go into their usual back and forth. "I can only keep up with them half the time. Sorry, but I think you're just along for the ride," she couldn't help but tease — because Fitzsimmons needed someone to translate them into human speech sometimes. "I promise they're the good guys. They're too sweet to not be, even if they can't _speak_."

"Uh huh," Logan said, looking at the number of lines and leads in use across all of his exposed skin. "And that's from your cracker jack training or …"

"They're part of my _team_. I think I know them well enough to speak on that."

He watched her for a long moment. "You're not really an agent, are you?"

Skye couldn't help but flush — which, she knew, gave it all away. "I — I'm a consultant," she said, though her hand went to her security bracelet almost unconsciously.

"Then maybe you can clue me in on how long Frick and Frack are gonna be pokin' at me."

"Oh. Well." She pulled on her hair. "I don't really speak rocket scientist and biochemist. So…" She tried for a smile that turned into a blush, holding up her hands to frame him in front of her. "You can just… stay where you are."

He raised both eyebrows and then let out a sigh a moment before Simmons returned and stuck him with a syringe. "I just wanna know if I'm back to lockdown and if I'm gonna need to be ready to fight Creed."

"Oh, no, we're keeping you here," Simmons said brightly.

"Why?"

She blinked at him for a moment. "Because biomechanical weapons don't install themselves in five minutes flat," she said as if it should have been obvious to him. "Really, I don't see what your hurry is. You're done with sponsorships, and you don't want to spend time with the other Seven victors, so what is it you want to do, exactly?"

He had clearly gotten hung up on something she'd said, but instead of asking for clarification, he narrowed his eyes and stared at her for a long moment. "Sleep. Drink. Probably piss a few people off."

"Well, you can't drink anything alcoholic until I'm done, so … make yourself comfortable, please," Simmons said sweetly as she absently patted his arm. "You can still sleep if you like. I'm getting all my baselines now, so a little dreaming won't bother anyone."

"Says you," Logan grumbled.

"You could always stay here and flex," Skye said under her breath with a smirk.

"Might screw up her baselines," Logan shot right back almost as low.

Skye couldn't stop her grin at that. Oh yeah. This was going to be a good assignment.

* * *

 **Clint Barton**

 **District Seven**

* * *

When Clint got off the line from calling in his mission report to Coulson, he was grinning to himself.

Sure, Coulson had told him that he couldn't get another operative to him on such short notice, but on the other hand, Coulson had also said that if this worked, they could use Wayne Manor as a base of sorts. The kids across the districts that had been working against the Capitol — that group in Five, the cute girl in Nine that had taken on the sniper who killed Clint, and so on — they needed someplace safe to stage when everything hit the fan.

If this worked… Wayne's butler was going to be pretty darn busy.

It was still dark outside as he followed Wayne and Barbara to the tall, imposing-looking orphanage, and he couldn't help but frown at the locked wrought-iron gate. This place felt… sinister.

Or maybe that was just his imagination, considering everything Barbara had told them about what was going on.

He and Barbara scaled the stone wall that surrounded the place, and Clint was only mildly surprised at this point when Wayne wasn't far behind them. After all, the man was friends with Nick Fury, and he seemed to have nine lives. Clint wasn't even sure he _needed_ a bodyguard, but hey, Clint went where Coulson pointed him.

The plan was pretty straightforward: Clint would handle the lower levels — since Coulson had asked him to send back intel on whatever it was this Pearson guy was up to, and "secret lab" just screamed a basement of some kind. Meanwhile, Barbara would handle the upper levels and getting most of the kids out. To that end, Clint had even given her the grappling hook he had stashed in one of his quivers.

Once Clint and Barbara got the kids out of the house itself, it was Wayne's job to get them past the gate and the stone wall. And on the other side of the wall, the Hudsons and Wayne's butler were stationed at different checkpoints to more or less get the kids to the manor in fire brigade style.

It was a solid plan. It also depended a lot on everything going exactly their way, and Clint wasn't entirely sure their luck would hold.

Still, Coulson had promised to send Tripp and Mac their way, so even if things went wrong, there were two SHIELD agents with actual badges who could muscle into the Sentinels and clean up if things got really hairy.

So that was something, at least.

And of course, it wasn't long before they ran into the first of the problems. They hadn't even crossed the lawn before a pair of huge men — they _had_ to be on steroids or _something_ — came rushing toward the intruders. Clint's hands itched for his bow, but this was supposed to be a low-impact mission, so he'd have to go hand-to-hand.

He moved toward Barbara, even though he was technically supposed to be watching out for Wayne, simply because he didn't know what her fighting experience was like. If it even existed. But to his surprise, Barbara dropped into a crouch as soon as one of the huge guys got close enough to her — and she knocked his feet out from underneath him.

And right about that same time, Wayne laid into the other guy, knocking him flat.

Clint couldn't stop his grin as he nodded approvingly and dove in to help. "I think I like this teamup."

In no time flat, the two big guys were down and out for the count, and Clint and Barbara crept over to the orphanage itself. Clint made sure to take a second to be sure Barbara had a solid footing with the grappling hook, but from there, it was incredibly clear that she had it under control anyway. She waved him off and started climbing the wall, and with that, Clint went to the other side of the huge building and jimmied the lock on a window to get inside.

"Easy-peasy," Clint said to himself as he slipped down the hall, looking for the nearest staircase that led down.

It took a little doing, and a lot of locked doors, but he did finally find one that was sort of hidden and off to the side, and it took him about twice as long to pick the lock as he was used to. So that meant this was probably the right place to look for creepy evil lairs.

 _Getting slow, Clint. Back in Two, you'd've had that lock down in ten seconds flat,_ he thought to himself as he gingerly made his way down the creepy hallway, though that thought was quickly overshadowed by, _Nobody grab me, nobody grab me, nobody grab me_ the further he got underground.

He seriously did not like the feel of any of this, and when he rounded the corner, he flat-out froze in his tracks.

This… this was way too familiar.

Clint might not have been a lab tech or a super genius, but he had a nearly perfect visual memory. Even if he didn't know what all of the machines did, he remembered what they looked like and more or less which ones he'd had used on him in the times he'd come back to life — as well as the times he'd been patched up the normal way.

And all of this — _all of it_ — looked like what he woke up in when he came back the first time, right after his Games.

There was just no way some doctor out in the boondocks had access to this. No way someone just _happened_ to stumble upon Tahiti equipment. Something was _up_.

Not that Clint could focus on that for very long. For as shocked as he was to see the all-too-familiar setup around him, the worse part was that this tall, pale, creepy loser in a lab coat was actively working, setting up leads and wires on some kid who looked pretty much terrified out of his mind strapped down to a table.

 _Yeah, you know what_ — _screw protocol_ , Clint decided then and there as he snapped out the bow he'd brought just in case (like he'd go anywhere without it, really) and barely even thought about it before he fired.

The arrow went right through the creep's hand as he was reaching for his tools, and the guy looked up with almost a snarl Clint's direction.

Clint waved. "Hi. I'm part of the Evil Lair Patrol. And this — this looks very much like a lair to me." He kept his tone relaxed, since there was a scared kid involved, and he didn't need a freakout on top of all that. Even if the brunette on the table was one of the older kids — sixteen or seventeen by the looks of him — being a live lab rat? Totally worth freaking out over.

"How did you get in here?" the creep in the white coat snarled his way, clearly furious at being interrupted. He rushed for the nearby desk, shouting for his guards.

Clint shook his head before he quickly fired off another arrow, pinning the guy's hand to the desk. "The better question is: how did _you_ get in here? Clearly, you shouldn't be anywhere near kids," Clint replied, watching the creep with narrowed eyes as he slid around the room toward the table.

While the guy tried to get his hand free, Clint grabbed his knife from his boot and simply started to cut through the leather restraints holding down the teenager on the table. He _could_ untie them, but that might make them usable later, and Clint wasn't feeling nice at the moment. Plus, considering how creepy this guy in the lab coat was, he wanted a knife on hand.

He didn't get too far before he heard a few lumbering idiots headed his way — this guy seemed to collect people who were part elephant — and had to redirect his attention. Thankfully, though, the kid had one hand free, and he seemed to be just fine about doing the rest of the rescue himself while Clint fitted an arrow between each of three fingers so he could tag each of the huge guards headed down the stairs toward him.

He didn't bother being nice about the shots, either. He'd already decided to screw protocol, and that meant an arrow in the heart for anyone that got in his way. The SHIELD backup team could clean up later, dispose of bodies, that kind of thing. These guys were screwing with kids — they didn't deserve _nice_.

It didn't really matter how big these guys were if they couldn't get anywhere close to Clint, and anyone who didn't die fast enough got a second arrow in the forehead to help things along. He wasn't playing around.

Of course, that meant his back was turned to the pale creep in the lab coat, and from the sound of things, he must have gotten the arrow out of his hand and come for Clint. But by the time Clint turned around, the guy was on the ground, with the kid on the table blinking down at him and still half cocked back from the punch to the creep's nose.

Clint grinned his approval as he leveled his bow at the creep to keep him from getting up again — not that the kid could see the grin. "Nice job," he said. "I think you improved his face."

The kid nodded, though it was obvious he was still coming down from the panic of what had been about to happen to him. "What are you doing here?" he finally asked.

"Believe it or not, I'm on the rescue squad," Clint said. He tipped his chin toward the creep. "I've got this one. He moves and I'm putting another arrow in him."

"What about the others?" the kid asked, taking a step back from the creepy doctor with a look of intense distaste and loathing.

"Don't worry; we're getting everyone out," Clint said. He tipped his head to the side. "What's your name?"

"Scott."

Clint couldn't help but grin. _Barbara's gonna love this._ "Alright, great. So, you wanna help me here? I'm going to take Tall, Pale, and Dead Man Walking out for a little chat. Think you can handle getting the rest of the kids out with my partner? You'll recognize her. Red hair, fast talker, thinks she's in charge all the time…"

Scott blinked at him in surprise for a moment before a small smirk tugged at the corner of his expression, and he nodded, rushing up the stairs to help direct the kids on the evacuation.

Clint nodded to himself before he turned his attention back to the creepy doctor. "And you and me — we're going to have words," he said, grabbing the guy's arm to haul him up and yanking on him to pull him up the stairs and out of the building.

Clint honestly had planned to drag the guy all the way out to the woods to make double sure none of the kids could hear what was going on when he got started making the guy _pay_ for _experimenting on kids_ , but they hadn't even quite hit the lawn before Wayne caught up to them.

"Is this the one running things?" Wayne asked in a much more forceful tone than he'd been using earlier that night. Clearly, he was of the same mind of Clint — which just had Clint smirking behind his mask.

"Yeah," Clint said with a nod. "Found him in his _lab_."

Wayne nodded once and made a dart forward to positively flatten the guy with a hard right hook. "Then I think I'll need a few minutes with him."

Clint looked between Wayne and the creepy doctor for a moment before the expression on Wayne's face decided it for him, and he took a step back, letting Wayne take over the interrogation. "Yeah, you know what, I want to check and make sure he doesn't have anyone else tied up in his secret lab before I set fire to the place. You just… do your thing," he said.

Wayne took a hold of the doctor and nodded. "Take your time." He pulled the guy to his feet and was glaring daggers — though Clint didn't miss the fact that he didn't actually _do_ or _say_ anything until Clint himself had left the area. Like he was protecting Clint's innocence — which in itself was a ridiculous notion, considering his day job, but hey, whatever.

Clint shook his head to himself as he made a quick sweep of the lab area, this time at least taking the time to take pictures for Coulson so that he could corroborate his report on the whole setup. He checked for any hidden away rooms and made sure to shout as loud as he could in case someone was hidden even deeper.

But once it was clear that everyone was _out_ — and Scott and Barbara both were out on the lawn with the remainder of the kids — Clint simply found himself a kerosene lamp, broke it, and started up a good fire.

He wasn't going to take any chances that someone else might step in and continue the lab work in this place, after all.

The fire was starting to show in the slight smoke in the floors above the labs when Clint got outside — just in time to see the doctor slip out of his coat and make a dash for freedom away from Bruce. He had a hitch in his step, but it looked like Wayne was limping too.

"Yeah, that's not happening," Clint muttered to himself, rushing forward with his bow in hand before he simply put two arrows through the man's back and dropped him on the spot. He nodded to himself at the shot before he made his way over to Wayne. "What, couldn't keep the creep down? Too slippery?"

"He kicked my knee out," Wayne growled out, clutching the jacket that the doctor had been wearing. "Went for the cheap shot."

Clint frowned at that. "Well, he's dead. We'll have SHIELD ID him when they get here, but for now, probably need to get the body off the lawn. I _may_ have started a fire. Which will probably attract attention."

But Wayne was going through the jacket and frowning hard at the skull and tentacled symbol inside of it. "Your superior officer will want to see this," Wayne said.

Clint matched his frown as he leaned over to see what had Wayne's attention, and then he swore creatively under his breath. "Hydra," he said in a tone that suggested it was just as bad as all the words used before.

Wayne looked out across the lawn and seemed to weigh it out. "We should get them settled in before the Sentinels show up." He got to his feet, though he stumbled slightly when he tried to put weight on his injured knee.

"Yeah… you're not going anywhere without help," Clint said as he put his shoulder under Wayne's arm.

"I can help," Scott said from across the lawn, where he'd been standing by the gate for at least part of the conversation. He simply headed toward them before either could react and took over for Clint. "Might make more sense if he's not seen here — even if the kids are."

Clint looked toward the kid for a minute before he nodded. "Great. You get him to Wayne Manor, and I'll take care of the creep," he said. "Mac Hudson's further out in the treeline, and he'll direct you on where to go from here. We've cleared a pretty quiet path, and I bet if you ask nice, he'll call in the report on the fire too. At least then we'll have a reason for the kids to be at the manor, right?"

"I'll let him know about the fire," Scott said. "Mac's quick enough to handle whatever he needs to cover."

Clint nodded. "Alright. See you at the big house!" He waved them both off cheerfully before he simply turned to go gather the creep and then turn to his comm to let the SHIELD team know the plans had changed just a little bit.


	107. Chapter 106: Step Up From Gotham Gazette

**(A/N): Happy Tuesday! As was mentioned in the previous chapter, we are down to our final eight, and that means interviews. We asked abrokencastiel to come back and do this part again because she knocked it out of the park so hard last time, so enjoy!**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed this most recent and other chapters. We love to hear from you all the way down the line!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Six: Step Up From the Gotham Gazette**

 **Vicki Vale**

 **Top Eight Interviews**

 **Written by abrokencastiel**

* * *

" _Family problems come in all shapes and sizes; some are short-lived and easily managed, while others are more chronic and difficult to handle." - Unknown_

* * *

 **District Four**

* * *

Vicki Vale checked her makeup one last time as the jet landed at their first stop: District Four. She'd been able to convince them to avoid Seven for the time being, though that had been their original fist stop. With Dick in the hands of Jack and Harper being hunted down, it was only a matter of time before one of them died. She just hoped it would be the former first. She didn't want to talk about one of the top eight being a broken and practically dead boy. It was hard to talk that up as an accomplishment when his every moment was essentially a gift from his captor.

"Ms. Vale, you ready?" The cameraman knocked on the bathroom door. "We need to get going."

She flashed a quick smile at herself, hoping it came across as genuine and confident, before opening the door. Her blonde hair curled just above her shoulders, and she fluffed it to the perfect amount of body. "Ready as I'll ever be, Gary."

The man smiled and adjusted his blue and white baseball cap. "Don't worry; you'll do great." He glanced at his watch. "But we do really need to go."

He led the way outside. Vicki blinked and tried to block the sunlight with one hand as they joined a Sentinel, who nodded curtly in greeting. "Welcome to District Four. This way." He led them to a car and closed the door for her once she'd entered.

She drummed her fingers against her knee as she watched the landscape pass. Glints of ocean through the houses caught her eye. "Are we going to the beach?" she asked.

"No, Hippolyta's house is up the way. We'll be there soon."

The car turned away from the possibility of ocean and moved upward. The house that came into view would have easily fit in the Victor's Village with its impressive stature. White walls shone in the sunlight and stood out beautifully against the ocean blue. The car stopped, and the Sentinel led the way to the large door. Before he could knock, it opened, revealing an equally beautiful entryway and a woman that stood a good six inches taller than Vicki.

"Welcome." The woman nodded in greeting. "I am Hippolyta Prince. I assume you are here about Diana?"

Vicki gave her winning smile and offered her hand. "Vicki Vale. This is Gary. We won't take much of your time."

"Of course." She motioned for them to enter. The Sentinel stayed outside, facing out to the ocean and standing at attention.

Vicki walked as confidently as she could as the woman led them to a room with large windows and a table. A little girl doodled at the table, and her head jerked up as they entered. Her sharp gaze quickly took them in.

"Donna, we have company."

Vicki approached and crouched down to Donna's eye level. "Hi, Donna. My name's Vicki. I just have a few questions about your big sis."

"Are you going to ask about Kaldur?" Donna's dark gaze bored into Vicki. "Because she didn't murder him."

"Wow. Okay." She stood and brushed her blonde hair behind one ear. "Um, Gary, how about we get set up."

"Already good to go." Gary gave a thumbs up over the camera. "If you two want to sit across from each other at the table, it'd make for an interesting shot."

Hippolyta sat next to her daughter as Vicki arranged herself opposite them."I believe you're supposed to ask me a question," the woman said after a few moments of silence.

"Right! Yes. Ahem." Vicki straightened her shoulders and faced the camera. "Vicki Vale here with the family of Diana Prince. Ms. Prince, it is a pleasure to meet you."

"Why is she talking like that?" Donna asked, her nose scrunching. "It sounds weird."

"Donna," Hippolyta warned. "Be respectful."

 _This is going great_. Vicki jumped into her first question before the little girl could say anything else. "Diana has large shoes to fill coming from the district of the first victor, especially after the letdown of both of Odin's children from last Games. Do you feel like she has been representing Four appropriately?"

The proud woman folded her hands in front of her. "Diana is stronger than any of us could ever hope to be."

"She is super strong," Donna interjected. "She can beat Aunt Antiope in a fight. Sometimes."

"Yes, she can," Hippolyta agreed. "But she also is stronger in more ways than that. She has already shown the strength of Four by doing what needed to be done on more than one occasion."

"You're referring to her killing Kaldur."

"Among other things."

"It was an interesting tactic, first trying to save the boy before killing him herself. She really was able to play the hero while stealing a kill from Harper Row."

Hippolyta's eyes narrowed. "Killing is not something to be done lightly. Diana wasn't stealing a kill, as you so callously assumed. She also wasn't playing anything. Her actions honored a child of the sea." Her gaze drifted to the windows where the ocean glittered. Gary followed her line of sight. "Kaldur was born for the ocean — and he was always meant to return. Diana took him home."

Vicki waited what she hoped was an appropriate amount of time. "Honor is a large part of your culture here in Four, I take it?"

Hippolyta nodded, returning her focus to Vicki. "Is it not a part of all people? In some fashion, do we all not wish to remain our true selves, even in times of adversity? That is the truth of honor."

"I see." Gary gave Vicki a small cough, the signal they were running short on time. "Last question. Do you believe Diana will win?"

"Yes!" Donna immediately cried out. "Of course she's going to win. Then she's going to teach me how to beat Aunt Antiope."

Donna's mother placed a hand on her shoulder and responded in a much calmer tone. "She will do what she must. I believe that she can win. She is stronger than than I could ever be, even if she does not yet know it. The path she chooses is for herself, and where it will lead is something only she would know."

Vicki nodded slowly, waiting until Gary gave the all clear and began to pack his equipment. "Thank you, Ms. Prince. I hope your daughter lives up to the high expectations of Four." She hesitated a moment, feeling that she should say something more. "I'd love to get an interview with her after her victory."

A humorless chuckle escaped Hippolyta. "Do not patronize my family, Ms. Vale." There was no venom behind her words. "We both know that there are no true winners in these Games." She led them to the front door in silence. Donna followed and stood with her mother at the door as they watched the Capitolites depart. Vicki gave her a small wave, but the girl stubbornly stood with crossed arms.

"That kid is quite opinionated," Gary broke the silence. "Not the easiest interview to start out on — but definitely not the worst I've seen."

Vicki gave him a noncommittal grunt in response.

"Don't stress, Miss Vale. There's always a few tough ones. It takes a while to get an idea of how to handle them."

"I'm not stressed, just thinking about the next interview." Heat was creeping up her cheeks, and she quickly turned to look out the window. The light reflecting off the water really was beautiful.

* * *

 **District Eleven**

* * *

The flight to Eleven was filled with Vicki practicing her questions in the mirror. She'd gotten lucky that Hippolyta had been relatively patient, but Vicki knew that her "hard-hitting" questions had fallen flat. She needed to get everything perfect this next round, or she'd waste her opportunity. Tivan's unfortunate downfall, Patsy's rise to stardom, and more than a little wining and dining on her part, topped off by that quick, impromptu interview with the new victor, had all culminated in her chance to prove herself as a real reporter ready for the big time.

Two Sentinels met the jet, and their ready guns made Vicki pause momentarily. She hid the fact by checking her purse and pulling out a pair of sunglasses. The men ushered them into the car with short welcomes.

The air was heavy and humid, making Vicki wish she had brought extra hairspray and antiperspirant. Hopefully, the Isley house would be air conditioned. The small home they pulled up to didn't offer much promise.

The man who answered the door was mousy and avoided eye contact with the Sentinels. "May I help you?"

"Hi, Mr. Isley? I'm Vicki Vale, I'm here to interview you about your daughter." Vicki smiled warmly.

"Of course, of course." He stepped to the side and allowed the group to enter. One of the Sentinels stayed by the door, while the other followed them inside. "Please, have a seat. I'll fetch my wife."

Vicki perched on a sofa. The rough fabric made the backs of her legs itch. The man returned quickly with his wife on his arm. He sat her in a rocking chair and stood behind her. "Hello, Mrs. Isley," Vicki said once they were settled.

"You can call us Moss and Yarrow." His drooping eyes were untouched by his smile.

"It's very nice to meet both of you. I promise we won't take up much of your time." Vicki adjusted her skirt slightly while she waited for Gary to give her the go-ahead. "Your daughter has become quite a symbol in the Games," she began once the cameraman gave her a thumbs up. "Many of us were shocked by the drastic change in Pamela's appearance. Who would have thought that the girl we saw Reaped would become such a stand-out in more ways than one?"

Moss shifted his feet. "Yes, Pam has come into her own." His lips twitched ever so slightly. "It's nice to see her making friends." Yarrow seemed on the verge of tears.

"Speaking of friends, she has quite the relationship going with Harley Quinn. The two seem very close. How do you feel about Pam teaming up with her?"

"We're glad she found a place. Harley is helping her." Moss's voice was quiet.

Vicki leaned forward. Her natural instincts sensed a story. "What is Harley helping her with? Do you mean the Games?"

"Yes," Moss said at the same time Yarrow said "No."

"I'm sorry, I'm a bit confused. Was there something else going on with Pam?" she pressed.

"It's just..." Yarrow spoke with a waver to her voice. "Ever since…. It's been so difficult for her. She's grown so distant. But now I can sometimes see her." A few tears leaked down the woman's face.

"Sometimes, we can see the old Pam," Moss clarified, squeezing his wife's shoulders.

"I see." Vicki gave the pair a moment. She wanted to delve more into the girl's past, but she had other topics to cover. "Pam has shown an affinity to plants, more so than usual — even for a tribute from Eleven."

"Yes." Moss nodded. "That's what she loved. Loves. She would spend hours with the plants. She was especially gifted with the Poison Patch."

"Interesting name. Does this mean we can expect to see her implement poison in the future?"

Yarrow's hands scrunched up the front of her dress. "Poison Patch is just a name. They're actually very helpful plants. Used properly, they can heal."

"But they can be used for killing."

"Pam wouldn't." Yarrow bowed her head and quietly sobbed.

Moss stood up straighter, though his shoulders were still hunched. "She would if she had to. She's a survivor. She'll come back."

Vicki took a breath before her last question. "Do you think she'll win?"

Yarrow's sobs became loud and wailing. She turned to press her face into her husband's stomach, clutching at his shirt.

"She'll come back. She'll come back," Moss repeated as he rubbed his wife's back. "She'll come back."

Vicki stood and nodded to Gary. "We'll show ourselves out. Thank you for your time." She led the way to the exit. Gary scrambled to pack up the camera and catch up with the Sentinel following. The one that had waited outside opened the car door for Vicki, and she slipped in swiftly.

The Sentinels talked quietly up front. Vicki and Gary remained silent until they were back on the jet.

* * *

 **District Eight**

* * *

A clock ticked softly in the quiet home. The immaculate living room didn't seem like the home of the eccentric Harley Quinn. Vicki observed the plain couple that sat across from her. Neither reminded her of the girl. The closest resemblance was the woman's straight blonde hair that was pulled into a reserved ponytail at the base of her neck.

"Harleen was such a sweet child," Mrs. Quinzel was saying.

"Yes," her husband agreed. "Very sweet. A perfect angel."

"And then she started hanging out with those thugs," she spat the word.

"You mean Jack Hamill?" Vicki asked.

Mr. Quinzel snorted. "Is that what he's going by these days? What a lark."

"You know, he was always trouble." Mrs. Quinzel leaned forward conspiratorially. "He murdered his parents."

"Sharon," Mr. Quinzel warned.

Mrs. Quinzel shot a look at her husband and adjusted her glasses on her nose. "Of course, that's just gossip. But I wouldn't be surprised. You've seen how he's acted in the arena."

"Harley has done her fair share." Vicki attempted to steer the conversation back to their daughter.

The father's eyes narrowed. "Yes, _Harleen_ has done quite a bit."

"She really has terrible taste in friends." Her mother shook her head sadly. "We did try hard to raise a good girl, but children these days, you know?"

"Can't do anything with them," Mr. Quinzel agreed.

"I see." Vicki sighed and crossed her legs. "One last question. How far do you see Harley going in the Games?"

The parents exchanged a look before Mr. Quinzel gave an answer. "Honestly, we tune in every night expecting her to be gone."

"But she keeps surprising us." Mrs. Quinzel smiled. "She always was good at that."

Vicki gave her own quick smile. "How very enlightening. Thank you for your time."

The pair left the house with Vicki practically steaming. The door barely closed before she started venting to Gary.

"It's like they don't even care! Wouldn't you care if your daughter was in the Games and made it this far?" She got in the car and waved her hand back at the house. "At least have a little pride in your child's accomplishments."

"We certainly have quite the spread this year." Gary cradled his camerabag in his lap while the Sentinel drove them to the next location.

"I'll say." Vicki checked her makeup in her compact mirror. "I'm getting whiplash from these interviews."

A chuckle from the driver's seat drew her attention. "Just you wait until you meet the Joker's. . . family."

"Are they as crazy as he is?" Gary's grip tightened on his bag.

"No, no one's as crazy as him, but they try to be."

The nicer neighborhood of the Quinzels gave way to a more rundown area. Flashes of graffiti caught Vicki's eye as they drove past.

"Just stay close to the Sentinels. I don't think the boys will give us any trouble, since you're talking about their leader. Still, don't say anything that might offend them."

The car stopped outside a rickety house. Six Sentinels were already waiting at the door.

"Anything you don't want stolen, you should leave here." The Sentinel exited the car and joined the waiting group.

"This looks promising," Gary mumbled. He took out his camera and left the bag in his seat. "We went to an abandoned house last year, too."

"Fascinating," Vicki absentmindedly replied. Her gaze was held by the massive amount of graffiti tags that covered the house. The art varied, but all were accented by a grinning smile.

"Ms. Vale." A woman stepped up and offered her hand. "My name's Renee Montoya. I'm the Head Sentinel. Against my better judgement, I'm going to allow you to interview the Jokerz. You will have five minutes at the most. The minute something goes wrong, you put your head down and get the hell out."

"You mean if, right?" Gary asked.

"Sure. If." Renee glanced at the camera he was clutching. "If it comes down to it, be ready to abandon the camera." She turned to the house and banged on the door as Gary's grip turned white.

The door creaked open slightly. "Password?"

"Bob, open up or I'll call a raid."

A giggle. "Oh, too bad. That was yesterday's password."

Vicki stepped forward. "I'm Vicki Vale. I'm here to interview you about Jack Hamill."

The door opened suddenly, revealing a large man with clown makeup. "Interview about the boss? Well, why didn't you say so! Come on in." He turned and called deeper into the house. "Hey, Jokerz, the doll here wants to interview us about the boss!"

Renee led the way inside. It took a moment for Vicki's eyes to adjust to the darker interior. At least a couple dozen males ranging from young teenagers to older adults were scattered around the area. Some peered down from holes in the second floor, a handful were camped on the stairs, and the rest filled the ground floor. All of them stared at the newcomers.

"Five minutes," Renee reminded her. Vicki didn't think they would make it that long.

"Hello," she began, stepping forward slightly. "I just have a few questions about Jack, er, the Joker."

A cheer went up around the place at the mention of his name.

"What would you like to know?" the man, Bob, asked.

"Joker seems to be doing very well in the Games'; we just want to get to know him a little better."

"Of course he's doing well!" Bob exclaimed. "He's the boss! Ain't that right, fellas?"

The cry of agreement made Vicki jump.

"Let me tell you about the Joker." Bob stepped up so he was standing right in front of her. "He's the meanest, toughest, smartest tribute you've ever seen. The Games don't know what hit 'em."

"Did ya see the first kill he did?" A teenager stood up on a table to gain attention. "He tore that wimp limb from limb." Another cry of encouragement. "He got the first kill of the Games."

"And he's going to get the last!" Bob agreed, raising a fist in the air.

Vicki practically shouted to be heard again. "So, you aren't surprised with how well he's doing?"

"What do you mean surprised?" a man to their left asked. "You sayin' he shouldn't have done this well?" A ripple of unrest went through the crowd. Renee unclipped her gun.

"Calm down," Bob ordered with a wide smile. "The little lady didn't mean anything by it. She's just trying to ask questions. Right, sweetheart?"

Vicki nodded wordlessly.

Bob chuckled. "No, we aren't surprised. See, we've seen seen Joker's handiwork firsthand. We know what he's capable of."

There was only a slight hesitation before she asked her next question. "He's killed before?"

Bob laughed, and the rest of the gang joined in. "You know, Vicki, I think Joker would like you. He has a type, you see, and since that bimbo's gone and betrayed him, we're going to have an opening. How'd you feel about joinin' a growing enterprise? Our numbers have really grown since Joker's debut in the Games."

Before Vicki could answer, a noise from the basement reached them. A tense silence pervaded the room.

"Damn rats." Bob smiled. "Can't do nothin' with them. They've gotten especially bad now that Joker's out of town, but we're doing our best to keep the pests under control." He whistled, and a dog emerged from behind a large chair at the back of the room. "Luckily, we have the best rat catcher this side of Marvel. Come on, Ace, go down there and make that rat shut up." Bob ushered the dog down the stairs and locked the door behind it. Mumbled growling and screeches reached them.

"I think it's time we go," Renee said. She stepped in front of the Capitolite interview crew and motioned for everyone to back up.

"We'll see you soon, Montoya." Bob waved as everyone left. "And hopefully you'll visit once Joker's crowned victor, Vicki." The laughter of the gang followed the group out the door.

"Get them to the jet as quick as you can," Renee ordered their driver. "Then get back here. We'll need all hands on deck. I'm calling in for back up." She nodded a farewell to Vicki and Gary as the car pulled away.

* * *

 **District Twelve**

* * *

"What are the standings?" Vicki asked as the car stopped at the Anders' house.

"Seven is still alive," Gary said after a quick glance at his phone. "At this rate, we're going to have to interview everyone."

Vicki groaned and rubbed her temples. "This is exhausting. How did Patsy do it? How do _you_ do it?"

Gary shrugged and smiled slightly. "You get used to it."

"You keep saying that." Vicki walked to the door and gave it a quick knock. She shook herself to relieve a bit of the stress in her shoulders.

A dark-haired girl opened the door and gave the Capitolites a quick once-over. She smirked and turned away as she called into the house. "Mother, Father, the Capitol has arrived."

Vicki glanced at Gary before they followed. The house was well-kept and decorated with things that Vicki would have used in her own place. The girl led them to a sitting room and pointed at a couch. "They will be here soon. No doubt they will love talking about their golden child."

"You must be Kory's sister." Vicki maintained her smile.

"Yes. I am Komander." She brushed her hair behind her ear.

"I'll have a few questions for you as well, if you don't mind."

Komander smiled in a way that made Vicki falter. "Of course. Why not waste my family's precious time."

The parents walked in and warmly greeted Gary and Vicki with resembled Kory greatly, unlike her pale sister. "It is a pleasure to meet you," the father said. "I am Lu, and this is my wife, Mya. You have already met Kammie, I presume."

"Yes, we were just getting acquainted. We won't take long," Vicki assured him. "I'm sure you have things to do."

"Nonsense," Mya said. "We do not mind at all. Ask us anything you need."

Kammie's eyeroll went unnoticed by her parents.

"Right. Well, first I want to congratulate you on how well Kory is doing."

Lu and Mya beamed. "She is making us proud," Lu said.

"She is so strong. We have much faith in her."

"She is a good daughter."

"The most perfect daughter," Komander's words bit through the air.

Vicki's gaze lingered on the girl. "I see. Are you surprised with how well she's done?"

"Kory is capable," Lu said. "I am not surprised she has been so resourceful."

"Neither am I," Mya agreed.

The girl laughed shortly. "She is a manipulator."

"Kammie," Lu warned.

"She brings up a good point," Vicki jumped on the opportunity. "Young love has become a theme in the Games of recent years. Do you think Kory is actually in love with Dick Grayson, or do you think she's simply using him to get what she needs?"

Mya's face fell at the thought of her daughter lying about her feelings. "Never. She would not do such a thing."

"Please," Kammie broke in. "She did it all the time while she was here. Every week, she used her looks to get a boy to do her bidding. There is no difference now. She is simply using him. Now that he is dying, he is of no use. She will leave him."

"Komander!" This time it was Mya who exclaimed. "I think it is time for you to go. You have said quite enough." She dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve after her daughter left. "She means not what she says," Mya sniffled. "She is simply upset that her sister is not with us."

"Of course," Vicki soothed her. "My last question is: do you think Kory will win?"

Mya's previous composure broke, and tears began to run down her face unchecked. "I am sorry," she sobbed. "I do not know what has come over me."

Lu held his wife's hand. "We believe in Kory. She continues to make us proud. She will come home."

Vicki stood and shook the Anders' hands. "Thank you both for your time. Thank Kammie for me as well, if you will."

"I will pass on your sentiments," Lu assured her as he led them to the front door. The Sentinel started the car as they came into view. "Are you leaving Twelve now?"

"No, we have an appointment with the Constantine family."

"Ah," Lu said. His smile became a bit strained for a second. "Please give them our regards." He waited until the car was driving away before closing the door.

Gary kept his camera out for the short drive. "Could be just me, but that girl didn't seem at all upset her sister was in the Games."

"No." Vicki nodded. "She seemed more upset Kory was still alive."

"Makes me glad I'm an only child." Gary grinned.

The house of John Constantine was in the poorer part of Twelve. Half of the houses looked uninhabitable, and the rest barely so. A few dirty children played outside, and as they drove past the road to the mine, Vicki caught sight of the dirt-covered miners on their way home from a shift. The Constantine house didn't stand out from the others. It was the same level of decrepit — if not a bit moreso.

The blonde young woman who opened the door appeared surprised at first.

"Hi," Vicki greeted her after a beat. "We're here to interview you about—"

"Who is it?" a man's voice called from somewhere in the house.

"About John, right?" the girl at the door confirmed. "You should come in, I suppose." She led the way to a small living room, where a man sat watching the Games on the television. "Dad, they're here to ask us about John."

"Really?" The man looked the pair up and down with emotionless eyes. "Well, then, let's get this over with. Name's Thomas. This is my daughter, Cheryl." He flipped off the television and sat forward.

"It's good to meet you, Mr. Constantine."

"Don't patronize me, lady," the man warned. "Ask your questions, then get gone."

"Alright then." Vicki sighed shortly. "Are you surprised by how far John has made it?"

"No," Thomas said finitely.

"I'm glad he's made it so far," Cheryl helpfully supplied. "He's my little brother, and I couldn't be more thrilled he's doing so well."

Vicki smiled her thanks. "He's managed to team up with one of the favorites this year. That's quite a surprise to have a Career team up with one of the outer districts."

"It happened last year," Cheryl pointed out.

"Yes, but they had a sibling connection. John seems to have just fallen into luck with Diana."

"She'll regret that," Thomas snorted.

"Dad," Cheryl tried to cut him off, but Vicki pressed.

"Why's that?"

"Because the kid's a murderer. He's killed before; he'll kill again. Killed his own mom."

"Dad!" Cheryl raised her hands plaintively to the camera. "Mom died in childbirth; he didn't kill her."

"Oh, he killed her." Thomas stared at his hands dangling between his knees. "And if he's not careful, he'll kill Cheryl, too."

"Dad," Cheryl said softer. She turned back to Vicki. "I'm sorry. Are we almost done?"

"Almost. Do you believe John will win?" Vicki ignored the laugh from Thomas.

Cheryl swallowed and sniffed, though she didn't cry. "I told him he had to, and he told me he'd do his best. His best will get him back home. He'll make it."

"I've been hoping he'd die for years. He hasn't listened yet; I doubt he'll listen now," Thomas spoke up, making his daughter wince.

"Thank you both for your time." Vicki stood and hesitated. "The Anders family gives their best. I just came from their interview."

A loud laugh echoed from Thomas. "Their best, oh, that's rich. A rich joke from the rich." He continued to laugh as Cheryl led them back out.

* * *

 **Somewhere Over Marvel**

* * *

"Do you want the good news or the bad news?" Gary asked.

"Um, good news?"

"We only have to go to one more house."

"Oh no."

"Yep. Harper was taken out." He held up his tablet to show the replay of the finishing blow. "Looks like we just have District Seven and the Wayne household."

Vicki groaned and let her head fall back against her head rest.

* * *

 **District Seven**

* * *

The house was as grand as she could have imagined. The Capitol didn't often pay attention to dwellers of the districts, so the fact Bruce Wayne had earned a reputation with the higher ups meant he was more than just well to do. Vicki had met him once before at a gala event. It had been beyond embarrassing.

An older man greeted them at the entrance with a child hanging on either hand and a third peering around his legs. "Ah, Miss Vale. Pleasure to see you. I'm Alfred, Master Wayne's butler. My apologies, sir, but I was not informed of your name."

"Gary." The cameraman raised a hand in greeting. He waggled his fingers at the children, making the one hiding behind the butler's legs giggle.

"Very well. This way, if you please." He led them through the long hallway past many doors. The laughter of children seeming to echo from every direction. A pair raced along the hall, pushing past Vicki and bouncing in front of Alfred.

"Alfred, can we get cookies? We promise we won't tell if you give us some — and we'll eat all of our dinner," they begged.

Alfred bent down and stage-whispered to the pair. "I must take Master Wayne's guests to his office, but if you two are very good and wait for me in the kitchen, I will be there momentarily. Remember, no running in the halls."

The pari nodded enthusiastically as they hopped between their feet. "We'll be real good," one of them promised as they walked as fast as they could down the hall.

"There was a recent incident at an orphanage," Alfred informed the confused Capitolites. "Master Wayne was kind enough to grant the children stay at his house."

They finally arrived at a large office, where Bruce Wayne sat at a huge desk with two children watching over his elbow. Alfred cleared his throat. "Master Wayne, may I present Miss Vale and Master Gary."

"Of course, welcome." Bruce stood, dropping his papers on the desk and ushering the children around to the front of the desk. "Sorry about the mess. I recently got back into town, and there's a lot of work to catch up on."

Vicki didn't miss the dark circles under the man's eyes. It couldn't be easy to have two children in the Games. "I'm sorry for the intrusion. We will make this fast, I assure you." She shook his hand, hoping he didn't remember her from their last meeting.

"Have a seat. Alfred, would you mind?" Bruce motioned to the children.

"Right away, sir." Alfred held out a hand, and the kids joined him, bringing the number of ducks following him up to five — plus the two who were waiting in the kitchen. "Why don't we get a snack and then play in the garden?"

"You've got your hands full." Vicki motioned to the door Alfred closed.

Bruce chuckled. "It would be worse if I didn't have Alfred. He has a way with the kids."

"It certainly seems so." Vicki adjusted herself in the seat. "We can go ahead and begin, if you would like. That way, you can get back to your work." She waited for a confirming nod before beginning. "Mr. Wayne—"

"Please, call me Bruce."

"Bruce, to start off, let's address the elephant in the room. What is it like to have two children in the Games at once?"

Bruce's blue eyes took on a sadder expression. "It is incredibly difficult. No one who hasn't been in the position could understand."

"At the same time, you must be proud," Vicki said carefully. "Both of them have made it to the top eight, after all."

"I would be proud of them no matter how they did."

"As any good parent would say." Vicki smiled. "But, between us, you must have a favorite to win."

The man was taken aback for a second. "How would I choose between my children?"

"Well," Vicki said, shifting uncomfortably. "Not to state the obvious, but only one of them is your flesh and blood."

"Miss Vale," he said coldly. "I will only say this once. Dick is as much my child as Helena. I love them equally and would sacrifice myself before either of them if I had the choice."

"I didn't mean to offend," Vicki said. "Speaking of Dick, how are you feeling with the current predicament he is in?"

The muscles of Bruce's jaw twitched. "I would not count Dick out of the fight yet. He has a way of getting out of things."

"You must admit his situation is particularly dire," Vicki pressed. She brushed a stray hair behind her ear. "I hate to say it, but if I were in the practice of betting, I would say he's the next death to expect."

"I am not in the habit of abandoning my family." Bruce folded his hands on the desk in front of him.

"In fact, it seems you may be in the habit of gaining family. To outsiders, it might seem like you're replacing." She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. "I mean, um." She fell silent, struggling to find a way to turn the statement around.

"Perhaps to some." Bruce's words were measured. "Those who understand love and family will clearly see that what I'm doing is giving these children a chance at having just that. A heart grows as you bring others into your life. If you simply replace those you love, then you never truly loved them to begin with."

Vicki needed to wrap up the trainwreck of an interview before she put her foot in her mouth any more. "Last question — do you think either of your children will win?"

"Of course I do." Bruce stood and gave her an easy smile. "I hate to push, but I do have work to do." He led them back through the halls and to the entryway. The place seemed desolate with the children and Alfred outside.

"Thank you for your time." She shook his hand in parting.

"Always a pleasure, Miss Vale. It was good to see you again."

Vicki felt her face flush. "Yes. Goodbye." She turned on her heel and speedily walked away.

Gary jogged to catch up. "Smooth, Vick. Very smooth."

"Oh, shut up." She got in the car and slammed the door, turning away from Gary as he got in.

"Touchy. Fine, I won't bring up tall, dark, and handsome," he chuckled. "In other news, you have officially completed your tour of Marvel — and you did a pretty good job for your first time out. How does it feel?"

Her heart fluttered for a moment. A weight lifted with the realization she was done with her interviews, and she suddenly felt incredibly tired. "I could sleep for three days."

Gary laughed. "No rest for the wicked. We've got to get all of this edited and sent out before the next tribute kicks the bucket. This is where the actual hard work comes in."

Vicki groaned good-naturedly. _Next year will be easier_ , she thought.


	108. Chapter 107: Cry For Help

**A/N - Good Morning and Welcome back! I sincerely hope that if you are hockey fans, you joined Silmarilz1701 in an AMAZING victory dance last night as her Washington Captiols won their very first Stanley Cup! And if you're not - you missed a great game.**

 **But to business! Many thanks to our collab writers who took the time to review their peers, and to SlimSummers2002 - your reviews had us cracking up! Yes, we have a lot of girl power working in this final eight! Speaking of ... kicking off our final eight today is Kory Anders, written as always by the ever-so-talented Unlucky Alis! It's all happening fast, now - you don't want to miss any of it!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Seven - Cry for Help**

 **Morning Nine**

 **Kory Anders of District Twelve**

 **Written by Unlucky Alis**

* * *

 _"A shout for help isn't always a cry of pain; sometimes it is a hymn of praise."_

— Joyce Rachelle

* * *

Kory wavered on the edge of the asylum, sinking to her knees before she could accidentally tumble the wrong way. The warmth of the swamp coiled around her, blanketing her senses and lulling her to sleep — or at least trying to. She'd had many sleepless nights back in Twelve, exploring the district at its quietest hours, but the day after, she would usually steal away for a short rest before her tutors arrived. She didn't have that option anymore.

Now, as the sun crept above the trees and the shadows retreated, she pushed against the wall of drowsiness that was pressing on her mind. She couldn't sleep, not when Dick needed her.

He'd been trapped in that room with that maniac for hours, and Kory was wracking her brain trying to think of a way to get him out. But she couldn't help him if she couldn't think, and there was no way she would leave this place without him. Not when it was all her fault. Any one of them could have set off the trap that had the floor crumbling beneath them, but in the end, it was her. Dick had probably saved her life when he shoved her away. And now she was struggling to save him in return.

She hated it, feeling so helpless. What was the point of all her training if she couldn't rescue the boy she loved? She was mad. At Jack, for hurting Dick like he was, for just _being_ Jack. At the Okaarans, for not preparing her for this. At the Capitol, for being the root of all problems — it was terribly ironic she wouldn't have fallen in love with Dick if it weren't for them. She was mad at Dick, for saving her when he could have — _should have_ — saved himself. But most of all, she was mad at herself for not being good enough.

Kory's hands sank into the soft earth on the edge of the broken asphalt lining the path to the asylum, her palms slipping in the mud. She almost fell into the water, her whole body lurching as her right hand lost its purchase and plunged into the shallow depths. She caught herself at the last moment, her other hand jumping to the asphalt, ragged nails catching on the pocked surface. Her nose hovered inches above the water, hair pooling on the murky surface, her wavering reflection staring back at her.

She looked terrible. Streaks of dirt and blood were smeared across her cheeks, tear tracks cutting through them. She licked her lips, tasting salt from her sweat and tears. Shivering despite the heat, her eyelids started to droop and, before she could tumble forward, she took a deep breath and threw her head in the water, bubbles streaming from her mouth as she screamed in frustration.

Kory was strong, stronger than most people realized. But she was also weaker than _she_ realized, relying on this wall she didn't even realize she was building up. A shield of casual flirting and teasing kisses that separated her from everyone else. Until now. Until the Games. Until _Dick_. And at some point, that shield disappeared, but now every blow she took could only hurt her, and she was moments away from shattering.

She dragged herself out of the water when her lungs started to burn, gasping for breath as the weight of her sopping hair pulled her head down. The warm swamp wasn't half as shocking as a bath full of ice water, but it was available, and that was good enough. Kory tossed her head, her hair slapping against her back, rivulets of water running down her jacket, gathering above the waistband of her pants. She didn't bother wringing it out or dragging her fingers through her tangled locks. Something as trivial as the state of her hair could wait until after Dick was safe.

She splashed her face a few more times, rubbing her cheeks before cleaning off her hands and rising to her feet. She could still feel sleep pulling on her mind, but the water helped. She turned back to the asylum, listening carefully, and the oppressing silence of the surrounding area almost made her flinch. At first, she thought she would never hear anything worse than Dick's screaming.

She was wrong.

At least when Dick was screaming, she knew he was breathing. If he was breathing, he was alive. But at some point, in the dead of night, a cannon went off, and the silence had stretched ever since, broken only by her own labored breathing and a little voice in the back of her mind whispering _he's dead_.

The fact that nothing had come to retrieve his body was only a mild relief. She knew the transport couldn't come until Jack was finished with what he was doing… until the Capitol could see their story come to its tragic end. Still, she refused to accept Dick was dead until she could see his corpse.

It took all she had not to go charging into the asylum. She already knew that tactic wouldn't work. Her aches and bruises and little cuts spoke of those failures.

The asylum had one open entrance. Kory's careful probing of the area only served to set off a few of Jack's traps their trio miraculously avoided their first time through. She managed to avoid serious injury and hadn't gone back to that route yet. Forget not being able to think — if she was dead, she couldn't do _anything._

The thought of Dick in anguish spurred her on, pumping fresh adrenaline in her veins, urging her to find Jack and _kill him_ , to hold Dick close whether he was breathing or not. The Okaaran creed she held in her heart did not speak of vengeance, but it spoke of crushing your enemies; if Dick was dead, she wouldn't have any allies left.

Kory stumbled towards the asylum, ready to start her hundredth — hundred and first? hundred and fiftieth? — patrol of the surrounding area. She had to be missing something, some way in that her sleep-deprived brain refused to acknowledge. She was more exhausted than she should be and blamed it all on the emotional wear and tear spurred by last night's light show.

She had almost missed it, more concerned with the task at hand, but with all the cannons that went off, she had to look. It was the first time she could see the light show as it was meant to be seen, projected onto the sky. The open space around the asylum provided a wealthy break in the trees to see it.

Seeing Thea's face splashed across the stars first was a crushing blow. One of the things that kept Kory calm was thinking the girls were still out there, waiting for them. Jason's picture joining the rest wasn't a surprise. She hadn't heard him scream in hours, but it hurt nonetheless. She had liked him; he was a worthy friend. And then Raven followed right after him, and Kory knew it was just her and Dick.

Now, maybe it was just her.

But after Jack's mocking last night, she was certain he wouldn't let Dick slip away in silence, not without seeing the pain in her gaze first. It sickened her, knowing that one of the few things that could reassure her was Jack's twisted mind.

Kory gave the back corner of the building a wide berth, eying a pile of crumbled bricks that had almost crushed her one of the first times around. It wasn't Jack's most creative trap, but it was definitely a deadly one, and very well hidden. Her toe had barely nudged a loose rock before she heard the bricks bouncing against the wall on their descent, and she threw herself out of their path just in the nick of time. She landed badly on her wrist, but the pain had faded to a dull twinge as the hours passed.

As she circled around the back of the building, a noise reached her ears, and she froze. An energetic humming, the first voice Kory heard since Jack's, came from the treeline. Honestly, she was surprised no one had come sooner. Before the silence, Dick's piercing screams were like a beacon. Or a warning.

Kory quickly decided the trees were the only place to hide. She darted forward, throwing herself behind the thickest trunk she could find and peering through the split in the tree. She saw a flash of color — blue — and heard a solid _thunk_ , followed by a splash and a giddy giggle. There was only one person she could think of when combining all of that.

Harley Quinn.

The twin-tailed girl skipped through the water, twirling around a wooden bat as she hummed her song. Her hands curled around the grip, and she pivoted, swinging upward with all her strength. The bat smacked against a thin branch, and there was a sharp snap as it broke off, the stick spinning through the air, disappearing among the higher branches.

"Right outta the park!" Harley crowed, shading her eyes as she leaned forward, as if she was peering into the distance. She made a cheerful, satisfied noise in the back of her throat before righting herself and continuing on her path.

Kory was confident she could take on Harley. The girl was nimble and had her own hidden strength, but in regard to pure force, Kory would come out on top. She would need to disable Harley first, limit her movements, get rid of the bat, but from there, it would be a sure win.

Just as Kory was about to step out from her hiding place, two more people came into view. First was the quiet Pamela, who made quite the sight at that moment with her wild hair, bandaged stomach, and skin stained green and brown. Not to mention there was just something... _off_ about her. Kory couldn't put her finger on what. Maybe it was the way Pamela moved, her hands ghosting over the closest plants as she walked, or the distant look in her eyes, or just the fact that she was missing the timid air Kory had noticed the first time she saw the girl. Either way, it was unnerving. But it was the person following closely after her that made Kory pause.

Picking her way through the water was Dick's sister, Helena.

Kory's eyes widened, and a hopeful smile tugged on her lips. Jack was too unpredictable as a person and a fighter. She couldn't take him on alone, especially when she couldn't even get inside, but with Helena's help... they could do it. She cared about Dick; there was no way she would turn down helping him.

Kory wasn't sure about Harley. In all honesty, she was expecting the exuberant girl to be inside with Jack until now. But since she _wasn't_ with Jack, maybe that meant she was against him. And she liked Dick — a fact that constantly annoyed Kory, because sometimes Harley liked to be a little _too_ close to him — but help was help. Pamela was another matter. But if it was two against one, surely she would agree? If not to help Dick, at least to stick with her allies.

When they reached the broken asphalt, Kory stepped out of hiding.

"Helena!" she shouted, and the girls spun towards her. Kory took a step forward, and Harley mirrored her, thrusting her bat forward and wielding it like a sword.

"Hold it right there, lady!" she said, and Kory paused, not wanting to set her off.

Helena's eyes narrowed as she looked Kory over, noting the lack of her brother.

"I need your help," Kory explained. Her hands curled into fists at her side, nails digging into her palms when Harley didn't immediately back off. Of course she didn't. Kory wouldn't if she were in their position. This late in the Games, being wary was smart, so she waited as Harley looked her up and down.

She glanced back at her allies, receiving a firm nod from Helena. Pamela didn't respond. Harley's bat dipped, and she twirled back around, draping the weapon over her shoulders, resting her wrists on either end. She crossed her ankles, head tilting to the side, and grinned.

"What's up, toots?" she asked, her lips popping on the 'p'.

"It's Dick." By some sick, poetic coincidence, a scream split the air for the first time since the cannon went off. Kory couldn't help the wave of relief that washed over her. She was tempted to sag in relief, sink down to the asphalt and sing praises to whatever deity was watching. But she didn't, instead letting a mantra repeat in her mind.

 _If he's screaming, he's breathing. If he's breathing, he's alive._

"Jack has him," she quickly explained, somewhat needlessly. Who else would do _that_ to Dick?

Helena immediately paled, her eyes widening as she took a few halting steps toward the asylum. A look of horror flickered across her face as he recognized her brother's voice. It was quickly replaced by an expression of controlled fury.

"Of course we'll help," she snapped as she turned to look at Kory, the sharpness of her words overwhelmed by the concern in her voice.

Kory's gaze slid to Harley, looking to confirm if Helena spoke for all three of them, and was surprised by the fierceness of her expression. Kory wasn't expecting the usual smiles in a situation like this, but she hadn't even thought the twin-tailed girl was capable of such an intense look. Harley dipped into a bow, one hand over her heart while throwing the other out with a flourish, her ponytails swinging. When she popped upright, her smile was back, but a little tighter than before.

"We are at your service, m'lady," she exclaimed.

Pamela's only response was to shift a little closer to Harley, but it was good enough.

Kory nodded, a spark of hope igniting in her chest. Dick was alive, and now she had help to rescue him. She was wary to call them allies — she wasn't sure if she'd want to, anyway; her allies kept dying. With less than half the tributes left, they wouldn't be friends for long.

"How did the bastard get him?" Helena demanded, and Kory drew closer to the three girls, casting a wary glance at the asylum. Ever since Jack's little taunt after the lightshow, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was constantly being watched. Kory blamed it on her frayed nerves. After all, Jack couldn't torture Dick _and_ spy on her at the same time.

She launched into a quick explanation of what happened: finding the asylum, the floor collapsing, the boys disappearing, and then the _screams_. Her fists shook as she spoke, a combination of rage and worry making her tremble. Once she got her hands on Jack, there would be no holding back.

"He was silent after the cannon went off last night, until now," Kory finished. She rubbed her bruised arms, a few dried flakes of blood peeling away. Her nail caught on a small scab, and she frowned at the light sting of pain as it tore open. "Jack has too many traps set up; I am unable to avoid them all. Here."

Kory jerked her chin, beckoning for the girls to follow, and guided them around to the entrance of the building. The front doors were still thrown open, the gaping hole down the hall visible for all to see. Harley leaned forward, fists resting on her hips, lips curved into an 'o' as she crooned, Pamela standing by her side, a delicate hand ghosting over Harley's arm.

Helena hovered by Kory's shoulder, her gaze darting about as she took in the deceptively empty entryway. Kory had stood in this spot, scanning that stretch of hall so many times she probably had it memorized. That didn't help much when she couldn't see the threat until it was almost too late, though. Jack was completely insane, but he was also smart. Kory never noticed any of his traps until they went off, and it was only thanks to her Okaaran training she managed to evade with minimal damage. The asylum was in fairly good condition for a building so old, but it was run down enough that anything could be hidden in those cracked walls.

She dragged her gaze away and focused instead on the girl beside her. Helena's expression was intensely focused, her gaze sharp; but the way she bit her lower lip betrayed her anxiety. Kory felt a stab of jealousy at that. She didn't interact much with Helena when they were still in the Capitol, but she didn't have to, to see that Helena was a good sister. Kory couldn't even picture Komander with such a glint in her eyes, and it made her wonder what it would be like, to have a sister like Helena, now or growing up. She definitely wouldn't be in the Games, that was certain.

It was painfully hard to imagine something like that. A sister that cared, that wouldn't hiss scathing remarks or brush her aside, wouldn't pay off Blackagar Bolt, wouldn't wish her dead over something neither of them could control. And _when_ Kory got home, she would—

She scowled and shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. She couldn't lose herself in her anger, not now. Dwelling on Kammie too long would only reignite the rage simmering at the back of her mind and distract her from the task at hand.

Jack first, then Kammie. One enemy at a time.

Kory opened her eyes, piercing green meeting Helena's striking blue, and they shared a nod as they came to a silent agreement.

"We need a plan," Kory said, voicing both their thoughts.

"Anything for the birdbrain," Harley said, clutching to her bat.

A gargling scream pierced the air before cutting off sharply, and Kory lowered her head, her expression darkening.

 _For Dick_.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders

14\. Jade Nguyen, District Ten Female: Killed by Harleen Quinzel

13\. Kara Danvers, District Five Female: Killed by Kara Danvers

12\. Jason Todd, District Six Male, Killed by Jack Hamill

11\. Rachel Roth, District Nine Female, Killed by Harper Row

10\. Thea Queen, District One Female, Killed by Harper Row

9\. Harper Row, District Two Female, Killed by Diana Prince


	109. Chapter 108: Don't Ruin the Punchline

**(A/N): Following right on the heels of the last update, we're running with that same group of girls, this time with Harley Quinn, written as always by Canucklehead Cowgirl.**

 **Thank you as always to the writers who have reviewed this and previous chapters and to SlimSummers2002, for never failing to make us smile with your thoughts!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Eight - Don't Ruin the Punchline**

 **Day Nine**

 **Harleen Quinzel, District Eight**

 **By Canucklehead Cowgirl**

* * *

" _Beauty is power; a smile is its sword." - John Ray_

* * *

"It'll be alright, Daffodoll," Harley said to Ivy, putting on a broad smile. "I got this. Mistah J won't know what hit 'im." Harley did her best to show her widest, brightest smile — hoping to encourage Ivy into relaxing.

They had a solid plan, after all. It wasn't like any o' the other gals had a shot gettin' through Jack's defenses. And half of 'em were already thrown off from the screams and gleeful laughter that were makin' their way outta the broken, slimy windows.

Harley let her bat swing from her wrist by the little bit of vine that Ivy had braided for her so she couldn't drop it as she took Ivy's hands in hers and let her voice drop low. The smile was mostly gone when it was just the two of them, that close, but Harley's eyes were wide as she tried to get Red to understand. "If we let those two go rushin' in there, they're just gonna die. They don't know the kinda tricks Mistah J likes to pull. They don't know how he _thinks._ "

"Nobody knows how he thinks. Not really." Ivy's eyes were wide and her mouth set in a firm line before she glanced over her shoulder to where Helena and Kory were having a discussion of their own. "But you're right — those two have no idea. At least you and I spent some time around him in the pack, and you knew him before all this."

"An' it won't be just them gettin' caught up," Harley said, again trying to push a smile, though even she knew it wasn't reaching her eyes. "Don'tcha get it, Red? Our best shot of takin' that creepy clown out is to get him off his guard. They go barrelin' in, and both of 'em'll die, and the birdbrain too. He's my _friend,_ Red. He stuck up fer me. He stuck up for me, and don't think for one minute that he's not in trouble because of it, too."

She pulled Ivy into a tight hug and found a way to bring her grin back, hesitating long enough to bite her lip as she glanced at Ivy's mouth then threw caution to the wind before she leaned in and gave her a little kiss.

Harley couldn't help but grin at her as she pulled back. "It's in the bag, sweetcheeks. I'm gonna cram this lil' whoopin' stick into places he ain't never considered."

" _Please_ , be careful, Harl," Ivy said, stressing her concern with every movement. It didn't miss Harley's notice that she hadn't let go of her hand either. "He's dangerous."

"Aww, don'tcha think I know that?" Harley said before she pasted on her biggest grin. "But I am too — if I wanna be." She gave Ivy a little squeeze, then straightened the way her clothes were sitting across her stomach, frowned and then tore the bottom six inches off the hem of her shirt where a thorn had caught it earlier in their trek. It wouldn't do much for the cut of the awful clothes, but she could at least see the bug bites across her belly button. "How do I look?" She asked, twirling on her toes. She didn't wait for the answer before she winked at Ivy and did a graceful pirouette, trying to put up a false bravado as she approached the big building.

"See ya on the flipside!" Harley mock whispered toward Helena and Kory, her hand at the side of her mouth, and her bat over her shoulder.

Helena stared at her, her fists clenched as she took a deep breath. "Good luck."

"Nothin' lucky about it, Hels," Harley replied with a put-on smile. She took a few confident strides and inevitably tripped over a tree root encroaching on the broken pavement she simply hadn't seen from the direction she was coming. It wasn't much, but it startled her back into reality and got her to begin focusing on the task at hand.

She grinned over her shoulder at the girls a heartbeat before an anguished scream rent the air. Harley whipped back around before any of them could try and offer to take her spot. She _couldn't_ let them deal with Mistah J. Not when he was clearly goin' overboard.

The road on either side of the wrought iron fence and rickety, half unhinged gate was broken and littered with plantlife that had started to break up the old concrete. It must have been terribly thick concrete for the plants to only now starting to crack it … _I'll bet if Pammy had a little time where she wasn't gettin' chased down by creepos and monsters, you lil fellas'd be doin' a lot better,_ Harley thought as she looked at the little spindly sprouts.

Harley walked toward the doors to the building — the graffiti heavier there and more obvious, of course. The letters were big, and there was even a clown face as she drew closer. Her heart was hammering in her chest, but the only way to know how Dicky was even doin' was to get inside. She held her breath as she took the first step over the threshold and slowly made her way down the hall.

She was pretty sure she could fight Jack if they started out on even ground and didn't lose her nerve, but the fact of the matter was that she _knew_ he'd get her off-guard first if he had even half of a chance.

The big, makeshift banner proclaiming ' **WELCOME** ' at the end of the hall and through some double doors in crooked, mismatched letters only sealed it for her. "This is such a bad idea," Harley said to herself as she started down the hall in the now decrepit Arkham Asylum. Her shoulders were shrugged up nearly to her ears, and her bat was clutched tightly in both hands.

High-pitched squeaking echoed out from the dark hall ahead from time to time, punctuating the sadistic laughter. Shouts, and moans of pain echoed that weren't loud enough to make it beyond the doors and broken windows as she made her way to the open door. She was determined to work her way into the building — sure that there were dozens of traps littered through the place. But at least she knew who she was up against. His style was almost as familiar as her own, and she was pretty sure something or another had been triggered when the birdbrain went in.

There was plenty of signs that showed what the birds had gone through. As it was, there was a rusty red streak — thinner in some spots than others where a body had clearly been dragged out. The path was more prominent where Jack had clearly paused to rest and the blood had time to pool.

Harley stopped at the double doors at the end of the hall and bit her lip. It was easy to hear what was going on — and at least she knew that for the time being, someone she was on good terms with was alive down there. And hurting. She felt her shoulders scrunch upward, and she took an unconscious step backward. _This is no time to lose your nerve, Harl_ , she chided herself. "Not when all my new friends are counting on me," she whispered. Harley closed her eyes and let out her breath in a long, slow exhale, fighting herself against the hammering of her heart in her chest.

When she opened her eyes, it was clear she'd found 'Harley' again. She pushed herself into a high with an almost manic grin. She ignored the sounds of obvious torture and strode forward to the railing, rushing the last couple of steps so she could make a more impactful entrance, almost hanging over the edge as she gripped the rail and recklessly leaned forward, letting her ponytails sway. "Heya, Puddin'! Didja miss me?" she called out as she stepped out where he could see her, giggling and grinning widely. Jack nearly whirled in place, and Harley giggled again, putting on her very best show, posing and then spinning on one foot, her bat in the low pointed hand — the other arm stretched over her head. "I've been so _bored_ with no one _fun_ keepin' me comp'ny."

"What siren song has brought this mutinous minx to my humble domain, I wonder," Jack said in an entirely condescending tone, just before trying to jam the rusty blade in his hand under the edge of the hard netting cast that covered Dick's arm. Dick tried to hold it back, but couldn't stop the scream as more blood ran down his arm where Jack was trying to work toward easier territory to cause pain.

Harley flinched at the sound, but managed to keep the smile mostly in place as she held Jack's gaze, finally dropping her shoulders and shaking her head. "You say the weirdest things, Mistah J." Not wanting to waste any more time, Harley danced down the stairs, twirling and even cartwheeling to avoid almost every trap and trigger Jack had laid out. The few that she did hit sailed harmlessly past her as if she'd planned it herself. It would have been a much more burdensome affair for any other tribute in the Games, but Harley knew him well enough to know which tricks he'd set up if he could. Of course, the trail of blood he'd left behind when he dragged Jason out was visible in the low light once her eyes got used to it.

When she got to the bottom of the stairs, she did a few little handsprings before she started to sashay her way over to Jack. She stopped, several yards out, bit her lip and seemed to almost melt where she stood, even going so far as to drop the baseball bat before she rushed over to him, flat out ignoring the blood-stained instrument in his hand to wrap her arms around his neck as she flung herself at him.

"Oh, _Mistah J,_ " Harley whispered before she started giving him little kisses. "I missed you so much!" She didn't even have to fake the tears that slipped past her long lashes, or the little waver and crack to her voice.

"Harley…" Dick said, one eye closed in a wince, and not just because it sounded like speaking was hard. "What are you doing?"

She turned to look at him over her shoulder, dropping the smile as she gave him a solid once over, though she had to school her features to keep from showing the shock at how mutilated his entire torso was. "What's it ta you, birdbrain?" She barely had shifted from how she was holding on to Jack, though part of that was from shock, if she was being honest. "Not like you gave even half a crap about me anyhow."

Jack cackled delightedly as Dick's expression fell. The birdbrain shook his head lightly. "Course I did," he muttered.

"Whatevah," Harley replied, rolling her eyes at him and turning her attention back to Jack, twisting back and forth at the waist and doing her best simpering pin up impression as she kept her chin tipped down and gazed up at him through long, charcoal-stained lashes. She stuck her lip out and absently brushed the debris off of his shoulders. "I'm sorry I left you alone for _so long_ , Puddin'. I never shoulda took off. It's just … this arena … all the pressure ..."

He took a hold of her arms and pulled her off of him, "You still haven't earned my forgiveness, _snookums_ ," Jack snarled before he took a swing at her. Harley squeaked as she dodged the blow, and the next, and the next as he moved from throwing punches to throwing rocks and debris at her until he ran out of ammo — but nothing made contact.

"Alright, ya low life! Nice way to make a girl feel wanted!" Harley shouted as she scooped up her bat and started toward him with a snarl on her lips that showed how honestly hurt she was once she'd gotten past the shock of him throwing things at her.

"Come on, where's your sense of humor, Pumpkin? I didn't _hit_ you — I _missed_ you! Get it?" Jack said, grinning with both hands up, the giggle threatening to slip past his lips. " _I missed you!_ "

Harley paused and couldn't help the grin that overtook her. "You … you _did_? You _really_ did?"

"Of course I did! I even saved room for your _nom de plume_ ," Jack said with a grin, gesturing toward Dick with the rusty scalpel. "Plenty of room for my girl. The canvas isn't completely used yet, my little maid of mischief."

"Oh, come on," Dick said, though it didn't come easy to him.

Jack rushed forward and gently took the bat out of Harley's hand as he slipped his free arm around her shoulders, pulling her in closer. "You're all I think about lately, nut-buckets! How could I get anything done without my favorite _fun-fatale_?"

She nearly melted into him, her hands clasped under her chin as she looked up at him. "Ya really mean it, Puddin'?"

But that was just a little too much for Dick, who was already shaking his head at her. "Yeah, he's been real lost without you," he said in a biting tone Jack's way — at least as much as he could manage with the rattle in his breath. "I'm sure he was thinking about _you_ when he killed Jason."

Harley glared at Dick for a moment. "Why don't you mind your own business, anyhow? We're tryin' ta have a moment, here!"

Jack was giddy as he grinned over to Dick, and a moment later, Harley had pulled Jack over into a kiss that at least took the clown's attention off of his injured bird.

A crash from the hall echoed into the room the three of them were in, and when Jack stiffened up, Harley bit down on his lower lip hard — then clocked him in the side of the head. She kicked out at him, sending Jack sliding across the open space, upending two trays full of tools as they dropped on top of him … tangling his long limbs in the wreckage. "I _told_ you before, _Puddin'_ ," Harley snarled out. "You don't get to hurt my friends!"

While Jack was swearing and trying to gather himself up, Harley rushed over to the nearest collection of tools and found the sharpest-looking instrument there. She leapt at Dick, and did her best to avoid his injuries as she climbed his torso to shove it into his hand, though she did take a moment to try and impress on him how important this was. She paused for an instant, almost nose to nose with him. "Hurry up, already! I ain't got all day!" With that, she let go of him and landed on her feet, ready to defend him.

With an encouraging look, she left Dick to his own devices, grabbed the nearest heavy-looking sharp object near the birdbrain, and rushed Jack — who had picked up the baseball bat that was lying on the floor well out of her reach.

Harley swung her makeshift weapon at Jack at the same time he whipped the bat toward her, with both of them making contact at the same moment, though Jack's aim was a lot better with the longer reach.

She managed to stab him, but the wound in his chest wasn't deep enough to do much — not like the baseball bat as it made contact with the side of her head. Harley was knocked to the ground, completely disoriented and blinking hard as Jack made his way to loom over her, furious and vengeful. But instead of something more creative, he started to simply kick the hell out of her, hard enough that instead of having time to actually scream or voice her injuries, all that came out was a rush of air with every impact. Every vicious kick lifted Harley off the ground, and she only managed to barely catch herself on all fours before she could hit the filthy floor face-first — and then stay there just long enough for Jack to wind up and hit her again.

When he was sufficiently pleased with the job he'd done to her, he crouched over her, pulling her head back by one tired, stringy ponytail. "Patience. The bird goes down first, then you're next, my brainless, backstabbing bimbo." With that, Jack started to complain to both of them as he re-gathered his tools. "So disrespectful of my hard work," Jack grumbled loudly.

Harley felt horrible — not just physically. Her little gambit had paid off, but then … then she slipped and hadn't quite given it to him hard enough to stop him. And now … it was going to be her fault when he killed the pretty bird. Tears were flowing freely as Harley tried to get her bearings. He'd busted her up pretty good. A peek down at her bare midriff showed dark purple blooming under her skin where it wasn't red and angry from the strikes. She knew he'd broken some ribs at the very least. It hurt to breathe, and all she could get out anymore were sad, tearful whimpers.

"It's a bad day to be a birdbrain," Jack cackled on his approach to Dick, and though he had the bat, it was only momentarily. "So overused," he muttered before he tossed it lazily away from him. The wood clattered across the floor, and he squared up with Dick. "I hope you're watching, lambchop. I'd hate to have to drag this out any longer than I already have. Poor Dicky-boy probably can't take much more of this."

There was another crash in the hall — she should have marked the traps — and some curses echoed down that had to have been Helena — mostly because Dick seemed to pay a little more attention. His head came up fast, an obviously hopeful expression on his face. She was close to him. Not as close as she needed to be — but close enough to get it together enough to help. "Oh, _Hel_ ," Harley said with a little giggle that had Dick looking downright _relieved_. "She is _not_ gonna be happy with you, Mistah J."

But her joke fell short, even to herself, as Jack advanced on Dick. The bottom fell out from Harley's stomach, and she _knew_ she didn't have the strength to fight him off. Not now.

But when Jack got close enough to Dick, the birdbrain headbutted him hard, throwing him off long enough for him to finish cutting himself down. And just like that, Dick used the weight of his fall to take Jack down with him, whacking him across the temple with the netting-covered arm with a hard enough _thwack_ that it echoed the large, round room.

"Helena!" he shouted as loud as he could as he pushed himself away from Jack. Clearly, he had more than enough faith in his sister to get there in time.

The strong, familiar voice obviously lifted his heart, especially since her words were punctuated by the twang of a bowstring. "On my way!"

The girls were starting to break through the traps — or at least had figured out how to set some of them off without catching the brunt of it, and Harley couldn't help but smile at that. "Now you're gonna get it," Harley laughed, grinning broadly at Jack.

He sneered at her as he scrambled for a piece of metal tubing — it had probably once been shiny and covered in chrome, but now, after who knows long in the swamp, it was covered in rust, the chrome clouded over where it wasn't ruined. As soon as he had it in his hands, he swung in a wide arc, catching Dick as he tried to get past Jack. He hit Dick right in the center of the "Joker" torn into his chest, stopping Dick in his tracks long enough for Jack to kick him over as he gasped for breath.

"Don't get smart on me _now_ , Harl," Jack sniffed as he took a moment to carefully adjust his grip on the metal. "Just have to finish up here so you can watch your little _friend_ die. Then it'll be _your_ turn, poopsie!"

Harley pushed herself to her feet and started toward them — they were a fair distance away, and every breath, every step burned in her lungs and screamed at her side as she tried to keep going forward.

And with every step, she picked up a little bit more momentum, and she straightened up a bit more. She was nearly at a jog when Jack drew his arm back, switching the way he was holding the chrome pipe to use it more like a javelin. Harley set her mouth into a determined sort of hard line, and her brows drew together. Jack hadn't seen her — too focused on what he was planning to realize that she was _going_ to stop him.

As Jack punched his arm forward, Harley let out a cry and shoved Dick as hard as she could, knocking him off balance and ensuring that he was cleared — though the sick, almost crunching sound at her middle made it clear that she might not have thought this plan out all the way before she acted on it. "Aww, nuts," she said, stumbling for a moment before she looked down to see that she'd been skewered, with the rusted chrome sticking out her front not far below her sternum.

"No!" Jack bellowed, his hands clenched in rage before his expression fell for just a moment and he reached out to touch her cheek, stopping short as his features twisted into something she couldn't quite fathom. He stepped back, outright screaming utter nonsense.

 _Twang! Whack!_

A crossbow bolt hit Jack in the back — high — and had it been anywhere but on the flat of his shoulder blade, it likely would have gone entirely through. A muttered curse from Helena made it clear she was disappointed as well, but her voice rang out in the old building. "Grayson! Let's make Logan proud and get the Hel out of here!" She would surely have run to her brother's side if she wasn't doing her level best to get past the last of the traps and help Harley.

Harley was smiling up at Helena, her attention unmercifully cut down to one thing at a time before she felt a little jostle as Jack took hold of the chrome pipe again and this time pulled hard, twisting as he did so. It hurt worse going out than it did going in. She heard the splatter of blood as it hit the various surfaces around them, and with a harsh intake of breath, her eyes widened, and Harley crumpled to the ground.

She was on her knees and one hand, her free hand shakily covering the hole in her middle. But it wasn't nearly enough to stop the bleeding … not when it had such an open route.

She heard someone scream her name — or thought she did. It might have been Red...

And then there was a hand covering hers to try and help as Dick slid in beside her, his eyes wide. "You didn't have to do that," he told her, trying to ease her to the ground to help her put more pressure on the wound, though he was shaking too and not much for pressure at the moment.

"Sure I did. Couldn't let you get stuck, big bird," Harley whispered. "Now get outta here."

"What, and leave you with _him_?" Dick said, both eyebrows raised with the ghost of a smile as he tipped his head toward where the girls were circling Jack. He let out a little groan and rearranged himself beside her to try and use both hands to stop the bleeding. "Not happening."

"You're real sweet, you know that?" She turned her head and bit her lip. "That girl o' yours is real lucky." Her head was swimming, and her ears were starting to ring louder as he said something back to her. She blinked hard a few times and tried to focus on him, but the ringing in her ears was drowning out almost everything. "I dunno what you're sayin', but I like the sound of your voice," Harley said quietly. She frowned when she felt more pressure pushing down on the wound, though it didn't _hurt_ , and whatever it was he was trying to say started to muddle more and more until her ears fuzzed out entirely. She could see his expression, and that was enough to tip her off as to how quickly it was happening. She couldn't help herself as tears began to slip down her cheeks, unbidden. He had to know that it was okay ...

She tried to reach up to cover his hands, but she honestly couldn't feel it anymore and she didn't _know_ if she'd managed it. And she was so … _sleepy._ Everything was sort of numb, and she was surrounded by a floating sensation — but she didn't care. "Five more minutes," Harley mumbled out thickly, and it wasn't any time at all before for Harley, everything simply … stopped.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders

14\. Jade Nguyen, District Ten Female: Killed by Harleen Quinzel

13\. Kara Danvers, District Five Female: Killed by Kara Danvers

12\. Jason Todd, District Six Male, Killed by Jack Hamill

11\. Rachel Roth, District Nine Female, Killed by Harper Row

10\. Thea Queen, District One Female, Killed by Harper Row

9\. Harper Row, District Two Female, Killed by Diana Prince

8\. Harleen Quinzel, District Eight Female, Killed by Jack Hamill


	110. Chapter 109: Can't Take a Joke

**(A/N): Here we are with our Friday update! This one follows immediately on from Tuesday's action-filled one, so I'll let abrokencastiel and her Joker speak for themselves ;)**

 **Thanks as always to all the writers who reviewed and to SlimSummers2002 for continuing to support this story. We're hurtling toward the end here, and the emotions are only going to keep running high.**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Nine - Can't Take a Joke**

 **Jack Hamill, District Eight**

 **Written By abrokencastiel**

* * *

" _The dog you really got to dread_

 _Is the one that howls inside your head._

 _It's him who's howling drives men mad_

 _And a mind to its undoing." - Hermes,_ Hadestown

* * *

It was utterly upsetting. No, not upsetting. It was ridiculous. It was unimaginable. It was terrible. Most importantly, it was unforeseen. His girl, the one he had taken under his wing, the one who had sung his praises and wormed her way into his shadow of a soul, had betrayed him.

Yes, she'd done it already in the Games, but he always knew she'd come back. She was his as much as he was hers. They were the king and queen. He was destined to win, and she was destined to be by his side until the last moment. He would have plunged a dagger into her heart while kissing her deeply, and she would've smiled as the life left her because she had done her duty. Instead, she had sacrificed herself for the damned bird.

His shoulder throbbed from the crossbow bolt that was still lodged in it, a painful reminder of his failure. The rescue attempt should have been obvious. All of his careful and perfect defenses wasted. Harley had known all of his tricks and led the girls right to him. Distracting him had always been a skill. In another life, he might have been impressed.

Jack's hands clenched so tight his nails drew blood. _How dare she? After all I did for her._ He stared at the semilunar cuts in his greyish palms. The room he'd settled in after running like a scared rabbit from the girls was far from _his_ room. They hadn't followed him far. It was smart on their part without Harley giving a walkthrough and with Dick bleeding out slowly.

With a grimace, Joker reached up and grasped the shaft of the arrow. The arrowhead tore into more flesh with the movement, but he kept at it until he was able to break the end offf. The broken shaft clattered to the ground beside the rusty pipe. He retrieved the pipe and dragged a finger down the bloodied end. It was tacky and clung to his finger. He collected as much blood as he could with one long finger before running it along his Glasgow smile and lips.

Arkham was silent as he walked back to his theater. Metallic ringing echoed from his pipe dragging along the wall. He wasn't worried about the team coming after him. They would have left to get Dick to safety.

The large room was ruined. Tainted with failure. He found his pocket knife and a rusted one that he stuck through his boot. The little vial of tracker jacker venom was where he had hidden it. There was so little left, but it would be a shame to waste.

Batsy's jar had been knocked over in the fight, and his small body lay amidst the strewn glass and liquid. Another body captured his attention more. The girl was pale, and her blonde hair framed her face perfectly. The hole in her torso was covered by her hands. She looked peaceful with her eyes closed, like she had fallen asleep. No doubt she had been arranged that way by someone who didn't know her. She never looked peaceful. She always looked feisty and ready to fight. The staging was a lie. Jack would have left her sitting against the wall, a bat in her hand and her eyes open. He'd have cut a smile into her lips to greet whoever came to take her away.

But that was before all of her unforgivable mistakes. As Jack passed her, he kicked her head as hard as he could.

He walked through his hallway of traps and out into the sun. He rolled his shoulders experimentally, disappointed when he felt a tug that made it impossible to raise his right arm any higher than his chest. A small inconvenience. He could still do what he needed to do.

No one escaped the Joker's hands. Even when it seemed like they had, he still managed to get them in the end. Jason had learned that the hard way, and soon, Dick would as well.

Jack's sharp-eyed gaze picked up on the trail of blood that led down the broken stone steps. A smile split his face. "Someone needs to learn how to bind wounds more appropriately," he snickered, hitting his palm with the metal pipe as he began walking.

He followed the path without an ounce of hurry. They couldn't have gone far with the injured bird. A shiver of excitement passed down Jack's spine as he imagined Dick's face when he appeared. The boy wouldn't know what hit him when Joker drove the knife into his throat.

A mosquito buzzed by his ear, and he waved it away. Muggy air made his clothes cling to him, and he shrugged off his jacket. The remaining shaft of the arrow caught the fabric, twinging the flesh around it. "Drat," Joker mumbled. He pulled out his pocket knife and sliced at the jacket until it fell away. He abandoned the useless item where it fell along the cobblestones as he stuck his knife back into his pocket. "It's going to be a cold night."

A mosquito landed on his arm, and he squashed it, leaving a smear of blood. For a moment, he considered turning back. It would be much easier to reset his traps and wait for them to return. Dickie-boy would die eventually from the wounds Jack gifted him. Or the green witch with the red hair would realize that there was no point to keeping him alive. Perhaps she would slip a poisonous plant to him that she promised was medicine, as Jack had always suspected her capable of doing. Of course, she would pass the blame onto Jack.

The avenging sister would no doubt return for him then. Jack would be waiting for her on a throne of knives, Harley's body at his feet. They would face each other, him and that damned Wayne. He would give her a laugh and a joke. Something witty and befitting of the occasion. Perhaps ask where her dear brother was even though he'd already know the answer. She would toss aside her crossbow, and he would offer her a knife. Their fight would be astounding to anyone watching, and Jack would think for a moment that perhaps he had chosen the wrong enemy. But in the end, the Joker would remain victorious. He would stand over her bleeding body with a foot on her throat and his knife dripping while he laughed.

A misstep on the broken road jolted him out of his thoughts and sent him careening into a tree. His right shoulder took the brunt of the impact, and the arrowhead dragged along his shoulder blade. Breath hissed between his teeth as he sneered at the offending tree. A patch of fresh blood adorned the bark. _Clumsy_.

He began forward again, shaking a bit of fog from his head. When was the last time he slept? It usually never bothered him to miss sleep, but he'd been so caught up in the moment with his playthings he couldn't be sure how long it'd been. He'd need to take a nap. After dealing with Dick, of course.

What he needed was a little pick-me-up.

The pocket knife bit into his skin, not sliding as easily as it once had. The two-inch cut leaked blood while Jack undid his little vial with his teeth. He gingerly dribbled the liquid along the slice, rubbing it in little by little and pausing frequently to not waste a drop. The tingling feeling spread up his arm, and soon, his vision was slightly shinier. A contented sigh escaped him as he started forward. He grinned as the circus crowd began to materialize around him. The shapes flickered between trees. _My people_.

He bowed deeply, waiting for the applause that always filled his ears, but the shapes remained silent. He righted and cocked his head to one side while maintaining the grin. There was no reaction. The usual carnival surroundings he'd become accustomed to refused to appear. Instead, he was met with silence. The people who actually looked at him were uninterested and turned away like he was nothing. "My dear patrons," Jack murmured. "You cannot leave me in such a rut. Didn't you appreciate my earlier work?"

The air was filled with buzzing of insects that crescendoed. It made his ears itch. The croaking frogs laughed at him as he passed. The visions walking beside him maintained their silence. Not one of them smiled. Their indifference made his fingers twitch toward his knife.

His name was under attack. The name that sent fear into grown men's' hearts and terrified the police of Eight. How was he supposed to return to his kingdom if he couldn't even take care of children on his own? He couldn't even maintain control of his underlings. He needed to make a statement and prove to Marvel what he could do. Yes, he had shown off his torture skills, but that was for his own amusement. What he needed to do now was have a real fight. One without traps and tricks.

 _Well,_ he thought, _not too many tricks._

After a few moments, Jack pulled out his stack of cards. They were bloodstained. He couldn't remember whose blood it was exactly. Probably his, if he had to guess. He abandoned the case behind him. As he walked, he dropped the unnecessary cards and leaving a sort of breadcrumb trail leading him back to his home. He had held onto the dead cards for too long, anyway. They fell away from his hands until he only held eight. He stared at the top card, a joker, before letting it fall as well. His foot ground it into the mud.

The solid floors of the asylum were fond memories as he followed the trail off of the road. The swamp mud pulled at his boots with each step. It was immensely more difficult to follow the trail when there was no solid ground. He wasn't an experienced tracker. He didn't know the first thing about hunting, and his impatience was growing. If he'd only been able to rely on broken branches or bent grass, he never would have kept the trail. The occasional smear of blood on the leaves were the only assurance he was going the right way. Today, the venom wasn't helping him find the correct path.

He was so engrossed with his thoughts he almost missed the voices ahead of him. He stopped in his tracks and listened intently. Conversation drifted back to him, and his smile returned. A good show here would put him back in the good graces of his observers. He could make them laugh again.

Jack moved as quietly as he could, tucking his remaining cards in his pocket. The trees hid him from view as he approached. Through the foliage, he saw shapes moving. Kory was sitting with her boy toy, cooing over his wounds as they took a break to better assess him. Helena and Ivy stood nearby. Their nonsense conversation was what Jack had heard.

A grin spread across his face. He couldn't stop the laugh that broke free. The giggle made the other tributes turn defensive. They were searching the foliage but hadn't caught sight of him yet. He dashed between trees whenever they weren't looking. The whole time, he was laughing and yoo-hooing.

"Show yourself!" Helena demanded.

Joker squared his shoulders and smoothed back his hair. Loose strands of green immediately fell back into his eyes. He stepped out and leaned against the tree with his left shoulder. "Why, what do we have here?" he asked. A cheshire grin spread across his face. "You left the party so early."

"Funny, we last saw you running away like a wimp." Helena stepped protectively between Jack and her brother. The crossbow was already aimed at his head.

Jack chuckled. "Please, I was simply trying to get away from the disgusting smell of rotting betrayal." He wrinkled his nose and looked to Pamela. "But it seems to infect the air everywhere I go."

"You leave Harley out of this," Pamela hissed. Dried tear streaks cut the grime of her face.

"No," Jack snapped. Voices of the shimmering observers urged him on. "I don't think I will. You see, you all are the ones who drove her from me. You whispered sweet nothings into her ear until she turned. We had a plan, and you ruined our fun. For that, you deserve the slow and painful death I will give you. Just like Harley deserved a worse death than what she got. She deserved to be gutted and chained in a hidden room where she could repent of her sins." He spat the last words.

On instinct, Jack spun back behind the tree. The crossbow bolt sailed where his head been moments before. Jack carefully peered around his cover with a giggle. "Oh, Helena, that wasn't very becoming of a lady. We were having such a nice chat, and you had to go and jump to the end."

"You keep your damn mouth shut about her."

"Touchy, touchy." He stepped out a little further when another shot wasn't immediately fired. "It was only a joke. Can't you appreciate a joke?" He sighed when not even his visions laughed. "Alright, how about we call this a wash? I just need to collect my stolen property, and we all can be on our merry way." He began walking slowly, careful to keep trees between himself and the others. "It's only fair. You took my Harl, so I get your Dick."

"Just try and take him."

"So much anger," Jack tsked. His piped clattered against the bark of a tree. "Really, it would be easier." He slipped his knife out of his pocket and palmed it in his left hand. "You know where we are. What are you going to do? Kill him yourself? I don't think you have the stomach." He slid the knife open. "Which means all you're going to do is watch him die slowly. Infection is a terrible way to go."

Behind the next tree, he let the knife drop to his fingers. He spun around the tree and threw it with practiced ease. The small blade cut the through the air and sailed just centimeters to the right of Helena's head. Joker glared down at his left hand. " _Et tu, Brute_?"

Another arrow whizzed by. This time, he didn't dodge fast enough, and it lodged just above his left knee. Pain radiated from the injury and made the grin across his face widen. He cackled and hobbled deeper into the underbrush before she could reload. He could hear the girls chasing him above the sounds of the crowd jeering him on. He pushed himself forward until he reached a particularly large tree he could duck behind.

As he heard footsteps approaching, he whipped out his pipe and clonked Pam across the temple. The girl fell, and Jack straddled her, dropping the pipe to the ground in favor of strangling her with his hands.

"My dear Pammy," he sneered. "How I've longed to wrap my hands around your pretty little neck." He pressed harder, grinning as her eyes bulged.

A loud thunk registered before the pain. He looked down with a slight frown at the arrowhead sticking through his chest. "Isn't that annoying." He forced himself to his feet, grabbing the knife from his boot as he did so. The released Pamela rolled to the side and coughed heavily as Jack turned to face his hunter.

She silently reloaded her bow and took steady aim.

"Well now, this just feels impersonal. After all I've done, you're just going to shoot me to death? Don't you want to get in close? Feel my life ebbing away?" His voice was sounding wet as he laughed in her face. The shining visions moved in until they were surrounding the two of them. He could hear their murmurs of anticipation. "Let me tell you, sweet cheeks, it is a wonderful experience."

Her blue-eyed gaze stayed trained on the Joker. "Are you okay, Pam?"

"Yeah," Pamela coughed.

Helena carefully hung her crossbow on a tree. As Jack watched, he was sure he saw her hair change from black to blonde.

"Let's dance." Jack tossed his knife to the side with his pipe. "I've always been a fan of the two-step, myself."

There was no nonsense in Helena's steps as she advanced. Jack would have moved to meet her, but he was sure his legs would falter if he took a step. Instead, he held his arms out to either side like he was welcoming her to a hug. Her first blow caught him along the cheek, and he laughed as he stumbled to the side. "That will wake you up in the morning." Jack slipped a card from his pocket without Helena noticing. His cough sent red flecks along his arm. His head was swimming, but he wasn't out yet.

She threw another punch that he caught in one hand. He sliced at her forearm with his card, leaving a satisfying cut. He tried to cut at Helena's throat, but a hand on his ankle tripped him to the ground. The shaft of the arrow pushing through his chest snapped against his back. A crack from his shoulder was either the arrowhead or his bone snapping. He couldn't be exactly sure which.

"Dear me. I didn't know this was a tag-team event. Otherwise, I would have finished Pammy off." Visions of shadows, faces, carnivals, and clowns swam around him. "If everyone would just hold still for a moment so I could get my head on straight, I'd greatly appreciate it. It's impossible to enjoy a good fight when the world refuses to watch." He struggled to push himself to a sitting position. His head lolled on his long neck from side to side. The black-haired girl in front of him flickered to a pigtailed blonde. "Harley, when did you get here?"

"I told you not to talk about her." Harley-Helena's kick connected where his head and neck met.

A loud snap accompanied his fall back to the ground. "Oh, thank you, Pumpkin. I had this terrible crick in my neck that you straightened right out." His words were thick. His head was at an uncomfortable angle, but he couldn't seem to move to a more comfortable position.

"This is the end, Jack." The ghost of his girl stared down at him, her head cocked to one side.

The Joker cackled as his vision dimmed. "No, you can't get rid of me that easily. I'll be haunting you until the worms devour you."

The shadow standing over him moved away. "I don't think so."

Jack's raucous laughter echoed around the swamp. Joker's wide green eyes stared straight ahead even after he stopped breathing. The cheshire grin remained plastered to his face as his claxxon rang.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders

14\. Jade Nguyen, District Ten Female: Killed by Harleen Quinzel

13\. Kara Danvers, District Five Female: Killed by Kara Danvers

12\. Jason Todd, District Six Male, Killed by Jack Hamill

11\. Rachel Roth, District Nine Female, Killed by Harper Row

10\. Thea Queen, District One Female, Killed by Harper Row

9\. Harper Row, District Two Female, Killed by Diana Prince

8\. Harleen Quinzel, District Eight Female, Killed by Jack Hamill

7\. Jack Hamill, District Eight Male, Killed by Helena Wayne


	111. Chapter 110: Death is Not the End

**(A/N): Hello and welcome back! Our Tuesday update takes a short break from the insanity going on in the Games right now to... well... more insanity. Sorry about that. But Savy160's Jason Todd certainly has never had an easy go of things.**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed. As we hurtle toward the end of the Games, it's so fun to see everyone's reactions!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Ten - Death Is No Escape**

 **Hydra Base**

 **Jason Todd, formerly of District Six**

 **Written by Savy160**

* * *

 _"Sometimes, standing against evil is more important than defeating it. The greatest heroes stand because it is right to do so, not because they believe they will walk away with their lives." - Altier from Assassin's Creed_

 _"Life is cruel. Of this I have no doubt. One can only hope that one leaves behind a lasting legacy. But so often, the legacies we leave behind... are not the ones we intended." - Queen Myrrah from Gears of War 2_

* * *

"Where is my clone?" the Red Skull demanded of the Hydra scientists as he slammed into the room.

One of the scientists cleared his throat before stuttering, "T-the process isn't c-complete yet, Herr Skull, sir."

"That is not what I asked."

The scientist gulped before showing Schmidt to where the clone was being held, slipped into Amanda Waller's side of the Tahiti Wing to be better under Hydra's control. That same scientist practically leapt back against the wall as Schmidt drew a small dagger and looked on in horror as the Red Skull slowly etched a letter onto the clone's face — a "J," in the same place the original body now had a scar.

"What are you doing!"

Schmidt smiled darkly, and the scientist felt every single hair on his neck stand up. "He needs to be reminded of his failure forever."

* * *

 _"What hurts worse? A or B?"_

 _The rope biting into his flesh._

 _"You need to belong to someone in death!"_

 _Blood everywhere._

 _The cackle. The pain. The humiliation. Death._

 _All he could see was the crowbar. And all he could hear was that laugh. That damn laugh. It wouldn't stop!_

Jason's eyes popped open as a strangled cry escaped him. His frantic gaze roamed around the room before landing on the woman looming over him. Her long, dark hair hid half of her naturally tan face. For a moment, Jason just lay there, stunned by her beauty, before he frantically began tugging at the restraints around his wrists and ankles that kept him tethered to the bed.

"Don't struggle. You could damage yourself," she instructed.

Jason lightly tested his bonds before he barked out, "Who the hell are you! What is this! Where am I!"

"Hello, Jason. Welcome back to the land of the living. My name is Talia al Ghul. You're in safe hands. You belong to Hydra now."

"I belong to no one."

Talia merely smiled at his glare. "We all belong to someone in one way or another."

Jason didn't comment as she stepped closer and took a seat on the edge of the bed. Running her claw-like nails gently over his hand, Talia merely smiled at him.

"Why am I tied down like this?" Jason demanded.

"The effects of the process can drive one mad. It's for your own safety."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Who are you? Why am I here?"

"You're here because I have chosen to bring your worthless soul back," a new, but familiar, voice rang out.

Jason turned away from Talia to look at the monster crossing into the threshold of the room. His lip turned up in disgust, and he growled, "It all makes sense now. I'm in Hell."

"You shall wish you would have burned for all eternity once I have finished with you," Schmidt snarled before turning to Talia. "Leave us."

If looks could kill, Schmidt would have died instantly from the look Talia gave him. She briefly, gently brushed Jason's cheek with the back of her hand before rising. Striding across the room, she struck Red Skull across the face so hard that the man had to take a step back. His fingers curled into a fist as she glared him down.

"Talk to me like that again, and I'll kill you," she hissed before leaving.

Schmidt brushed himself off before waltzing back over to the boy on the bed. Jason couldn't wipe the shiteating grin off his face as he faced his former nightmare.

"Never forget who you belong to," Schmidt snarled.

Narrowing his eyes and curling his lip into a snarl, Jason hissed, "I don't know why you brought me back, and I really don't care. You may as well kill me, because I'm not going to be your bitch anymore."

"Then what will happen to young Timothy?"

Jason swallowed. Hard. He'd already lost. Red Skull won with one sentence. "I want to talk to him," he murmured.

"Behave yourself, and perhaps we shall see."

"I'm not doing anything for you until I speak to him!"

"Fine," Schmidt growled, his lip lifting in disgust.

Schmidt cautiously undid the straps encasing Jason's wrists and ankles. Jason stood up slowly with shaking legs and followed behind his mentor. Schmidt led the way down narrowed and dimly lit hallways. The atmosphere was just as depressing as Schmidt's personality.

Schmidt stopped suddenly outside of a door bolted shut from the outside. Two heavily armed guards stood watch. It was hard to look away from the high-powered assault weapons in their arms. Inclining his head towards the small window, Schmidtl gestured Jason forward.

Jason's lip curled back in anger as his fists clenched. Tim was just a kid. He was only twelve!

"Tim. What have they done to you?" Jason murmured.

Tim was huddled against the corner against the wall. He was barefoot, and his clothes were in tatters. Jason took note of his half sunken cheeks and the purple/yellowish markings across his body. Tim shivered violently in the corner as he hugged his skinny legs to his chest. A busted lip and swollen eye adorned his face. Jason could barely make out the faint image of a skull on the lower half of Tim's back.

It took every single ounce of self-control not to dismember the monster standing beside Jason as Schmidt merely grinned at the murderous gaze in Jason's eye.

"You bastard!"

"He's alive, isn't he? It's more than I can say for your redheaded friend."

"You killed her?"

"I wouldn't worry about her anymore."

"If you've hurt her—"

Stepping away from the door, Schmidt replied, "I never touched her."

Artemis couldn't be dead. There was no way. He had to be lying. It wasn't possible. She couldn't be.

"Do you want to talk to the boy or not?" Schmidt hissed, breaking Jason from his thoughts.

Jason answered with a nod. Schmidt looked at the guards and inclined his head. One of them slowly lowered his weapon and unbolted the door. The door swung open with an eerie creak as Jason stepped inside the dark and grimy cell. A light flickered on as Jason stepped inside.

"Timmy?"

The tiny boy huddled in the corner slowly looked up before curling back into himself. "No… You're d-dead. Y-you died. You're not real."

Jason squatted down and reached for Tim, who flinched away and shivered violently before curling into himself further. Even with Tim's current state, Jason wasn't one for patience. He gently seized Tim's skinny wrists and slowly pulled Tim out of the corner.

"Baby Bird, look at me. Please."

Tim shook his head rapidly and clenched his eyes shut. Jason pulled Tim straight into his chest. Wrapping his arms around the skinny boy, Jason whispered, "You're Timothy Jackson Drake. You figured out I was Red Hood when you were nine. Your dad left you when you were ten. Your favorite color is red, and you love coffee. You hate cigarette smoke, unnecessary violence, yelling, and when people tease you for being small. You thought Tamara Fox and Stephanie Brown were the prettiest girls you'd ever seen when you were still in school. You always sleep between me and the wall. The scar on your neck is from Bushmaster's knife. I promised you that I'd come back, and I gave you my knife right before I left."

Two tiny fists clenched Jason's shirt. Jason briefly carded his fingers through Tim's hair before tightening his arm back around Tim's shoulders. Tim shook his head as heavy tears slid down his cheeks.

"Y-you're not r-real."

"I am real. I… I'm here, Little Red. I'm here, and I am not going to leave you again. I promise."

Tim finally looked up with red and swollen eyes filled with tears. He gingerly reached up and traced the scar on Jason's cheek. Jason pushed Tim's hand away before saying, "Come on. We're going to get you cleaned up."

Not even bothering to ask permission, Jason stood up and plucked Tim off the ground. Tim circled his arms around Jason's neck before circling his legs around Jason's waist. The older teen marched toward the door and threw it open, only to be met with his mentor's disapproving glare.

"Put him back," Schmidt ordered. "He belongs to me."

"Not anymore. He's staying with me."

"This was not our agreement."

Jason's grip on the kid in his arms tightened. "I don't give a shit. I'm not leaving him again, and I don't care what you do to me."

Schmidt pursed his lips together. His glare seemed to grow as he once again told Jason to put the younger boy back. The two stared each other down while the guards stood with raised weapons, unsure of what to do. That is, until the man Jason recognized as the swordmaster from training arrived.

There were murmurs from the guards, deferring to the "Demon's Head," but the newcomer merely smiled down at Tim, which came across as a rather creepy act. Jason seemed to tighten his grip. He didn't trust anyone in this operation.

The Demon's Head's smile seemed to grow larger and creepier. His hands clasped together, making his fingertips touch as he seemed to think something over. "Come now, Johann, be reasonable. It's not like they can escape. I'm sure they won't try anything, unless they want to be shot on sight."

Schmidt's glare deepened. "You overstep yourself. Remember that they belong to me."

The Demon's Head didn't respond. He merely turned on his heel and left. Schmidt stalked back toward the hallway, leaving the guards even more confused. Jason followed him. He came to a stop outside of a room with an armed guard.

Still clearly pissed about being undermined, Schidt hissed, "Get him cleaned up. I will return within the hour for you."

Jason didn't bother replying. He merely marched into the room furnished with a small cot, a dresser, and an even smaller bathroom. Setting Tim down on the counter, Jason had to grit his teeth just to keep from leaving the room and killing anyone that crossed his path. The sight of the bruises and marks on Tim flooded his veins with anger. Forcing himself to keep his emotions in check, Jason gave Tim a small smile.

"Everything's gonna be okay now, Timmers."

"Will it? You don't have to lie to me."

Taken back by Tim's response, Jason asked, "What did he do to you?"

"He was angry that you died and took it out on me. I don't want to talk about it."

"I'm sorry."

Tim didn't respond. Jason merely turned the faucet on and watched as it slowly filled the small tub. Jason turned back around to face Tim and briefly paused as his gaze caught his reflection in the mirror. The jagged 'J' clearly stood out on his cheek.

"It's not that bad," Tim added before the realization sank in. "Jay, your scars are gone."

Jason's eyes widened in surprise. _Holy shit._ He took quick stock of himself; the brand was gone too. But then... why did the Joker's calling card stay?

"I guess it doesn't matter," Jason murmured, dismissing the subject for the time being in favor of taking care of TIm. "Let's just get you cleaned up, yeah?"

Jason turned back to Tim and helped slide the ragged shirt over his head. Tim's clothing went straight into the trash. Jason left the bathroom and pulled a fresh shirt out of the dresser that had clearly been sized for him. Jason's old leather jacket was inside the dresser as well. Stripping out of the hospital gown he'd been walking around in, Jason slipped on a fresh pair of jeans, a t-shirt, socks, and his jacket before lacing up a pair of combat boots.

Once Tim had been cleaned up, Jason eased a clean t-shirt over his head. The shirt practically swallowed Tim whole; it nearly came down to his knees and hung off one shoulder.

"I'll get you some new clothes," Jason promised.

Tim didn't answer. His lips were twisted as he stared off into space, clearly deep in thought.

"Earth to Timbo. You okay?"

Tim muttered, "Fine. Just thinking."

"About what?"

"You're alive."

"I thought we established this."

Tim shook his head. "No. Hydra can bring people back from the dead. What if there are other people like us who don't want to be here? We could find them; we could try and fight back..."

"Timmy, the only thing I care about is getting us the hell outta here."

"And then what? Jason, there is no getting out of here. There are guards and cameras everywhere... If you want to do this alone, you're going to have to leave me here."

Jason shook his head. "No. Even if I somehow escape, the Red Skull will kill you."

"Ra's won't let him. He likes me too much."

"Ra's?"

Tim frowned. "That man from earlier. They call him the Demon's Head."

Jason narrowed his eyes. "I'm not going to leave you here. End of discussion."

Tim kept quiet as he noticed how heated Jason was. Jason paced back and forth in the tiny prison, while Tim sat there watching his older brother. But Jason paused when he noticed a stifled yawn fall from Tim's lips. That was when he also noticed the bags under Tim's eyes.

"Timmy, when was the last time you slept?"

Tim cast his eyes downward and shrugged. "I don't know… I keep seeing Bizarro."

Jason exhaled slowly before dropping down beside Tim on the cot. Tim curled into Jason's side, and Jason curled his arm around him. Jason had only seen Bizarro die on a tiny screen. Tim had been there and had watched him die in person. Jason could feel Tim's tears dripping onto his shirt. Yet, he didn't say anything. Words couldn't bring someone back or take pain away. There was nothing to say.

"Tim, what happened to Artemis?"

"We were back at the hideout when these people came. They told us to come quietly, and Artemis and Bizarro killed a lot of them before someone grabbed me and put a knife to my neck. She surrendered, but Bizarro didn't. There were so many, and they just beat him and drugged him and held him down like some animal. Then they brought us to this room and… you know what happened next. I haven't seen her since."

Jason exhaled slowly before pulling away from Tim and throwing back the single sheet on the cot. After instructing Tim to crawl under, Jason covered the kid back up before taking a seat on the cot and leaning against the wall.

Resting his head against Jason's thigh, Tim asked, "Aren't you tired?"

"I think I've gotten all the rest I could ever need after dying, Timmy."

"That isn't funny, Jay."

"Shut up and go to sleep."

And Tim did.

Jason didn't. He was too busy mourning Bizarro and wondering what happened to Artemis. He had no idea how much time passed before the door was thrown open, and Tim jolted awake to see the Red Skull standing in the doorway. Tim flinched and immediately tried his hardest to melt into the wall.

Jason immediately rose to his feet and positioned himself between his little brother and a monster. He swallowed hard as Schmidt stepped directly into the room with two of his guards.

Schmidt smiled creepily at Tim as he came closer to the cot. "Has Timothy been telling you how much fun we've had together?"

Tim swallowed before lifting his middle finger at his torturer. Schmidt frowned before raising his hand to slap Tim. Jason intercepted by blocking the hand and retaliated by slamming his fist into Red Skull's face.

"Don't. Touch. Him."

Schmidt snapped his fingers, and Jason was seized by the guards. Tim looked like he was about to get off the bed, but Jason shook his head.

Blood slipped down Schmidt's scorched face, creating a gruesome scene as he snarled at Jason and roughly grabbed the boy's throat. "I brought you back into this world, and I can just as well take you out of it!"

"Bite me."

The monster of a man emitted a low growl deep inside his throat. "Twenty lashes."

"I can take it," Jason shot back.

"No. Twenty for Timothy."

"You sonofabitch! You leave him alone!" Jason snapped.

"You will learn there are consequences for disobeying!" Schmidt shouted right back. "He suffers for every mistake you make!"

Jason stood there in horror as a third guard stepped into the room with a whip. Tim glanced over at Jason and gave his older brother a small smile before saying, "I can take it."

The next second, Tim was roughly shoved onto his stomach, and the shirt was ripped off, leaving him exposed and completely vulnerable. A couple of minutes later, Tim's scrawny back was nothing more than a bloody mess of shredded flesh and blood. Jason wasn't sure who'd screamed more; himself or his baby brother, who was barely even conscious at this point. Blood slowly dripped through the fabric of the cot and gathered into a pool onto the concrete.

The room rang with Tim's sobs for a minute before Schmidt ordered: "Let's go."

"He needs medical attention."

"The sooner we get started, the sooner he will be tended to."

Jason was pulled from the room by the guards, who dragged him behind his dark master. Jason practically glared a hole into the man's head as they walked down several corridors before coming to a stop outside of a room. The guards remained outside after pushing Jason through the door into a room filled with weapons and armor.

Schmidt walked up to a glass case containing a suit of military-grade armor. Jason followed behind him, "Why did you bring me back? What do you want me from me? You want me to don my Red Hood costume and—"

"The Red Hood is dead. Too many connections to me. From now on, you are the Arkham Knight," Schmidt explained before gesturing to the armor. "This is for you. You have been brought back to serve me. I haven't the time to train someone else. I have enemies that need to be taken care of. That's where you come in."

Jason stared at the Kevlar armor.. He was then shown to a table containing several throwing knives, knives, several grenades, and vials of poison.

If he weren't so worried about Tim, he probably would have been excited. He'd never had so many new toys to kill with.

"Everything on this table is yours. When you return, we will resume your training. Outside of the districts, there are more weapons you must learn. You will be proficient in firearms soon enough. Now, get dressed and take whatever weapons you require. Head through the door on your left before the next five minutes. And do not disappoint me this time."

Jason did as he was told. He pulled the vest on, velcroing it at the shoulders and sides to fit him tighter. Pulling the helmet over his head, Jason locked it into place. He then headed for the door on the left.

Inside were six armed ninjas and various weapons. He looked up to see Red Skull, Ra's, and Talia watching him. All of them looked way too happy.

Ra's instructed. "Use whatever force and whatever weapons any of you deem necessary. However, only one leaves this place with their life. Begin."

Jason pulled the pin from a smoke grenade before tossing it at his opponents. A cloud of smoke burst forth the second it hit the ground, and Jason threw a knife at the neck of the closest threat. The first opponent went down gurgling blood. Jason popped the pin on a frag grenade. The grenade rolled past the second ninja. Briefly distracted for a second, the ninja stared at the grenade, completely missing Jason's roundhouse kick coming right at him. The man fell right on top of the grenade. Shrapnel tore through his body a moment later. The third was taken down by a knife through his eye socket, while the fourth had gone down with a snapped neck. The fifth had gotten lucky and managed to wedge a knife into Jason's thigh before getting Jason's knife in the ear. The sixth proved to be a bit trickier but went down with a slit throat from a poisoned blade.

Jason stood in a circle of death around him before the door to the arena opened. A seventh warrior, taller than the others, entered the arena. The ninja bore a battle axe and a lasso. Jason groaned internally and briefly glanced up at the three people watching the event before turning back to find the person in the doorway gone. Jason barely had time to roll out of the way as an axe came down where he'd been only seconds before.

"Holy shit," he gasped, barely getting it together to throw a knife.

His opponent dodged the weapon and immediately lashed out with a whip, catching Jason's shoulder. He hissed in pain as blood sloshed down his uniform. The axe swung toward Jason again, and barely rolled out of the way and pulled a taser from the weapons around him — only to have the whip pop it right out of his hand. Jason pulled a dagger and wielded it in a defensive stance.

He swung the knife towards the ninja, but his arm was caught and painfully twisted behind his back, causing the knife to fall to the floor. Jason nearly thought his arm would pop out of the socket. In a desperate move, Jason threw his head back into his opponent's face.

A feminine cry made Jason freeze and quickly back up. "Artemis?"

The ninja froze for a moment. Jason pulled his helmet off as she pulled the mask from her face. Her long red hair flowed freely as she shook her head. "You died."

"Artemis, it's me. It's really me. I don't want to fight you."

She swallowed hard and took a step closer. "I'm sorry. There can only be one."

Jason's eyes widened. He barely managed to roll out of the way as the axe came down. The next instant, the lasso was around his neck, strangling him and allowing him to be reeled in. She was actually going to kill him.

Pulling him onto the ground, she swung her axe. The weapon slipped from her hands and clattered to the ground as a gasp left her lips. Artemis looked down and saw nothing but red seeping from around the blade embedded in her torso. She fell to her knees and nearly hit the ground before Jason caught her, betrayal written in her emerald eyes.

"I'm sorry," Jason whispered, not even bothering to hide the tears sliding down his face. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

 _They were supposed to be focused on the heist, yet Jason couldn't take his eyes off the woman in front of him. The age difference between them was several years, but he couldn't help it. He was in love._

 _"What?" she asked sharply._

 _"Um… You have really green eyes," Jason stammered._

 _Artemis rolled said green eyes before sighing. "If you're hitting on me, I'll break your face. I've already told you that I'm too old for you."_

 _"But, I won't be fourteen forever."_

 _"And my answer will still be no."_

* * *

Jason sat there and held her long after she took her last breath. He may have been trained to kill, but he was still only sixteen. Jason allowed himself to be completely vulnerable in his grief. Artemis had been his first love, after all, even if she never reciprocated the feelings.

Schmidtl was the first to speak. "We do what we must in order to survive in this world. Now get up. She is dead. There is nothing you can do."

Jason finally let go of Artemis before throwing himself at Schmidt. Talia positioned herself between them, keeping Jason from killing Schmidt, even as Schmidt threatened,"Do it. Go on. Hit me. I'm sure Timothy only needs one ear."

"The second this over, I'll kill you," Jason retorted.

"You'll do nothing to me. I own you," Schmidt said smugly. "Now, you've gone long enough without my mark. It's time you remembered who you belong to."

"Enough," Ra's ordered. "Talia, take Jason and see to my detective."

"They belong to me. He is not going anywhere until he's branded!" Schmidt shouted.

As the two men argued, Talia took Jason's hand and slowly began to lead him away. Jason cast one last mournful glance over his shoulder. After a few beats of silence, he asked, "Who's the detective?"

"Timothy. My father has taken an interest in him."

"What kind of interest?"

She merely smiled at the teen. "I wouldn't worry about it."

"I want to know."

Talia considered him before she smiled and turned into him. "That will cost you."

Jason felt disgusted with himself as he wrapped his hands around Talia's waist and smirked. He'd play her little game for now. He had to. Tim was the only thing he had left. He'd do whatever they wanted now until he could get them out.

"I'm sure we can come up with some kind of arrangement."


	112. Chapter 111: Point of No Return

**(A/N): Happy Friday, everyone! We're taking you back to the arena with Abby Well's amazing Poison Ivy. Things are really heating up...**

 **Thank you to all our writers who reviewed and to Slim Summers2002 or sticking with us and telling us what you like! :)**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Eleven- Point Of No Return**

 **Day Nine**

 **Pamela Isley of District Eleven**

 **Written by Abby Well**

* * *

 _"Every broken heart has one time or another asked, "What is important to me now?"_

— Shannon L. Alder

* * *

Harley was gone.

The Joker was gone.

And Dick Grayson… Wayne.. whatever his name was… was _alive._

Ivy's heart hurt when she looked at him. It was hard to look at his wounds, to see the way Joker had forever tainted the names of Dick's friends by carving them in red across his skin, though she found a sort of morbid curiosity in it too. Mostly, she couldn't face the sight of him, because every time his limp body caught her eye, anger burned freshly in her chest.

Harley had died in their misguided attempt to save him, and by the looks of him, he wasn't going to survive much longer, so it would ultimately have been pointless.

 _And I didn't even get to say goodbye._

She hadn't cried yet. There hadn't been time to cry for what she'd lost, not with everything that had happened. She knew there would be tears, could feel them trying to fight their way out of her eyes and in the itch at the very back of her throat, but for now, they would have to wait until she set them free.

In her hand, she clutched Harley's bloodstained bat. She'd removed the tattered string from around her wrist, which had somehow survived all the arena had thrown her way, and tied her small leaf token around the handle. It wasn't a reminder of her home anymore, as Yarrow had intended it to be, but of everything she'd been through in the last nine days.

Everything _they'd_ been through.

She couldn't really see Dick's expression from where she was, but it was clear he was in pain. He was being supported carefully by Helena on one side and the statuesque Kory on the other, the latter of whom kept leaning close to his ear to whisper words of comfort or brush gentle, loving kisses against his bloodied cheek.

They'd barely walked more than fifty yards, making dangerously slow progress. The hellish asylum that Jack had turned into a torture chamber as king of his derelict castle, however short his reign had been, was still in sight behind them. The sun was rapidly climbing the sky as they wasted time in the open water, and they weren't getting anywhere.

 _Because of him. It's all because of him._

Ivy watched the trio ahead with narrowed eyes. Every time the motion of walking jarred Dick's wounds, he let out a hiss of agony, and Kory's eyebrows formed a triangle of concern on her smooth forehead. Without fail, every time, he would turn his head and try to smile at her, to reassure her. On his other side, Helena remained stone-faced, but her and Kory's gazes would meet to exchange concerned glances over Dick's head. Then, they would all take another step, and the pantomime would start over again, like some strange three-headed clockwork toy.

This wasn't going well, and to some extent, all of them knew this but refused to acknowledge it. Neither of the other girls would be willing to give up on Dick, and he was so sickeningly good-natured that he wouldn't ever say a word about how much he was hurting, lest it upset them.

He was going to get them all killed.

 _Not if you do something about it._

He was already suffering so much, even if he wasn't complaining. She could see it in the sagging of his shoulders, the stiffness of his spine, the shaky way his feet landed on the ground with each agonizing step. It was impossible to ignore — though the other girls were certainly trying their best.

He was dying already. What more could she do?

 _End it on your terms._

Her fingers clenched around the handle of the bat.

She'd had no reason to try and save that boy. He'd been Harley's friend, and she understandably hadn't wanted anyone else to get hurt by the Joker — he'd already taken too many young lives for himself. Of course, Dick was Helena's brother, and Kory loved him. There was no question there. But Ivy? She had nothing to do with him. She didn't think they'd ever even spoken to each other before that day.

Ivy's best friend, her partner, her confidant — she'd died trying to save him. Her heart was broken, and he was getting dragged along by two misguided girls determined to try and save his life. He didn't deserve to be saved; he deserved death.

Straightening her spine, she stalked forward through the water and circled around so she stood in front of them all. "Stop."

The other girls stared at her, while Dick's gaze was on the ground as he slumped between them. "We have to get him out of here," Helena argued. Her jaw was set stiffly, and she spoke through gritted teeth. These were the only signs of her distress. Her emotional control had always been somewhat admirable.

"We can't," Ivy retorted, then shot Kory a glare when she opened her mouth to protest. "He needs shelter, rest, food, and healing, and there's no guarantee we'll be able to find anything like that if we keep going like this. We can at least have two of those things if we go back." Her arm shot out as she gestured with the bat over Kory's shoulder, back to the asylum. Its barbed wire fence glinted like rusty fangs in the afternoon sun. "It'll be empty now that Harl… the bodies have been removed." They'd all been witness to the hovercraft's arrival and swift departure.

Helena's mouth dropped open in shock. "You've got to be joking."

"Where else can we go, Helena?!" Ivy snapped. "I don't want to go back there either, but there's nowhere nearby we can take care of him safely. If you want your brother—" She jerked her head towards Kory. "—and the boy you love to have a chance of surviving, this is what we need to do."

"Why do you care?" Helena said slowly, narrowing her eyes.

"I won't have Harley gone for _nothing_." Ivy's words were sharp, springing from her mouth like venom from a cobra. She raised the bat again and pointed it at Dick's slumping figure. "You can hunt for food, I can find healing plants, Kory can take care of him, but it won't be worth anything if he can't rest and be comfortable. The longer we take trying to find somewhere safe, the less time we have to help him. His wounds will get infected, and we won't be able to salvage even one good thing from this whole damn fiasco of a rescue mission!" Lowering the bat to rest in the palm of her other hand, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You've got a smart head on your shoulders, Helena. I shouldn't be the voice of reason here — you _know_ what needs to be done."

"What _needs_ to be done is not going back to that hellhole!" Helena yelled, then dropped her voice when Dick groaned beside her. "Damnit, Ivy—"

"That hellhole is the only chance your brother has!" Ivy shot back.

Helena paused to shift Dick's arm closer around her shoulders, but the rage on her face didn't waver for a second. "Are you _insane?_ " she hissed.

 _Maybe._

Ivy's scowl deepened, twisting her features and emphasizing the shadows under her eyes. When she next spoke, her voice was low and dangerous, the growl of a jungle cat hidden in the undergrowth. "We've been here for nine days, and it's the first building we've seen. Nowhere else will be safe enough. If anyone else comes along, they'll think Joker's in there, at least until the show tonight. We could have hours of time, uninterrupted, to take care of Dick, or we could stay out here and lose him before you can kiss him goodbye."

"Please," Kory said softly. Her voice was gentle but filled with quiet determination, flowing forth to deftly slice the tension between Ivy and Helena's glares. "The longer we argue, the more likely that will be. I believe Ivy is right."

In the silence that followed her words, Dick mumbled an attempt at a joke, a quiet, "Can't argue with redheads, Hel," before coughing violently. His whole body shook, and a dribble of dark blood slid from the side of his mouth. Helena's lips pressed into such a thin line they almost became invisible.

"What about the traps?"

"After all the damage you two did?" Ivy shook her head. "The transport crew had to get in and out as well. That place has been used up."

Helena stared at her for a long moment, and Ivy could almost see the thoughts whirring behind her eyes as she weighed up the pros and cons.

"Fine," she said eventually, in a suspiciously level tone. Her gaze swept over her brother's broken body, analyzing everything she could see, and she came to a decision. "We'll move faster if we carry him between the three of us. Anything happens, we'll have to put him down, but—"

"That is a risk we are willing to take," Kory interjected. "To protect him." She smiled down at Dick and kissed a small patch of clean white skin on his forehead.

Ivy glanced around. There were trees close by and lots of long grass. "Branches," she said. "We can make a stretcher for him. Give me your jackets." She was already shrugging her way out of hers.

"We'll handle it," Helena retorted. "You do the plants. That's what you're good at, right?"

Without replying, Ivy dropped her jacket on the damp ground and wandered off toward the trees. As she stepped into the shadows of the trunks, something tugged at her heart — what if she just left now? They wouldn't know where she'd gone, and they wouldn't leave Dick behind to try and chase her down, not when he was still alive and somehow cracking jokes.

 _No. You have to end it first._

She might never get the chance to end it if she left there and then. Helena had stolen another kill from her. Jonathan, who had betrayed Ivy's trust, had died _after_ running away from them, and then the huntress had killed the Joker before she got the chance. Dick may have been the reason Harley had died the way she had, but the Joker's bloodied hands had been holding that pipe, and Ivy would never get her revenge on him now.

Without realizing where she'd been walking, she'd reached a tree with branches that were strong, but not too thick. She hung Harley's bat on her pants using its new braided handle, then placed the palm of her right hand on the tree's trunk in silent thanks for what it was about to give her. With her left, she ran her fingers along the nearest branch, feeling for the right spot to break it off, but she suddenly stopped.

The way she was standing, embracing the trunk, it was almost as if she and the tree were waiting for some music to start. _Would you care to dance, my dear?_

She fought down the urge to laugh, and her faltering fingers began moving along the branch again. _No, thank you, sir._

She didn't know what had come over her… except… maybe it was that here, with the tree, wandering in the cool green shade, she felt the safest she had for a long while. The trees could protect her, and she in turn could nurture them, help them thrive. Her garden, much as she loved it dearly, had too many rules casting an unwelcome shadow over its beauty. She could be free in here.

Would it really be so bad if she just walked away? The cameras would have to be found and destroyed, but…

She felt herself wavering again. The call of the green around her was strong.

 _How long could you stay hidden out here?_ she mused, stroking the tree's rough bark. Each of the trunks she could see had grooves and ridges as unique as any fingerprint. She could learn them all, hear their stories. They would tell her everything they knew. _How long would it take the Capitol to hunt you down?_

 _Stop it._ She shook her head, screwing her eyes shut for a moment before facing reality again. She had to focus. The others were waiting for her, and it would look strange if she had been so adamant about returning to the asylum only to delay their movement. She still had a job to do.

Her left thumb found a weak spot in the branch, and she began to saw at the wood with her knife. The blade was short and not as sharp as she would have liked it to be, but she eventually managed to break the branch off. It landed on the ground with a dull thud and was soon joined by another of a similar length. Ivy scooped them up under one arm, thanked the tree once more for its gift, and returned to the open.

Dick was lying down on top of a makeshift sling made from the girls' jackets. Helena was crouched beside him, and she glanced up briefly when Ivy approached before lowering her head again. Her grimy fingers gently prodded at her brother's injuries, feeling for broken bones, gingerly tracing the letters carved into his flesh. Kory, still standing, her red hair shining like a dark flame in the sun, smiled gratefully at Ivy. The smile didn't reach her eyes — it barely got beyond the corners of her mouth. "Thank you. I gathered some grass; we can use it as rope."

"Good thinking," Ivy replied noncommittally. She dropped to her knees and slid one branch on either side of Dick's body, picking long strands of reed grass from the pile Kory had gathered and knotting the jackets to the branches. It would have to do.

"You two carry him. I'll stand guard." Helena was taking charge again — she seemed to work better when she had something to focus on. Neither of the redheads argued; Kory took the top end of the stretcher, so Dick could see her face, and they moved off.

As they walked back the way they'd come, Ivy wondered if it would have been as easy to carry Dick without nine days of poor sleep, lack of food, and deep fatigue behind him. Or perhaps she'd gotten stronger. She felt stronger, as if she'd been shut in the darkness for years before being allowed to grow out in the sun. But with that strength came heartbreak and pain, her mind being pulled in all directions, her chest hollow with an ache demanding to make itself known. With that strength came love, and with that love came emptiness where it had once been.

She clenched her teeth and swallowed hard as they passed the barbed wire fence. Her throat felt like it was lined with thorns.

When they'd climbed from the pit before, none of them had looked back, but now, the entrance to the asylum seemed like a black hole waiting to swallow what was left of them. Ivy paused on the event horizon. She knew what was in there — the demented traps, the blood, the darkness, the spot where Harley had died…

 _Oh, Harley. I miss you._

"Through me you pass into the city of woe; through me you pass into eternal pain," she whispered to herself. Bad things would come to her if she crossed that threshold. Bad things would be done by her. Bad things would chase her when she came back up into the light. Would it be worth it?

 _Yes. For her._

"Ivy." Helena appeared by her side. "Don't tell me you're having second thoughts." Her tone was laced with warning.

"No." Ivy didn't look at her when she replied; her gaze was fixed on the dark. "You go first."

* * *

 _"Go." His eyes were ice glaring down at her, and for a moment, she was entirely frozen._

 _"What do you mean?" She knew it, deep down. There was nothing else he could possibly be saying; but in spite of herself, she had to hope it was something, anything, different. It couldn't be ending like this, not after everything_ —

 _"You're on your own, Pamela." He took a step back, like he wanted to make it clear, like he couldn't stand to touch her any longer._

 _She followed him, reaching for him, watching her hands head for his arm as if she was watching someone else. "No! No, Jas_ — _"_

 _He clamped his hands on her shoulders to keep her still, standing over her, overshadowing her. His handsome face was completely closed off. The Jason she'd fallen in love with looked like a stranger._

 _"You're on your_ own."

* * *

They found a room that might have been a smaller, private ward, at some point in the asylum's history. What once was white had turned gray with dirt and mold; the floor was somehow both slippery and crunchy at the same time; and the small, broken window blocked most of the sunlight with a shield of dust and cobwebs. Still, it was better than being out in the open.

There had been a silent agreement between all of them that under no circumstances would they be returning to the Joker's 'operating theater'. This room would be their base.

They walked Dick into the middle of the room and laid him down. He'd have to stay on the stretcher — the old beds were weak, and the floor was filthy. Kory immediately sprang into action, darting around the room to gather pillows, sheets, blankets, a plastic water jug encrusted with algae from atop a broken bedside table. Meanwhile, Helena was attacking the musty drapes and bedside curtains with her knife, gathering a pile of cloth she could cut into bandages.

Watching them all, Ivy retreated into the corner and sat down silently, placing Harley's bat beside her, so she could see the whole room at once. She had to think about her next steps, especially in such close quarters. She wouldn't be able to get near enough to Dick with two guardian angels watching over his every twitch and curse. She would have to get rid of them.

 _What have you got in your pockets?_

That would be a good place to start. She began reaching into the many pockets of her pants, pooling her resources on her lap. Berries, cattails, edible shoots. Chamomile. Valerian. The water lily Harley had put into her hair days ago, now shrivelled. Doc leaves, fragrant mint sprigs. Citronella seeds. Aloe. Milkweed.

She glanced up quickly, but neither of the other girls was looking at her. They were fussing around Dick how Ivy imagined hens would — she'd never actually seen a hen, so she couldn't be sure.

Her fingers sifted through the mix in front of her, picking out the chamomile and valerian. They would do to make a strong and calming tea, to help Kory get some sleep after a long and arduous night. After a moment's thought, she added the sweet berries to the pile, and a few mint leaves. Valerian had a powerful smell that not everybody appreciated. Best to disguise it with something a little more palatable, especially in such a large dose.

 _That's one turtle dove dealt with._

Helena wouldn't be as easy to dupe. She'd been around Ivy longer, and ever since the fire, her trust has been wavering — but Ivy was quiet, and being quiet not only meant that people underestimated you but that they wouldn't realize if you were watching them. She hadn't watched like Jack, looking for pieces to place on his game board, or like Jonathan, trying to work out their greatest fears. She watched to see how people worked.

It was rather like being in her garden in some small way, figuring out what would make her children flourish or wither. The technique just had to be applied differently.

She had seen now Helena's face clouded over during the nightly light show, until it was clear her brother wasn't up there. She knew Helena didn't like feeling helpless in the face of trouble, and she got frustrated if there wasn't some recognizable task she could perform. The best way of getting her away from Dick was to give her something to do that would yield tangible results, make her feel like she'd achieved something positive in the midst of her brother's decline.

 _So we send the beauty to sleep, and we send the huntress to hunt._

She glanced up again. Kory was still tending to Dick's wounds, whispering in his ear while she worked and kissing him carefully whenever the pain got too much. Something twanged delicately in Ivy's chest, like a long-ago memory of a harp string being plucked, and she frowned as she watched Kory and Dick's interactions. Had she ever looked so in love? Had she ever smiled so sweetly, felt so delicate a touch on the side of her face? She didn't understand how they could be that way, surrounded by so much horror, an oasis in the face of certain death. It was as if they existed in a bubble, drifting through the world but never interacting with what was beyond, so wrapped up in each other that they wouldn't, or couldn't, let the nightmares in.

But all bubbles burst eventually. Ivy narrowed her eyes and dragged her gaze away from the happy couple.

Helena had moved away from them, too, and was busy trying to build a fire in the middle of the room, in the hopes that the smoke would leave through the jagged hole in the windowpane and not choke them all to death. She must have felt Ivy watching her, because she lifted her head and frowned in her direction. "What are you up to?" she called over, suspicion flavoring her words.

"Working through my supplies," Ivy replied carefully. "Here, take this. It soothes." She held out one green hand, a peace offering of aloe clutched in her fingers. "Smear the juices around the cuts, but clean them first."

Helena grimaced but approached her and took the plant in her hand. "We'll need more water." She returned to the fireside.

"I'll go," Ivy offered, rising from amid the dirt. "Do what you can. Your brother needs you." Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked out into the dim corridor, clutching the baseball bat in her hands.

Now that she was alone, she took the time to properly absorb her surroundings. It was darker in the windowless corridor, but not so dark she couldn't see. It smelled mostly damp and earthy, the scents of the swamp outside shot through with metal and long-dried blood, faded antiseptic, asbestos and rust. She couldn't see the swamp, but she could feel it encroaching on the building, claiming it back for Mother Nature piece by piece.

Her boots crunched over the floor, turning glass into dust. She didn't know where she was heading — maybe there was a restroom or a cafeteria with taps she could try. She could go outside and get water, of course, but she didn't want to climb those stairs again just now.

 _Not yet._

Heading deeper into the asylum, she began to notice blood that looked a little fresher, smears of red on door frames. After a while, she spotted a long, thin swathe of white along one wall, as if a blade had been dragged through the dirt to reveal what was underneath.

Then, a little further ahead, she saw it.

 **Ha ha ha**

 **Ha ha ha**

 **Ha ha ha**

The Joker had been here, his laughter coloring the walls, daubed in blood or just smeared into the muck that coated the bricks. It was everywhere, overlapping with itself, some of it going so high up the walls that he shouldn't have been able to reach.

Perhaps he'd been wandering around, collecting items to furnish his torture chamber, or simply playing lord of the manor, strutting through the corridors with his head held high, making his mark on this forgotten place. Had he believed someone would find it, that his legacy would live on through the words, or had he just been doing it for the sake of being destructive? Ivy squeezed her eyes shut, blotting out the laughter. This was no time to try and psychoanalyze him — he was dead, and she had things to do — but she found even if she couldn't see the words, she could _hear_ him in her head, the ghost of a cackle echoing through the chambers in her mind. Here was another man who'd taken from her, and he wouldn't let her forget it.

She felt her chest growing tight; the laughter morphed into long, cold fingers that gripped her heart and squeezed until she thought it might break all over again. Sadness washed over her in an irresistible wave, and she thought she might drown in it right there, unable to see through the murky water and find her way to land like she had when running from the fire, when Harley's hand had been her whole world.

 _C'mon, Red. You got this._

"Harley," Ivy breathed out, the name leaving her lips before she could stop it. Her eyes snapped open, and the tiny flash of hope she'd felt shrivelled like a frosted flower when she realized that she was still alone.

Helena's words came back to her. Was she insane? She was hearing the voices of the dead. She _knew_ Harley was dead — the ache in her chest would be proof enough of that even if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes — and yet…

"I don't know if I can do this on my own," she whispered to the empty air.

 _Y'ain't gotta, Red. You've got me._

"But I don't." Ivy's voice cracked as she shook her head sadly. Tears welled up in her eyes, her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor with her shoulders shaking. "You died, Harley, you died..."

It was the first time she'd said it out loud.

The sudden _realness_ of it broke the dam inside that had already been straining to hold it all back. She'd felt more in the last three hours than she had in the last two years, and now her previously fierce resolve was crumbling under the onslaught of emotions. Her sobs echoed down the corridor, the wails of the asylum's ghosts mingling with the sound in a chorus of sorrows old and new, and once they'd started, Ivy couldn't stop them. Her whole body was shaking, so tense and tired and overwrought that she had no control over herself. The baseball bat clattered onto the filthy tiled floor, and she, a wilting flower, curled in on herself, hands clenching around chunks of her muddy hair.

 _Hey._ Harley's soft voice piped up again, and Ivy could just about hear it over the persistent ringing in her ears. _C'mon Red, don't go to pieces on me here._

Choking and gasping, Ivy was struggling to fight her way out of the tremors and noise. If she didn't, she would lose Harley's voice, that light in the darkness, the only source of comfort for her now, but it was so hard…

 _We ain't gonna let this stop us. You're doin' this for me, yeah?_

Every breath was effort, but finally, Ivy's voice stopped trembling, and she was able to force out a single word. "Yes."

 _Then it's you and me, baby. To the end. I gotcha._

She could have sworn she heard Harley's giggle, that familiar string of happy bubbles popping around her head, but then it was gone, and silence fell. Every instinct was immediately screaming at her to start panicking further now she was all alone again. Ivy pushed those thoughts away, focusing instead on getting her body back under her control. Her hands were still shaking, but only her hands.

She was through.

Yes, Harley was gone, but not completely. Not the memory of her, sweet and blonde and bouncy, fierce and caring and brave in the face of danger. She lived on in plans for vengeance, in Ivy's mind, in the pain and love fighting for space in her patchwork heart.

Squaring her shoulders and ignoring the walls, Ivy stood and walked onward, her hands holding Harley's bat tight as a lifeline in the darkness.

* * *

 _"Hey, Red? You awake?"_

 _"Yes." She was staring up at the blue-black sky through a gap in the trees._

 _"I can't sleep."_

 _Ivy rolled onto her side and looked at Harley lying about two feet away, just about able to make out her eyes in the darkness. "What's wrong?"_

 _Harley didn't answer for a moment, but when she did, her voice was small. "Will you hold me?"_

 _Ivy smiled. "Come here." She lifted her arm, and Harley shifted across the ground toward her, curling into her body as if they'd been sleeping like that all their lives. Ivy wrapped her arms around her and pulled her close, then instinctively dropped a small kiss on top of her head. "Better?"_

 _"Yeah," Harley murmured happily, already sounding as if she was dropping off to sleep. "Thanks, Red."_

 _"Will you two be quiet?" Helena grumbled from the other side of the smoldering campfire._

* * *

When Ivy returned to their base of operations, she found that Dick was awake and somehow smiling in spite of everything. Helena had successfully built a fire underneath an upturned metal bed frame and got it going — it filled the room with warmth and smoke, turning everything soft-focus — and between her and Kory's efforts, there was now a pile of long, thin strips of fabrics they could use for bandages.

Ivy entered the room clutching a rusty bucket filled with water, which she'd found in the kitchen, deep in the asylum's belly. She'd been pleased to eventually find the pipe, even if the water was a scummy greenish-brown shade that obviously came directly from the swamp itself, but she thought it would be serviceable. "I could only carry this up, but there's more where it came from," she said by way of greeting the other three. Her gaze quickly darted to the corner of the room, where her plants were still lying on the floor, untouched.

"Finally," Helena said, immediately jumping to her feet and all but snatching the bucket from Ivy's grasp. She'd clearly been on edge waiting for her to return, so she could get back to doing something helpful and keep distracting herself from the worst.

Kory was a little more welcoming, turning and smiling gratefully at her fellow redhead. Her head tilted to one side slightly as she took in Ivy's appearance, but if she noticed any trace of her tears, she didn't say anything. "We were wondering what was taking you so long. Where did you find it?" She nodded towards the bucket, which Helena was now placing on top of the frame over the fire so it could be heated through.

"There's a kitchen downstairs. One of the pipes still works, but it's not clean." Ivy approached them, looking at Dick's bloodied body critically. "How is he?"

"Fine." Dick and Kory responded at the same time, then giggled and looked at each other adoringly. Something pinged in Ivy's heart, and she clenched her teeth.

"Kory..." she began, keeping her voice level. _Do it. Do it for her._ "When you're done helping him, you should get some rest. It's been a long night for all of us." She made the suggestion sound as casual and gentle as she could, as if she actually cared about the other girl.

Instantly, Kory shook her head. "No, no. I couldn't leave him—"

"Kor." Dick cleared his throat with some effort and lifted his hand so it covered hers. Ivy's gaze zeroed in on where their hands met, but before either of them looked up, she quickly tore her gaze away. "You have to rest sometime."

Ivy nodded in agreement, her expression impossible to read. "When you're ready, let me know. I'll make you some tea to help you sleep."

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders

14\. Jade Nguyen, District Ten Female: Killed by Harleen Quinzel

13\. Kara Danvers, District Five Female: Killed by Kara Danvers

12\. Jason Todd, District Six Male, Killed by Jack Hamill

11\. Rachel Roth, District Nine Female, Killed by Harper Row

10\. Thea Queen, District One Female, Killed by Harper Row

9\. Harper Row, District Two Female, Killed by Diana Prince

8\. Harleen Quinzel, District Eight Female, Killed by Jack Hamill

7\. Jack Hamill, District Eight Male, Killed by Helena Wayne


	113. Chapter 112: Sealed With a Kiss

**(A/N): And we're hurtling toward our Final Few as the Games really ramp up. This time we're gonna see how Dick's doing (not well), with robbiepoo2341.**

 **Thanks as always to the writers who reviewed as well as to Slim Summers2002 for sticking with us!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Twelve - Sealed with a Kiss**

 **Evening Nine**

 **Dick Grayson of District Seven**

 **Written by robbiepoo2341**

* * *

" _Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death."_ — _Elisabeth Kubler-Ross_

* * *

Two taps.

That was what brought Dick out of the mindset he'd just been in, his thoughts caught in the operatory still as he stared down at the drapes wrapped around his arm.

The girls had torn them down to use the fabric to cover his chest and arm, the bloodiest injuries. They had also covered the names, and for some reason, Dick was having a hard time with that. He _knew_ Jack had done it just to screw with him. He _knew_ he'd done it because the Titans were dead, but there was this insane part of him that didn't want the names covered up.

If he had a few minutes to think about it, he'd realize it was yet another part of what Jack had tried to pull — emotional torture that lingered long after the actual injuries. But he wasn't far enough out from it to get there just yet. To forget the way Jack had gleefully cackled at the sound of the cannon that morning and finally, _finally_ stopped carving to simply sit in front of him and whisper to him what he wanted to do to Kory — and make Dick watch — before he finally let him die. To forget the sadistic laughter ringing in his ears when Jack got bored of waiting for Kory to come to him and went back to his torture...

And then Dick felt two distinct taps on his wrist, and that brought him back to where he was supposed to be. With Helena. With Kory. The ones that were still _around_.

He moved automatically to tap Helena's wrist back and smiled as best he could at his sister. "Knew you'd make it," he said in a hoarse voice. "You'll end up winning, I just know it." She looked away for a moment, shaking her head, but looked back quickly with an only slightly forced smile in place.

Talking was still hard. His voice was giving out on him just because of how much he'd used it screaming. But the truth of the matter was that, even with the crackle in his throat, this was better. Talking was something to keep him sane when the rest of it was threatening to crash down on his head. He's always been a chatterbox — and got in trouble for it back home — but it was the best way he knew to work things out for himself, out loud. It was how he made it through.

And besides, this was his _sister_.

He had never been so happy to see her as when she'd shown up with Kory, and Pamela — who was calling herself Ivy now, but that was a whole discussion for another day that he didn't really want to touch with a ten-foot pole. He'd never been so relieved to hear her voice or to see her come rushing in to his rescue — especially when Harley's first wave...

He felt sick whenever he thought about Harley. He _did._ For as badly beaten down as he was, there was a part of him that wished Harley had just left him alone. She had been _fine_ before she tried to help him, had even left Jack at last. And then she'd gone right back to the guy who treated her like dirt just to help him when it was clear to anyone with half a brain that she could have taken on the whole Games on her own.

And yet…

He didn't want Harley to die for him. He _didn't_. But she'd also brought Helena with her, and that made all the difference in the world to Dick. His little sister was right there in front of him, holding his hand, the familiar tapping pattern proving to him that she was alright, that she was _alive_ , that she was in the group of the last few tributes. If she hadn't had to stop and save his neck, she'd probably be well on her way to _winning_.

She looked _great_. She had her crossbow — of course she did; she was _Helena_ — and looked like she'd made it through with just a few scratches, really. The Games had hardly touched her until he stumbled back into her orbit. Not that he was surprised; she had always been much better at staying on task than he was.

Not to mention she'd clearly done a better job with her alliance than he had with his. He'd promised protection to so many people, and they were all dead. _All of them._ Everyone but Kory.

Gar had been so nervous, and Dick had promised he would take care of it so Gar would never have to kill anything, even to eat it. Instead, he had been too slow to get to Gar.

Raven had never been the same after Gar's death, and Dick had only saved her from Angela and Harvey. But no matter what he tried, he couldn't save her from that bloodbath scene. He wondered if she had been alone at the end, if she had run away from Thea after he and Kory had been separated from them.

Thea had come to him covered in her first ally's blood, shocked and shaken. She trusted him, and he had promised to keep her safe. That had lasted only barely longer than his promise to Gar.

Even Jason, who could more or less take care of himself, had been an ally, someone he should have looked out for. He should have listened to his warnings about the asylum, should have known that Thea and Raven would have been too smart to fall for the _blatant_ trap that he'd walked right into. Maybe then he wouldn't see the exact moment Jason gave up burned on the back of his eyelids.

Bruce had always told them that they needed to be _perfect_ , and he had fallen oh so short of the mark. The names on his arm were all the proof he needed of that.

And then he'd gone and gotten part of _Helena's_ alliance killed on top of everything else. Her allies had been perfectly fine before they stepped into his mess, and now, just like him, Helena was down to only one ally from her group still alive.

But _she_ was still alive.

Dick did his best to focus on Helena, to give her the widest, crookedest smile he could manage when he saw that she looked so worried. And she even returned the smile with the slightly upturned corners of her lips, the indication that she sincerely couldn't help herself, even though her eyes looked a bit watery.

"Don't discount yourself, Grayson," she said in that sort of tone that had always made him question who was the older sibling, exactly. "Don't forget: you've gotten pretty far too. There's only six of us left."

He almost laughed at the familiar tone; it was too good to hear it again. _Why did we ever decide to split up?_ he wondered but didn't ask out loud. She already looked so guilty and so torn that he didn't want to make it worse for her.

Which, he supposed, was exactly _why_ they'd decided to split off. So his sister wouldn't have to see him die. So he wouldn't have to watch her hurt. Neither of them could handle that, and they'd known that even back in the Capitol.

Dick shook the thought off and instead looked around the room for something that he could use to lighten the mood. His thoughts were too depressing lately, and the silence was worse than anything else, because it meant he could only focus on the way his chest hurt with every breath, the way he couldn't even feel individual cuts anymore outside of a general feeling that his entire skin was… _crusty_ was the best word for it, gross as it sounded in his head.

Finally, his gaze found Kory, who was quietly wetting down fabric that it looked like she'd torn from her own shirt, which was cut to the midriff.

He couldn't help but stare at her for a moment. He was hurting and tired and watching his sister watch him die — but for just that little bit, all he could think about was the way Kory's hair fell out of place even when she tucked it behind her ears, the way she played her teeth over her bottom lip when she was worried, the way he could see every muscle of her back move where the skin was exposed.

He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her hard. He wanted that sensation of her lips on his, her hands in his hair and his shirt, her knees knocking against his and their feet tangling together in the hitched steps in the water as they pressed each other back into trees in the arena, into walls in the Capitol…

Helena followed his gaze and let out the softest breath that brought his attention back to her. "Dick, you and Kory—"

"I know, Hel," he said, cutting her off. He was sure she wanted to tell him that there was no way that could end happily, but the truth was that he didn't want to hear it. He wouldn't change it for the world. Not one stolen moment.

She frowned at his reaction, but she didn't say anything when Kory came over with the wet cloth, instead stepping back to let Kory do her work. She even moved closer to the door to give them some semblance of privacy. Though that more than anything else she could have said spoke volumes. Helena wouldn't do that if she didn't trust Kory to take care of him.

The water was warm as it ran down his cheeks as Kory cleaned him up. If there'd been any decent medical supplies, Dick was sure he'd be wrapped in bandages from head to toe, but as it was, the girls had done their best with what they had — and kept as much covered with as much pressure as possible. They were doing their best to keep him from bleeding out, though with how tired he was, he knew even if he wasn't losing as much blood as before, he was very nearly drained dry.

"I feel like a haphazard mummy," Dick whispered to Kory in an attempt to get her to smile, and he was pleased to see that she couldn't quite stop herself from doing just that.

"A very sweet, handsome mummy," she whispered right back.

He grinned at her, his gaze on her lips. He put his palms flat on the floor as he tried to push himself up to meet her, but as soon as he started to move in her direction, she understood what he was doing and met him the rest of the way.

Every kiss with Kory was different. They had started out just getting to know one another, feeling out every kiss and learning each other's cues. The last night in the Capitol had been more than that, a sort of passionate frenzy that came with the unspoken fear that it would be the last time they saw each other. The kisses in the arena had been hungry, even the small stolen ones in front of their allies, though the longer, more passionate ones had obviously been Dick's favorite. And when he'd broken his arm, they had turned into something else. Reassuring, gentler kisses that were somehow more desperate than that last night in the Capitol.

But since Jack got a hold of him, they had shifted again. Every kiss felt like a plea — long and lingering and far gentler than anything else she had ever given him. She was trying not to hurt him, but at the same time, he was trying to say goodbye with every breath against her mouth.

Now more than ever, he wanted to kiss the sense out of her. If he could just have twenty minutes of his strength back, he'd take her somewhere with no cameras and spend every moment proving how much he loved her, with words and actions. It seemed crazy when they'd only been in the arena and the Capitol for, what, a couple weeks? It really hadn't been that long. But she felt right, like they were _meant_ to work. And he wasn't going to argue with stars aligning.

He felt her hand on his cheek and covered it with his own, holding onto her fingers to keep his hand there. His other hand he rested on the one she had on the floor to hold herself up.

By the time they released each other, they were both breathing a little harder than they meant to be. Neither of them wanted to break away, but they were both exhausted, both hurting, even if Kory wasn't showing it like he was. Dick knew Jack had done everything he could to make him scream for Kory to hear — that itself was torture too.

"Kory," he whispered to her when the kiss broke. "You should get some sleep."

"I will sleep later," she murmured in his ear in a way that made his heart race.

He squeezed her hand and stole a kiss that turned into something a little more passionate as he geared himself up to lie to her. But just a little bit. "I'll still be here when you wake up," he promised her, his voice even hoarser than usual with how dry his throat was — for more than one reason. His heart was pounding in his ears. Every inch of Kory that was touching him felt like a balm.

And then, he lied. "Maybe I'll get some rest and feel a little better too."

She watched him, her gaze raking his face for any sign that he was lying, even though they both knew he was, no matter how little it was. But she was tired too — he could see it in the droop of her shoulders and the darkness under her eyes. "Alright," she said after a long and pregnant pause. "But I'll never forgive you if I wake up and you are gone."

"And I'll never forgive you if you lose a fight because you're too tired," Dick shot back, then stole another kiss. It was, he'd found, a good way to win an argument with her, even if she was _far_ better at that kind of argument than he was.

She finally pulled back and watched him carefully before she headed back to where Ivy was working over a fire in the center of the room. "What are you working on?" she asked.

"Tea," Ivy said in a soft voice that Dick had to strain to hear. There was a touch of bitterness in her tone, which he didn't blame her for in the least, all things considered. He knew firsthand how hard it was to go on after losing an ally. It was clear just watching Ivy's reaction that she and Harley had been close — and Dick honestly didn't know what he could tell her when he _knew_ that nothing he said would make her feel better.

"Perhaps I can help," Kory said, which almost got a sigh out of Dick. Of course she wasn't going to go to sleep. She needed something to _do_.

Ivy looked up at Kory for a moment, an inscrutable expression passing over her face, before she simply shook her head and went back to her work. "If you want to help, we should think about dinner," she said, in a slightly louder tone so that the other two in the motley crew could hear the conversation. "Now that he's not bleeding quite so much, protein would be best for healing," she added, this time looking Helena's way almost pointedly.

Helena touched the crossbow almost unconsciously before she squared her shoulders and nodded once, sharply. "I'm sure I can find something," she said — though she didn't leave immediately. Instead, she crossed the room to crouch down beside Dick.

He smiled at her without even thinking about it. "Do you take orders? I could sure go for some pheasant right now."

She couldn't help but roll her eyes at him. "Shut up, Grayson," she said, which he knew meant that she was trying not to laugh at him. But she schooled her expression into one that looked a lot more like Bruce — and then softened into one he simply didn't see on her face very often, so it was hard to place. "Stick with Kory, alright? Ivy … I don't trust her."

"You allied with her."

"She was more stable then. She's been slipping all Games, and she and Harley were _close_ ," Helena said, raising one eyebrow and giving him a pointed look.

Dick closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. He hadn't asked Harley to try to save him, but he still felt the weight of her decision on his shoulders all the same. And he was sure that Ivy knew Harley wouldn't have died if she hadn't had to go into Jack's torture chamber….

"But Kory…" Helena said, drawing his attention again, though her gaze was on the two redheads working over the fire. "I'm glad you found each other, Dick."

He raised both eyebrows. That definitely wasn't what he'd expected to hear. If it had been Bruce, he'd have gotten a lecture about knowing his limitations and not getting distracted by a pretty then, Helena wasn't Bruce — even if she was more like him than Dick could ever hope to be, no matter how hard he tried. And every once in a while, that fact surprised him. It really shouldn't have, though. Helena was _Helena._

"Yeah," he said, the word coming out in an exhale as he followed her gaze to Kory.

She squeezed his hand and gave him a double tap, slipping out with her crossbow without another word.

Which, of course, meant that Dick was back where he'd started, sitting in silence with not much else to distract him.

It helped to close his eyes, if he was honest. He needed to focus on something else that wasn't the weird sort of feeling of his skin under the drapes still bleeding and cracking with every breath and not fully healing like it needed to. And with Ivy blocking his view of Kory at the campfire, it was easier to remember instead the fact that he was _still_ half convinced that he could taste peaches every time he kissed Kory. Maybe that was some kind of mental Pavlovian response at this point; he wasn't sure.

 _Alfred's probably a mess right now,_ he thought to himself. _Someone's making tea for us and it's not him._

He almost smiled at his own little private joke, then figured it was better to think about that — Alfred's incredibly unamused and insulted expression — than pretty much anything else that had happened in the past day and a half. He kept his eyes closed and thought about the first time he'd told Alfred that he wanted coffee instead of tea — and didn't look at his arm at all.

He must have drifted off at some point, though he woke up when he shifted unconsciously in his sleep and something pulled that definitely wasn't meant to be pulled. He grimaced a bit and shifted again, trying to find a more comfortable position, but then he felt the unmistakable sort of tickling sensation of someone pushing his hair out of his face and couldn't help but smile.

There was a bit of water running in his eyes as someone put a wet cloth on his forehead, but he saw the red hair and grinned even wider. "Thought you were getting some sleep," he said in a voice hoarse with exhaustion.

He wasn't surprised when she responded by ducking her head to kiss him, and he slid his good hand up to cover hers almost automatically as he grinned into the kiss — until a second later, he realized this was _not_ Kory.

He pulled back, and he meant to stammer out an apology or a "what the heck" — he wasn't sure which was appropriate here, if he'd misread the signals or if Ivy had actually gone and _kissed_ him, which was weird when Kory was _right there_ and it was obvious to even a blind person she was the only one he had eyes for—

And then she kissed him again, harder, a bitter sort of taste lingering in his mouth as he tried to push her back and finally succeeded. His mouth was dry by the time he saw Ivy with a far too satisfied sort of look on her face as his heart rate ticked up way faster than it should have, even with how mortified and mad he was.

What he meant to say was "get away from me," but when he opened his mouth to say that, it was too dry to form the words properly.

"No, I'm not your girlfriend. I can make your heart race, though, can't I?" Ivy whispered. She hadn't moved far from him, which was frustrating. His vision was going weird, sort of blurry, like looking through a foggy windowpane — so she looked like Kory all over again, all reds as she let her hair fall in front of her face when she leaned forward.

"Harley helped me make it," she told him in an even softer whisper that he could barely hear over his heart hammering in his ears, too fast, like the whir of an engine. "It's nightlock — not that you'd know it. Belladonna is another name. Do you know what that means?" She reached down and brushed a few strands of hair off his clammy forehead. " _Beautiful woman_. They call it that because it feels like falling in love; your heart starts pounding, your mouth goes dry, your pupils dilate…And the faster your heart beats, the faster she takes you over. Eating you up from the inside..."

 _Helena was right about you,_ he wanted to say, but there seemed to be a disconnect between his brain and the words that usually came so easily to him. Even swallowing seemed to be an ordeal.

Ivy watched him silently, her head tilted slightly to one side like she was trying to figure out a puzzle as he tried to get a hold of his heart rate by slowing his breathing. He was trying to grasp for what he knew, trying to fight back, even if that was just a fight for a breath. Nightlock was a nightmare plant, but it didn't _have_ to be fatal. Theoretically. As long as he could avoid the part where he slipped into a coma. It depended on the dose, and he knew it. Though that was working on the assumption that he was already healthy, and he was definitely not that...

It could also drive him literally nuts. Which, if he'd had any control of his mouth, he would have pointed out to her. That she wasn't original at all, following the pattern everyone else seemed to be following. Angela and her tracker jackers, stolen from the Gamemakers. Jack and his psychological torture. And now Ivy with the nightlock.

 _These are the Avenger Games, not the Insanity Games,_ he thought.

Though on further reflection, he had to wonder if that kind of thought when he was actively dying wasn't just the tiniest bit insane in itself.

Finally, Ivy leaned back. "You'll either bleed out or stop breathing sooner or later," she purred. "I wonder which one will happen first?" Then, finally, her lips stretched into a full-on smile. "O, true apothecary, thy drugs are quick. Thus, with a kiss, _you die_."

With that, she stepped back and headed for the door, slinking out with her head held high. Or at least, that was what he pictured. The whole scene was still a little blurry. There was a rational part of his brain that remembered something about dilated pupils.

But mostly, what he was thinking about was how _very_ insulted Alfred would be that Ivy would quote the Bard (and incorrectly so) while she killed him.

His heart was still pounding in his ears as he looked around, wondering what had happened to Kory and sure that Ivy had _done_ something to her. He could sort of make out the fire and a person close to it, but it was hard to see if she was alright.

He'd have noticed if there was a cannon though, right?

He felt kind of wet and sticky — which was par for the course in the swamp, but in the asylum, it had been a little drier. And with the smoke flowing his way now, he should have felt dry. When he looked down at the drapes, it was hard to tell if they were red because they were made that way or if.… Well, with how hard his heart was working, it was either going to make him bleed out or work its way into a heart attack at this rate.

But for as hard as his heart was working, the other side effect of the nightshade was that he just felt _tired_. He couldn't keep his eyes open, and for some reason, all he could think of was the way Harley had asked for "five more minutes" when she'd bled out in front of him.

He wasn't _that_ far gone, he didn't think — at least, right up until he felt a hand on his forehead pushing back his hair again and couldn't stop the shocked sort of smile. He could swear he could hear his mom's old lullabies as she and his dad sat with him until everything just… stopped.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders

14\. Jade Nguyen, District Ten Female: Killed by Harleen Quinzel

13\. Kara Danvers, District Five Female: Killed by Kara Danvers

12\. Jason Todd, District Six Male, Killed by Jack Hamill

11\. Rachel Roth, District Nine Female, Killed by Harper Row

10\. Thea Queen, District One Female, Killed by Harper Row

9\. Harper Row, District Two Female, Killed by Diana Prince

8\. Harleen Quinzel, District Eight Female, Killed by Jack Hamill

7\. Jack Hamill, District Eight Male, Killed by Helena Wayne

6\. Richard Grayson, District Seven Male, Killed by Pamela Isley


	114. Chapter 113: What Are You Doing Here?

**(A/N): We're back with our Friday update! Things are pretty depressing in the arena right now, so let's let Ophelia Claire cheer us up with a look at the other side with Kara Danvers!**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed (with broken hearts; sorry!) and to Slim Summers2002 for your always-amazing reviews as well.**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen - What Are You Doing Here?**

 **Deep Below the Triskellion**

 **Kara Danvers, formerly of District Five**

 **Written by Ophelia Claire**

* * *

" _The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof." - Richard Bach_

* * *

With her eyes closed, Kara was intensely aware of the things her other senses were picking up. She could hear assorted, quiet _beeps_ and _blips_ around her. Her nose prickled slightly from air that was sterile, cool, and clean — a far cry from the fetid, humid what-passed-for-air in the arena. She could feel soft fabric under her hands, arms, and lower legs, but there was something else too — thicker, sturdier fabric that was wrapped around her wrists, stretching across her torso, pinning her legs down. Her mind immediately flew to her last moments in the arena.

 _Jack!_

Adrenaline flooded her system, her eyes flew open, and she yanked at her restraints with a screech.

"Whoa, Kara, Kara, calm down! It's okay!"

The first thing Kara registered was that even though the voice was speaking at a normal volume, it rang loudly in her ears. Now that she was actively realizing things, too, everything was louder. The rustle of fabric against fabric around her sounded like sandpaper grating next to her ears.

The second thing that Kara realized was that the voice did not sound remotely like Jack. Kara stopped thrashing, her chest heaving. The beeps were faster now. Someone laid a hand on Kara's arm. Kara followed the hand up the person's arm to find herself looking into the face of Alex Danvers.

"It's too loud," Kara whimpered at her sister, her own voice piercing in her ears. She strained to clap her hands over her ears, but she was still restrained. She yanked at the restraints again. "Alex…"

"I'm so sorry, Kara, let me get these off!" Alex went to work on the restraints — which were notably thicker than the ones Jack had used. She wouldn't have been able to slice these with an old scalpel; that was for sure.

When Kara was free, Alex threw her arms around her and pulled Kara into a deep embrace. Kara buried her face in her sister's shoulder and breathed in the smell of the Danvers household that she'd missed so much.

While the sisters held one another, Kara got her first real look at the room she was in. It was white, very sterile-looking, but the lights were low, so the whiteness wasn't blinding. There was a mirror set into one wall, which Kara suspected was two-way so she could be observed. Assorted medical devices surrounded her bed, which was the only piece of furniture in the room apart from one chair.

Kara didn't know how long they stayed like that, but eventually, Alex pulled away, wiping tear tracks from her face.

"I'm so proud of you," she said.

Kara smiled through her own tears, but winced at the same time, pressing her hands to her ears. "Alex," Kara mumbled. "I have... a _lot_ of questions, but everything is really loud," she repeated, her total awe at the situation preventing her from saying much else.

Alex paused for a moment before she made for the door. "I'll be right back, I promise!" she said as she disappeared through the doorway.

Kara waited alone in the unfamiliar room for half a minute before Alex returned, just as she'd promised. Alex held out her hand. Two little conical objects lay on her palm.

"Put them in your ears," she said softly. Kara did, and all the noises in the room faded to normal levels.

"What are these? Some kind of noise cancellation tech?" Kara asked.

"Earplugs," Alex said with a grin.

Kara made a face, then crossed her arms. "Okay. So. I have questions."

"And I will try and answer all of them," Alex said, plonking herself down next to her sister.

"All right," Kara said. "First question. I died, so…what's happening here?" She spread her hands. "I mean…" She touched the side of her neck. No wound, not even scar tissue that she could feel. No signs of Jack's torture — and she had all her fingers again. She wiggled her pinky experimentally. "Did I? I'm pretty sure I did, right? Where are we?"

"You did," Alex said. "And by the way, going out on your terms was the most quintessentially _you_ thing I've ever seen you do. I'm so glad you didn't let that creep win. I don't know what they think when they let psychopaths like that into the Games. It's one thing to have Careers and talented fighters, but people like Jack and Cletus are just too much."

Kara shuddered at the memory of Jack's fingers on her skin. "Okay, so I died. But I'm clearly _not_ dead, so … where are we? How am I not dead?"

"We're in a facility deep within SHIELD," Alex said. "We call it Tahiti. It's where we—"

"Wait, wait. _We_?" Kara asked. "What do you mean _we_..." She stopped as her gaze trailed down to Alex's clothes, which were decidedly secret-agent-y looking and emblazoned with the SHIELD eagle crest.

"Alex …"

"SHIELD recruited me almost two years ago, before the twenty-fourth Games. There's a lot happening here, and the plans have been running deep within the districts for a long time. Not much happens by chance around here."

"Not much … how much 'not much'?" Kara asked suspiciously. "And what's happening that involves you?"

"There's a long version that I'll get to, I promise. But the short version is: rebellion is coming."

Kara gaped at her sister, unable to form words. "And … you're a part of it? And I'm a part of it too? And again, how am I alive? Not that I'm complaining, but how?"

"The Tahiti program," Alex said. "They have some of the smartest scientists in the world here that have figured out how to… to bring you back."

As Alex talked, Kara's brain was firing a mile a minute. "So… you said not much happens by chance…" She trailed off. "Did you know I was going in?" she asked quietly.

Alex pressed her lips together, her eyes glistening again. "Not for sure," she said finally. "But… I knew you were a candidate. The people behind this revolution... they've been watching people in the districts since the revolution was just a notion. They bring people into the Games that they think could be helpful to them, and then if they die…"

"We end up here," Kara finished. "So we were all just… brought in to die." Alex nodded. "Did they have our deaths planned the whole time? Was I always doomed to be tortured by that _psychopath_?"

"No. Nothing is ever precisely planned, but you wouldn't believe the way that the Gamemakers can manipulate subtle events in the arena to get what they want. They always had the flower in mind for one of you — they just needed… the right opportunity…" Alex trailed off as she began to recognize her sister's "tantrum face." Kara's cheeks were reddening, her lips were white from being pressed together, and her eyes were blazing with growing fury.

"How can you talk about it like that?" Kara hissed. "Like it was just something that happened in a board game? We are real people, Alex! Real people with real emotions and real pain! And how could they do it to _Clark_ of all people? He couldn't even see it coming… he didn't even have a _chance_." Kara felt hot tears spill over her lashes as her sister wrapped her in a hug once more, and she sobbed into Alex's shoulder.

Alex rubbed a hand up and down her back and made soothing little shushing sounds. "I know, Kara. I'm sorry. If it had been up to me, you never would have gone in, but the fact that you were specifically in the running was better in the long run. They wanted you here right from the beginning. I knew I'd get to see you again."

Kara sniffed and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her hospital gown. "I guess," she mumbled. "Still sucked."

Alex sat down on the edge of the bed. "There's something else you need to know," she said quietly. "This is going to be disorienting, but it's important that you know." She reached over and took Kara's hand, looking her in the eyes. "The Tahiti program doesn't reanimate the tributes that die. There's a process… they move... they download your… your soul, essentially, into a new body that they grow."

Kara stared at her sister, trying to comprehend what she was hearing. "So… I'm not… I'm not me? I'm a clone? That's why I don't even have any scars?"

"You're still you, Kara,"Alex said, tightening her grip on Kara's hand. "You have your own soul, your essence, your memories, your everything that makes you Kara Danvers. We tell you because you have a new body that doesn't know how do everything it used to. You'll have to learn how fight again, how to swing a sword like you were able to. And that's why everything was so loud for you too — I'm guessing your aural functions are still adjusting slightly. You should be able to take the earplugs out in a couple hours and hear normally."

"Oh. Okay." Kara wasn't able to manage much more than that. She sat still, staring at her arms as though she could see right through and find something artificial under her skin.

"I know it's disorienting to think about, but you'll have all the support you need here; you'll have me, other tributes, the trainers, doctors— anyone you could possibly need. And I know you'll be back up to speed in no time." Alex gave her sister's hand a squeeze.

Kara stayed quiet for a minute, trying to gather her thoughts. "Do Jeremiah and Eliza know? About any of this? You being here, me being alive — any of it?" she asked finally.

Alex shook her head. "It's too dangerous for them to know. They think I was recruited into a standard SHIELD Sentinel program. As far as they know, I've been called to the Capitol to provide extra security for a Games event. And they still believe you're dead. Your old body was sent back to Five for a funeral."

The thought was sobering, and the idea of funerals make Kara think of graves, which only set off more memories of her last hours in the asylum. Her hands clenched involuntarily around Alex's, and the blips of the ECG jumped erratically for a couple seconds.

"Please tell me that lunatic is dead and not coming back," Kara mumbled, closing her eyes and pulling in a couple breaths through her nose. "'Cause if I have to be resurrected and live in a secret facility with him, we might just see a repeat of my last minutes in the Games."

"Definitely not," Alex reassured her. "No use for someone like him here. His actions in the Games have made that perfectly clear."

"Good," Kara mumbled, trying to steady her breathing.

"Okay. No more depressing stuff." Alex clapped her hands together definitively. "You're alive, and you're safe, and you're my sister, so you're getting the VIP tour of the place. C'mon." She tugged playfully on Kara's arm, prompting Kara to scoot to the edge of the bed. "You might be a little shaky at first here."

Kara's bare feet landed on the cool floor, and she wiggled her toes. She planted her feet firmly and straightened her legs, lifting herself off the bed. Almost immediately, her legs wobbled like a newborn foal's, and she threw her arms out, reaching for Alex.

Alex was ready and looped an arm around Kara's waist. "No shame in a wheelchair," she offered with a half-smile.

"Could use one," Kara mumbled. Alex deposited her back onto the bed and slipped out of the room, returning moments later with a wheelchair. She parked it next to the bed, locked the brakes, and helped Kara wobble over to the seat before pushing her out of the room.

The space outside Kara's room was clearly a medical wing of some kind. Pristine white hallways, organized supplies containers, white-coated men and women walking briskly around them. Alex nodded to some of them as they left the medical wing — although it wasn't much of a change of decor. The hallways were still blank and nondescript, and instead of doctors, there were people dressed in uniforms like Alex's.

"Who's your decorator?" Kara said dryly. Alex chuckled and responded by jerking the chair slightly from side to side a couple times.

"Hey, careful, I'm a delicate newborn," Kara protested.

"Oh, I'm sure you are," Alex ribbed, mussing Kara's hair. She steered Kara down several hallways, stopping at doorways to hold up a badge to sensors. Each time, she was met with a green light and an affirmative beep before the door opened.

"We try and keep security tight down here because of the nature of the Tahiti wing's occupants," Alex explained.

"You mean you _don't_ want people finding out that there are zombie tributes wandering around und- _hey_ —" Kara turned to make a face at her sister after another chair-jerking.

"See, you are still you. Snarky as you've ever been," said Alex. "Ooh, you'll like this." She halted Kara's chair in front of yet another door. This one was not as nondescript as other Kara had seen — to the contrary, the word **HANGAR** was splashed across it in bold, military-type stencil lettering. "Fair warning: it's a little loud in here, but it's one of the coolest places on the base," Alex said. "At least, in my opinion." She held up her card and buzzed them through the door.

" _Whoa_ ," Kara breathed out as they emerged into a truly massive room positively bustling with energy. Small jets, cargo planes, fighter jets, and other aircraft that Kara couldn't name were parked across a floor that could have housed one of the factories from Five. As Kara watched, part of the far wall split down the middle and began to slide open, revealing itself to be the end of a runway. A jet lifted off the ground, engines roaring, and as it flew toward the blue sky beyond the opening, it shimmered and disappeared before Kara's eyes.

"Cloaking technology," Alex said. "Keeping with the whole 'secret base' thing."

Kara was staring around with wide eyes. "Do all the tributes learn to fly planes?"

"You totally want to, don't you?" Alex asked, poking Kara's shoulder. "Must be a Danvers thing."

Kara glanced up. "What do you mean?" Alex was pointing across the room. Kara followed her finger to see a young blonde woman hauling a box up into a jet. Her once-long hair was chopped into a pixie cut, but it was unmistakably Carol Danvers.

"Wait, it's not just my Games?"

"Nope. It's not even just these last two. Tributes have been brought back from as far back as the twentieth Games, but back then, the brought-back ones were sparse. They didn't have the technology or ability to bring tributes back on the scale they do now, so they had to pick just one or two of the very best from those first few Games. They really stepped it up the past two or three years, though."

Carol emerged from the plane and spotted the sisters across the room. She waved and jogged down the jet's ramp.

"Somehow, it doesn't surprise me one bit to see you here," she said to Kara as she drew level. "I knew there was more to you than met the eye." She scrubbed a hand through her short hair. "I'm sorry I didn't take the time to get to know you when I had the chance. Hopefully, we can do that now that we're both here" A knowing glint appeared in her eye. "But I think you made your way just fine. I recognized some of those moves in the arena." She winked and walked away.

"Okay, so some tributes are pilots. What else do we do? What will I be doing?" Kara asked.

"Well, you're going to need to train and get back on your feet, first of all." Alex wheeled the chair around and back into the quiet of the hallway as she spoke. "But there are plenty of things to do around here, especially because—" She glanced around.

"Are we keeping secrets on the secret base now?" Kara asked.

Alex gave her a serious look. "More than you know," she said. "Look, we might be a secret division, but every organization has their moles, though we try to stamp them out. Someone's been feeding secrets of our framework to a terrible faction called Hydra — they grew within SHIELD for years, and from what I've seen in the sleuthing I've been able to do... they now have the skills to reanimate tributes too, if we don't get to them first." Alex pressed her lips together. "But what I was saying was we are extremely close to something massive. I'm talking no more Avenger Games, the end of the royal family's tyranny."

"Revolution," Kara breathed out.

Alex nodded. "We've been sending in people to find out how the districts sway, who the powerful people back, who we can trust. We're getting very close to a huge power play, and we have to be sure everything is in place."

Something had been nagging at the back of Kara's mind. She plucked at the sleeve of her gown as she spoke. "Alex… if you brought me back, you brought Clark back, right? He's me to the extreme. Strong, tough, heart of gold. Can't imagine you couldn't use him, right?"

Alex glanced down at the shiny linoleum floor before she met her sister's gaze. " _We_ didn't bring him back," she said softly.

A chill ran down Kara's spine at the implication in Alex's voice.


	115. Chapter 114: Dignity

**(A/N): Happy Tuesday, everyone! Can you believe it's already July? We're starting the month of amazingly, with BstnStrng13's John Constantine. :)**

 **Thank you again to our writers who reviewed this and previous chapters. We seriously can't stop grinning when we hear from you!**

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 **Chapter One Hundred and Fourteen - Dignity**

 **Night Nine**

 **John Constantine of District Twelve**

 **Written by BstnStrng13**

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" _Dignity is as essential to human life as water, food, and oxygen. The stubborn retention of it, even in the face of extreme physical hardship, can hold a man's soul in his body long past the point at which the body should have surrendered it."_ Laura Hillenbrand, Unbroken

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John Constantine was going to hell. There was no doubt about it.

He was going to hell because he'd killed Harper Rowe — not in self defense, not in the heat of a scuffle, but in cold, calculated anger. Against all odds, he'd done what he'd told everyone, including himself, he was incapable of doing: he'd taken a life. And the weirdest part was that he didn't feel entirely guilty about it. Yes, there was remorse and shame — which was good. But somewhere deep inside him, there was also something that seemed sadly like pride. And it was the pride that was going to send him straight to Hades; not the death itself.

He was certain his father was sitting back home wearing an _I told you so_ smirk.

Strictly speaking, of course, Diana was Harper's real executioner. She'd started by using the lasso Odin had sent her to capture the girl, and then she'd finished the job with one quick thrust of her sword. But unlike the time she'd killed Crane, Di couldn't have taken out Harper without help from John. He'd been the one to find the girl when she'd hidden in the bush. And he'd been the one to halt her escape attempt by throwing a well-placed axe into her leg. The whole thing had been a team effort.

 _I guess I can kill more than bugs with the axe after all, Raven. Too bad you didn't live to see it._

He wondered why he had done it. Had he cared so strongly about avenging Thea and Raven? Or had he wanted to prove to Di that he could carry his own weight in the arena, and that she hadn't made a mistake by making him part of her alliance? He hoped it was the former, but he wasn't entirely certain.

John looked at Di, sitting listlessly beside him. Half a day had passed since they'd taken down Harper. They'd spent most of the night chasing her, then a good part of the following morning running away from the scene of her death. They hadn't dozed or eaten in all that time, and they hadn't moved since they'd collapsed in this small cluster of trees. Yet neither one of them had suggested sleep.

 _I never even tried to talk her out of it. I might have changed her mind_ — _she listens to me. But instead, I encouraged her. And now we both have to live with what we did. It's even worse for her because, knowing Di, she'll assume responsibility for everything._

He put his hand on her shoulder. He was doing that a lot lately. This time, it was more to comfort himself than it was to comfort her.

"We did the right thing, didn't we?" he asked.

She turned to him, her expression unreadable. _Always the leader_ , he thought, _thinking about how her response will affect the troops_. After a minute, she replied, "We did, John. We found justice for Kaldur, Thea and Raven." For a second, he saw a rare wavering of her indomitable certainty — and then it was gone and she was in command again.

"Justice is good, Di," he said simply.

She nodded. "And what are your thoughts, John? Do you believe our actions were honorable?"

He looked up, surprised that she would ask. Honor was her bailiwick, not his. He opened his mouth to say _yes_ but then paused. They had always been honest with each other, and Di wouldn't want blind assurances now. "I believe we acted as honorably as it is possible to do in the Games," he replied, thinking about the agonizing death Kaldur had suffered and the limp, helpless bodies of the two girls. "I think it had to be done," he said more firmly.

Di stared at him and then nodded once more. He noticed that her face looked thinner, and her dark hair was less glossy. Nine days and the physical toll of the Games was showing, despite her training and preparation. She was no longer the radiant girl from Four. And yet somehow, he found her even more beautiful.

He squeezed her shoulder again. "Do you want to get a little sleep?" he asked. "We were up all night. I can take first watch, and then we can trade off later."

She studied his face. " _I_ will stand guard," she replied. "You are as fatigued as I."

He sighed. "I am, but I don't think I can sleep. I feel like I'm going to be sick, to be honest."

She said nothing for a moment, just gave him a sympathetic glance. Then, she shrugged. "Very well, John," she replied. "But do not allow me to spend too long in slumber. When you believe yourself capable of sleep, wake me, and I will assume sentinel duties."

"It's a deal."

She started to lie down but then paused. "And since you insist on taking first watch, I suggest you use the time to minister to your arm." She pointed at it. "It still bleeds."

He glanced at his forearm. She was right. The gashes Harper had landed with her knife were oozing and looked ugly. And now that he was no longer pumped with adrenaline, they were also starting to hurt.

He nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

She gave him a weak imitation of her sardonic grin. "Thank you. I find it preferable for an arena partner to have two working arms." Then, she stretched out on the ground and closed her eyes. It took nearly a half hour for her to stop tossing and turning, but eventually, her breathing evened out, and she became still.

And John was left with nothing but his thoughts, the ubiquitous hum of insects, and a bleeding forearm.

He rummaged through their supplies but found nothing he could use to either clean the wounds or stop the bleeding. He recalled that Kara Danvers had used plants to encourage clotting back when their alliance had been attacked by the dragonfly mutts. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and his heart ached to know that she had joined the fallen.

After a brief, internal debate, he decided to hunt for those plants close to their camp, provided he could keep Di in sight. He rose tiredly to his feet and walked toward the nearest cluster of vegetation, listening carefully and looking back several times to check on her.

He remembered that the plants Kara had used had fuzzy green leaves and a purple-ish flower. He didn't see anything resembling them in the first cluster, but a small rise of ground a little further away looked more promising. As always, moving through the swamp was a miserable experience. The spongy ground sagged under his feet, and there was a loud, sucking _slurp_ each time he lifted a boot out of the mud. He'd grown to hate that sound and did his best to find solid-looking clumps of grass to step on. And every five paces or so, he looked back to check on Di.

He was looking at her, in fact, when he placed his foot onto one of those clumps and heard a faint, almost hollow _click_. It took a second for his brain to register the unnaturalness of the noise, and a second was enough time for the ground to give way and plunge him into a hip-deep hole. The fall was immediately followed by a searing pain to his right side. He cried out before he could stop himself and looked down to see a makeshift arrow protruding out of his right shoulder, an inch or two above his armpit.

"Oh, bloody hell!" The exclamation was prompted as much by anger at his carelessness as it was from the pain. He had obviously triggered someone's trap. He glanced quickly around but thankfully didn't see any tributes waiting to finish the job. _The trap is probably old_ , he thought. _The Gamemakers probably hoped one of us would trip it at the start… thin the herd…_

He climbed slowly out of the hole, wincing every time he had to move his arm. He decided it was best to leave the arrow in his shoulder for Di to pull out and started back to her. He suspected she was going to have a few, choice words to say about his sloppiness.

He was almost halfway to her when the pain in his arm began to change. It started spreading, and it felt like hot, electric shocks were running from his shoulder to his wrist. Every few seconds, his fingers twitched, and when he tried to form a fist with those fingers, they wouldn't cooperate. It was as if the hand belonged to someone else.

He tried to walk a little faster but found that his legs weren't working quite right now, either. They seemed to take a long time to respond to the commands his brain gave them, and his balance was shaky. It dawned on him that the simple wound in his shoulder might not be so simple after all.

 _Poison_.

The arrow must have carried a poison that was attacking his nervous system. It would explain the strange, tingling sensations and his awkward, uncoordinated movements. Whatever it was, it was acting pretty damn quickly.

Fear seized John, and he tried to run. He wanted to get back to Di more than anything, but before he could move very far, a spasm seized him, and he fell, crying out as he hit the ground. The spasm was excruciating; it was as if an angry god was bending and squeezing his spine, causing him to curl up in a ball and forcing the air out of his lungs. It went on forever, and he lay gasping in the mud until it finally passed. Then, he got shakily to his feet.

He made it another dozen yards before a second spasm struck. When he fell this time, he couldn't get up. His legs refused to obey his brain, no matter how hard he willed them. When the spasm ended, he rolled onto his back and stared at the sky — or whatever the hell it was that the Gamemakers used to look like a sky — and made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

 _I guess you have your answer, Harper,_ he thought, recalling her final, venomous words before they'd killed her. _Di's not going to have to make any decisions about what to do with her_ boy toy _, or whatever it was you called me, because I'm done._

"John?"

He turned his head in the mud and saw a pair of boots approaching. He breathed out in relief. She was coming for him.

"John!" The boots broke into run.

Di reached him and dropped to her knees, frantically surveying his body for injuries. He watched her face as she focused first on the arrow sticking out of his shoulder and then on the rest of him. He saw her puzzled frown as she wondered why a simple shoulder wound had rendered him helpless on the ground.

"John?" she said for the third time, her eyebrows raised in a question.

He exhaled. "Poison," he said simply. "I walked into someone's trap — probably an old one — and was shot with a poison arrow. It's bad, Di."

Her eyes grew wide for a few seconds as she absorbed his words. Then, she was all business. She bent close to him and re-examined his shoulder. "Well, the wound appears straightforward enough," she said briskly. "Let us return to camp. We may need to rest for a few hours until the poison leaves your system, but after that, we should be able to resume. It is probably similar to tracker jacker venom. It's merely requires time."

He looked up into her eyes. They were the most unusual shade of blue. He wondered if they were the same color as the sea back in Four. "No," he said quietly. "This isn't like jacker venom. It's attacking my nervous system, not giving me hallucinations. I can feel it already — parts of my body are starting to shut down."

"Nonsense." She put her arm under his shoulders and tried to lift him. The movement triggered a seizure, and she was forced to lay him back on the ground as he writhed.

When the spasm was over, he could see that she'd been shaken by it. She stared out into the distance and swallowed hard. Then, she assumed her _leadership_ face. "Poison does not necessarily signal a death sentence, John. There are antidotes for almost any poison. We merely need to find it. It is even possible a sponsor will offer us one. After all, Odin sent us the lasso."

He tried to shake his head but found that he was now denied that movement. "Odin sent _you_ the lasso, Di, not me. He knows you have a chance to win, just as he knows that I'm a liability, especially now. And I have no influential friends in Twelve to send me anything. There's no antidote coming."

She bit her lip — her full, red lower lip that John had studied hundreds of times in the firelight — and stared stubbornly at him. It was clear she was searching for something else to suggest.

He groaned. _It's going to_ _be Kaldur all over again_. "It's attacking my _entire_ nervous system, Di," he repeated more forcefully. "Right now, I can't manage my arms and my legs. In a little while, it's going to affect my breathing. At some point — it could be hours or it could be days — I'm going to suffocate. And that's the best case scenario. I could go blind first. Or I could lose my mind. And it _hurts_ , Di."

As if to prove his point, another seizure took him, and he cried out as his limbs thrashed wildly. When it was over, he said, "This could go on a long time. Are you really going to make me go through this?"

She stared at him.

"C'mon, Di. Put on your leader's hat. You can't afford to sit here for a day and watch me die. There are still three tributes out there. You need to be able to move."

She still said nothing.

He pressed. "You know what you have to do, Di."

She shook her head. "No, I do not."

 _Oh, she can be so pig-headed_. "You have to do for me what you did for Kaldur."

She frowned. "You want me to take you to the water?"

 _Oh, Di_. He gave her a weak laugh. "Trust a Four to think water is the answer for everything. No, I didn't mean the _exact_ same thing you did for Kaldur. I mean that you have to end it here — end me, just like you did him. Slit my throat with that blasted sword of yours and let me bleed out. Take me before the poison turns me into something that isn't human anymore. Give me some dignity. And then go on and win the bloody Games."

She blinked, and he thought he saw her waver — just a little — before she shook her head again.

He went for his final argument. "It would be the best gift you could give me, Di. I want to die with someone I love, not alone and afraid. I want to leave the Games with you next to me, the same way we've been since we set foot into the arena."

Her blue eyes were huge and shone in the fading afternoon light. He wondered if it was tears.

" _Please_ , Di," he said quietly.

She waited so long he was sure she was going to say _no_. But then, at last, she said, "Very well, John." Her voice was shaky.

He breathed out in relief. " _Thank you."_

She picked up her sword, by her side as it always was, and held it out. She pointed it at his neck but then hesitated. A single tear rolled down her cheek. "I don't think I _can_ slit your throat, John. That is asking too much."

"The leg, then. Go for the femoral artery. It'll get the job done."

"Very well," she repeated. She gulped and lifted the sword once more, her hands unsteady. After a few false tries, she managed to slice into his upper thigh. The stroke was unsure, not at all what he had come to expect from her; but when the fabric of his pants darkened quickly, he could tell she had hit the mark.

"Thank you," he whispered again.

She looked down at him, already regaining her composure, already becoming Diana Prince once more. _That's my girl_ , he thought. _You're going to deal with this the way you've dealt_ _with everything else_. After a moment, she sat and tugged on his body until his head rested on her thigh. From that position, he could just make out the underside of her chin and a bit of her profile. Then she reached down and clasped one of his hands. He barely felt her fingers, but he could tell that they were cool and dry — which was pretty damn amazing in a bleeding swamp. He wasn't sure if it was the lifeblood draining out of him or the comfort of being this close to her, but for the first time since he'd been reaped, he felt at peace.

There was only one more thing to say to her. It was scary, but what did he have to lose? "I meant what I said," he murmured quietly.

"What was that, John?" Her voice sounded steadier.

"I meant what I said about dying with someone I love. I love you, Di. I didn't want to say it before because I didn't want to give you another thing to worry about — and I was afraid it would mess things up between us. I know you don't feel the same way. But I wanted to tell you now, while I still had the chance. It's okay if you laugh about it when I'm gone."

There was a long pause. John was beginning to feel cold and light-headed, and his peripheral vision was diminishing. As if from a great distance, he heard Di say, "Thank you, John. That means a great deal to me. But you must not believe that I do not love you. I do — not in the same way that you love me, perhaps — but it is love nonetheless.

He smiled weakly. "We've never lied to each other, Di. Now is not the time to start, just because I'm dying."

There was another pause. And then, she said, "I swear on my honor as a daughter of Hippolyta, that I am telling you the truth. You and I have forged a bond that I have seldom shared with anyone outside my family."

 _Forged a bond_. It sounded like Di-speak for _I love you_. For a minute, his body felt a little warmer. "Oh," he said, at a loss for words, "oh."

After that, he just lay there, as his thoughts grew hazier and the darkness continued to eat away at his field of vision. Every now and then, he would say "Di?" and she would respond, "I'm here, John."

Eventually, there was only a thin, sliver of light left to him. It was as though he was back in Twelve, hiding out in the mine tunnels. He closed his eyes.

 _Give 'em hell, Di_.

* * *

24\. Garfield Logan, District Ten Male: Killed by Jack Hamill

23\. Francisco Ramon, District Three Male: Killed by Harvey Dent

22\. Slade Wilson, District One Male: Killed by Jonathan Crane

21\. Jervis Tetch, District Nine Male: Killed by Helena Wayne

20\. Kaldur Ahm, District Four Male: Killed by Diana Prince

19\. Jonathan Crane, District Eleven Male: Killed by Diana Prince

18\. Clark Kent, District Five Male: Killed by Kryptonite Flowers

17\. Harvey Dent, District Two Male: Killed by Harper Row

16\. Caitlin Snow, District Three Female: Killed by Gamemaker Killer Croc Mutt

15\. Angela Hawkins III, District Six Female: Killed by Kory Anders

14\. Jade Nguyen, District Ten Female: Killed by Harleen Quinzel

13\. Kara Danvers, District Five Female: Killed by Kara Danvers

12\. Jason Todd, District Six Male, Killed by Jack Hamill

11\. Rachel Roth, District Nine Female, Killed by Harper Row

10\. Thea Queen, District One Female, Killed by Harper Row

9\. Harper Row, District Two Female, Killed by Diana Prince

8\. Harleen Quinzel, District Eight Female, Killed by Jack Hamill

7\. Jack Hamill, District Eight Male, Killed by Helena Wayne

6\. Richard Grayson, District Seven Male, Killed by Pamela Isley

5\. John Constantine, District Twelve Male, Killed by Diana Prince


	116. Chapter 115: Take Up Arms

**A/N - Welcome to our Friday update! Here's hoping that your Independence day was a good one if you are stateside! We're going to take a quick break from the arena and check in with our most recent victor before we hit the final four.**

 **Thank you to our Guest for those amazing reviews, glad to see some speculation on who's going to tie this up, and we love Diana too! Also - thanks again to the authors who reviewed our last chapter and all of the previous ones as well - Bstn, you were on FIRE and it made us GRIN to see the enthusiasm!**

 **Going forward, now is the time to throw in your best guesses on where this will go!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Fifteen - Take Up Arms**

 **LATE Evening of Day Nine**

 **TAHITI - Far Below The Triskellion**

 **Logan Howlett, 24th Victor**

 **Written By Canucklehead Cowgirl**

* * *

" _Wisdom comes from paying attention to wise people._

 _Love comes from always striving for the good of others and placing others before oneself._

 _Bravery is developed by simply gritting one's teeth and with determination crashing through any barrier in one's way without regard to the circumstances." - Tsunetomo Yamamoto, Hagakure: The Book of the Samurai_

* * *

Since Skye had taken him down to Tahiti, things had been pretty busy for Logan. While Simmons was gathering her 'baselines', she or Fitz would pop over from time to time and fiddle with him enough to keep him from actually falling asleep. Skye had given up on trying to talk to him and was instead … watching as the scientists did their work. Fitz looked pleased, and even smiled Logan's way before he flashed Skye a thumbs up and rushed off to his corner of the lab.

"Do I want to know?" Logan asked Skye as he looked up at the bag of saline on the IV pole next to him.

"Probably not," Skye told him before she couldn't help but smile. "But really, they're good people. I trust them."

Logan nodded, and a few moments later, Simmons returned with a bottle of water and a pill. She handed them both to him and spent a few moments handing him one medication after another and watching to be sure he swallowed all of them. "What is this?" he asked her as she started to remove all of her carefully placed leads and set down what she wanted him to change into.

"Well, it's preparation for surgery, of course," Simmons said with a smile before she pulled the curtain around him. "I'm going to need you to change. There is an entire protocol of making sure that there won't be any infection—"

"Is there somethin' wrong with me I should know about?" Logan asked. He frowned at the hospital gown. This … no one told him about any of this.

"Oh, no! Of course not!" Simmons was grinning and acting almost nervous again. "We're just giving you something that will make sure you're never without a weapon."

"And it involves surgery?" Logan said, frowning as he stripped on the spot and grudgingly redressed and got back onto the gurney.

"It does, I'm afraid," she said, looking apologetic as she pulled the curtain back again. "But it'll be worth it in the long run, I promise." She gave him a hesitant sort of smile before putting a few drugs into the IV. The effect was almost instant, and Logan swayed where he sat — not ready to pass out, but incredibly dizzy. "Just to relax you." She watched him for a moment, then simply pushed him down flat and went about hooking up the leads and lines again.

Logan was frowning to himself at her actions. _I thought this group was different than Viper._ But naturally, he couldn't voice his thoughts. Not when he was this far gone into the drugs.

A short while later, he watched the ceiling as they moved him, and Simmons smiled down at him before she put the mask over his face and asked him how he liked his new bodyguard. Logan frowned and opened his mouth to answer — but never did.

* * *

When Logan woke up from surgery, the first thing that hit him was the simple fact that his veins felt like they were on fire. Everything burned — his arms especially — and to make matters worse, he felt as if he couldn't make a noise. He tried, but instead of any sound coming out, he was stuck with the sensation of a knot in his throat. He'd opened his eyes, but shut them tight as soon as the light hit him.

His ears weren't working right. He could really only hear his heart pounding, and when someone spoke, it was as if they'd muffled the words but turned the volume up as far as it would go. Being touched was pure pain, and his heart was picking up speed. It took some time before he managed a pained sort of moan, but no relief came. Flexing his fists stung, and it didn't take much to figure out that he was fully restrained. Everything was overwhelming.

But eventually, all of the pain and confusion started to tone down, and instead of white-hot pain everywhere, there was a low-level sensation of buzzing just under his skin — particularly his arms and hands. But considering what he'd just been through, Logan was relieved that was all it was — and he welcomed the touch when Simmons gently came over to check on him again and it _didn't_ hurt. He didn't know how long that fiasco had lasted, but he was exhausted from it.

"The healing drugs weren't meant to be used without heavy sedation," Simmons told him when he finally opened his eyes. "But we couldn't do that with the other medications we gave you. I am so. So. Sorry." She looked horrified, and for a moment, Logan wondered how bad he'd gotten when he couldn't focus.

"It's fine," Logan said thickly, but that seemed to almost send her into orbit.

"No, it most certainly is _not_ ," she said before she immediately went to fussing.

He flexed his hands and frowned at the foreign sensation near his knuckles. He couldn't see anything there, but when he ran his fingers over the back of his hand … something was definitely different.

The Games were playing in the background, though the volume was down low. Logan had glanced over a few times, but until then, it had been the Four-Twelve alliance every time he had looked up at the screen between what he thought were catnaps.

But his timing, as always, was spectacular, since the lightshow was starting up about the time he'd finally started to honestly wake up. When Dick's face appeared, Logan sat up with a lot more focus and started pulling leads off.

"Hey, easy," Skye said, from a lot closer than Logan had realized. "You can't just … you're going to give Simmons a heart attack."

"When did that happen?" he croaked out, gesturing to the screen, though when he yanked the IV out, Simmons darted forward.

"You can't just … there are things we need to do before you get up!" Simmons said, pressing a cotton ball to the crook of his arm to at least stop the bleeding.

But Logan wasn't about to be deterred. " _When_?" he demanded.

The little doctor, her assistant, and Skye all startled, but after a moment of stammering, Simmons finally answered him. "It was earlier today," she said. "But you can't … _Logan_ , really! Where do you think you're going?"

Logan had thrown his legs over the edge of the bed and was almost glaring at her as he set his jaw and tried to force back the pain. "Goin' to get my tribute," he growled out.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no," she said, trying to block his path. "You need to know what we did — why we had to pump you full of those drugs to heal — it's crucial that you … _honestly!"_

She stumbled backward as Logan simply stood up and started walking. He was shaky at first, and it hurt — everything hurt — but he was determined to see what happened. And _now_. Simmons tried to dissuade him again, and even Fitz tried to help, but when Logan shook Fitz off and shoved him halfway across the hall, the two scientists backed off.

"Hey! Wait up," Skye called out, and she simply wouldn't let him _go_ when he tried to shrug her off. "Hey — I'm supposed to be in charge of you … "

He stopped long enough to turn and glare at her, setting her back a step. To her credit, she still didn't let him go. "You … should … probably get _dressed_ ," Skye pointed out, entirely amused when Logan let out a huff and rolled his eyes.

"Like I care who sees me," he grumbled, and headed off down the hallway.

"Listen, if you want to go wandering off half-dressed, I am _not_ going to complain, but seriously. You're going to _break_ Simmons wandering off before she can tell you _what happened."_

"She can tell me later," Logan argued, but at that, Skye stepped in front of him and put her hands on both of his shoulders.

"Stop. Just ... " She let out a breath and let her voice drop quieter. "You're going to push to see if your tribute is back, but that takes time. And you can't go trying to knock Fury around in your birthday suit — as fun as that would be to watch."

Logan glared at her for a long moment before he let out an irritated sort of huff and turned on his heel going back the way they came. "Fine."

* * *

Logan didn't bother to get clearance or permission once he was dressed, knowing full well the way into the right room — or what had _better_ be the right room if they didn't want to start losing expensive equipment. He didn't stop to have the talk Simmons wanted to have with him either. Instead, he stalked down the halls and pushed his way past a pair of guards that didn't seem too surprised to see him, then shouldered the door open to find that yes, Dick was there — with the same guy that had tried giving him a hassle last time he'd been down with Fury.

"Damnit, Grayson," Logan said, almost in a sigh, letting his shoulders drop a hair as he started across the room. When Koenig opened his mouth to get started, Logan glared hard his way. "If you ask me for flamin' clearance, I'm gonna see how many teeth I can fit down your throat."

"You can't just — you know there are _protocols_ for this and—"

"Screw your protocols," Logan growled out before he turned to Dick. "How long is it going to be before he's worth a damn again?"

"Harsh," Dick said in what was more a mumble than anything, though he hadn't opened his eyes.

"More or less critical than you're used to?" Logan deadpanned, though he relaxed on hearing Dick was awake and made his way closer.

Dick seemed to stretch out a bit as he started to wake up and then shook his head lightly. "Pretty even," he said as he looked around, clearly trying to figure out where he was. "Okay, Ivy… This is pretty out there, even for... Where did I come up with _this_?"

"You're not hallucinating, Grayson," Logan said, though he knew he shouldn't be surprised.

"Uh-huh."

Logan raised an eyebrow and took a few steps closer. "If this is your twisted way of admittin' you're dreaming about me, I gotta say, that's a whole conversation I'm not ready for." He narrowed his eyes for a moment, glanced over at Koenig then pinched the hell out of Dick's arm. "Come on, Damnit. Get it together."

"Ow." Dick glanced down at his arm and then frowned hard, turning it over a few times. "Wait a minute," he said in a breath, his eyes narrowed as he suddenly turned his attention to the injury-free body, almost frantic as he looked over his arms, checked down his shirt to look at his chest... " _Wait a minute_."

Koenig looked frustrated as he glanced between the two of them. "I apologize, Mr. Grayson — this is not at all the way that SHIELD handles our new TAHITI recruits. Your mentor has no respect for the rules, however …"

But Dick totally ignored the agent in favor of looking up at Logan. "What is going on," he asked, though his tone was almost flat, like he was trying to process it and failing.

Logan took a breath and let it out slowly. "Nick Fury's been bringing back tributes from the dead so they can take a shot at Thanos. Somehow, even with you kissing your way through the damn thing, you made the cut."

Dick frowned at that and absently wiped at his mouth. "You're hilarious."

"Yeah, and I'm well known for my _jokes_ ," Logan deadpanned, arms crossed.

Dick shook his head and then stretched out his arms experimentally. "Okay, so… how long did it take you to get past the whole…" He gestured to his chest and arms. "I mean, it's not like I was expecting to get out without a few scars, but this is a whole new level of… did you get rid of the scar I got from Peaches the gorilla?" He peered down at the palm of one hand, totally taken off his guard.

"Hasn't been too damn long. They must be streamlinin' the process," Logan said. He turned at the sound of footsteps, frowning deeper and expecting a line of guards, but when it was Simmons, panting and looking flushed, he had to smirk. "This one might have a shot at explainin' it."

"I _told you_ I wasn't finished with you," Simmons said as she straightened her lab coat out and let out a little huff. "How am I supposed to prepare you for anything if you go _rushing off_ at the drop of a hat?" She paused and took in the scene before she could get much further in the room. "Oh, hello." She put a smile on and waved with the tips of her fingers. "You're a speedy one, aren't you?"

Logan pulled up a chair and sat down, fully prepared to let Simmons handle it, while Dick was already shaking his head as he rolled his shoulders, trying out the new body at an almost unconscious level. "So, Mysterious Lab Coat Woman—"

"Jemma Simmons," Skye said from almost over Logan's shoulder.

"Okay, Jemma," Dick said. "Am I gonna be able to do a triple backflip, or is that a big no-no after you, what, replaced half my skin or something?"

"Were you able to do that before?" she asked with one eyebrow raised. "Because the replication process isn't entirely perfect. But if you could before … with a bit of polishing up, you'll be back to yourself in no time!"

He shook his head at her and gestured her way, his gaze on Logan. "She wants to know if I could do it before," he said.

"He can do a fair proud peacock pose," Logan said, rolling his head toward Simmons.

"That's not what it's called, but points for remembering," Dick chuckled as he got to his feet and stretched a bit, then grinned over Logan's way. "I can do a backflip from standing."

"Oh, don't try to do that just yet," Simmons said, holding both arms out in front of her. "Your muscle tone in this body isn't the same yet — you'll need some time before you can do those things … whatever they are." She smiled sympathetically. "Start small. Walking, balancing on one foot. You'll see what I mean."

Dick raised an eyebrow her way before he picked up one foot — and it was clear he was going to do something more complicated to show her up before he nearly lost his balance with a frustrated sort of "what is _happening_ " before he caught himself.

"It's … complicated," Simmons said. "And … well. Some of our other tributes are better suited to give you the whole story since they've already experienced it."

Dick frowned at her. "Yeah, but you said _this body_ ," he said.

"Well, it is new," she said, looking apologetic all over again.

"Knew you'd catch up," Logan muttered before he got to his feet.

But Dick looked mad as he whirled toward Simmons. "Do you have any idea — I've been an acrobat since I was _two_!" he said. "Sixteen years of muscle memory — some of this stuff you just _can't_ learn past a certain age without _serious_ retraining!"

She gaped at him and shrank back, wide-eyed, and stammering. It clearly wasn't the reaction she's expected — especially since, until this point, the only anger Dick had shown had been toward Jack in the Games.

"You're alive," Logan pointed out. "You can do it again."

Dick spun toward him and ran a hand through his hair. "Logan, that's all I had from my folks," he said, trying to get a handle on his tone, but it was almost breathless and a step away from desperate.

Logan nodded. "And you can relive all of it getting yourself back up to snuff." When Dick still looked like he couldn't decide whether to blow up or fall apart, Logan added, "Might even get a chance to teach your girl."

That at least seemed to give the kid something to focus on. "She's here too?"

"No, but I'm sure she's on the list. Top five are," Logan said. "At least … according to what I read in the file Fury gave me."

"She — wait, is she still _in there_?" Dick asked, sitting down heavily and looking fairly overwhelmed.

Logan nodded slowly at that. "She's getting out one way or another," he said. "So come on. If I can't wander around half dressed, you sure as hell can't either."

Dick looked down at himself and then smirked. "Hey, I am at the very height of hospital fashion couture," he said in what was a passable imitation of Jezebel Jet.

"I don't give a crap about your _fashion_ ," Logan said. "But I've been recently and reliably informed that some people around here can't handle it."

Dick nodded at that. "And clothes would be… where, exactly?" he asked, directing the question to all three of them at once.

Logan turned to Simmons expectantly, and a moment or two later, she gestured to the right door — but that had Koenig sputtering all over again. "Tell you what, Twitchy," Logan said, looking irritated. "Go get someone _qualified_." Koenig looked between the others in the room and then seemed to lose all of his good humor as he threw his hands up to go do just that, which had Dick chuckling.

"What about Helena?" Dick asked once Koenig was gone as Simmons brought him the clothes so he could to change into something more modest than the hospital gown.

"She's still in and looking good," Skye said, waving his way. "I've been paying attention while your mentor's been out."

Dick raised an eyebrow at that. "Out… doing what, exactly?"

"Mostly trying not to swear too loudly," Logan said, waving it off. "Somethin' Fury wanted done."

"Okay, probably gonna ask about that later," Dick said as Simmons handed him his clothes. "Can you clear out? No offense, but you're not my type — either of you."

"No one wants to see you," Logan said as he and the girls stepped away and Dick pulled the curtain around his bed to give himself a few moments privacy, but when Dick called out the all clear, both women were smiling a little wider — even though Simmons was still giving Logan a _look._

Dick straightened his shirt a bit and tucked something under the collar on a chain around his neck — something Simmons had salvaged from the Games, since anything on him would have been sent home to his family anyway, and they were all _here_ — then looked between them. "So. You said something about taking on Thanos? Which sounds pretty great, not gonna lie."

The two SHIELD agents shared a look and opted to let Logan explain, since he was the one with an actual connection to Dick. But halfway through Logan's not-so-detailed explanation, the door Koenig disappeared through opened up again, and Logan had to smirk when it was Peter Parker. "Where the hell you been, Petey?"

There was only a moment of absolute stillness before Peter darted over and tackled Logan to the ground. "Not _fair_ that Kurt got all the secret meetings! Especially when clearly _I_ am the favorite."

"Parker," Logan said, trying not to chuckle at his over-the-top hello. "You gotta give Grayson the low down."

"No, no, I know how to tackle you too," Dick said, laughing and clearly enjoying the show for a moment before a voice echoed through the door that Peter had appeared through.

"Peter? Where'd you go? I need your help with—" Kurt stopped talking as he came through the door and took in Peter and Logan sprawled on the floor and Dick looking on with a very amused expression on his face. "Ah."

"Oh, I see how it is. They just bring back the ones you like, huh, Logan?" Dick couldn't help but laugh.

"Yeah, that's it," Logan chuckled. "Everyone else can go to hell."

Kurt laughed. "I think the selection process is a little more rigorous than that, but welcome to the Resurrection Squad." He jerked a thumb at Peter. "His name."

Dick grinned. "Yeah, we have to come up with a better one," he said before he came over to stick his hand out. "Dick Grayson. I got lumped into the Logan Rescue Society too."

Kurt took his hand. "Kurt Wagner, but I feel introductions are more of a formality with our faces plastered all over Marvel during our respective Games. And yes, the Logan Rescue Society is—"

"That is not a thing," Logan called out as he got to his feet, though there was a pull near his elbow that he couldn't recall being a problem before.

"Well, I don't feel like I can join Team Awesome," Dick pointed out.

" _That_ wasn't a thing either," Logan argued.

"Yes it _was_ ," Peter and Kurt argued simultaneously, which just had Dick laughing harder.

"We just need the originator of the name to round things out… what, is she already lined up to poke Thanos in the eye? The rest of us too slow?" Dick asked, looking around the place.

Logan let out a little sigh, and the smile fell incredibly fast. "Damnit, Grayson — that's a sore spot."

Dick's eyebrows shot up as he looked between the three other boys. Kurt in particular was staring resolutely at the floor, as if he could materialize Kate in that spot if he stared hard enough. "I thought ... you said they were bringing people back … top five?"

" _This year,_ the top five. Probably 'cause I was a pain in the ass to Fury along with your dad," Logan replied.

"Wait, wait, _Bruce_ is here?" Dick asked, whirling to face him. "Where?"

"Not right now, no," Skye said, leaning forward with her hands clasped in front of her. "He's… occupied. He had to go back to Seven and then come back here to set something up with Fury, so…"

Dick let out a sigh and let his shoulders droop. "And I really wanted to see if Alfred was as mad about the Shakespeare mangling as I thought he was."

"Not that he'd show it," Logan said.

"Not to _you_ , maybe, but get him alone, and I guarantee I'll get the full on 'you _can't_ use the Bard out of context like that!' while he pounds some pie crust into submission."

"Aunt May beat my pie crust into submission once," Peter said gravely. He shook his head and placed a comforting hand on Dick's shoulder. "My condolences to you and your pie crust, my friend."

Another set of hurried footsteps from the hall drew everyone's attention back to the door.

"You get a sidekick, Parker?" Logan questioned.

The wide grin that spread across the kid's face was borderline unsettling. "Oh, you'll see." He stepped back to give Dick some space.

"You're not exactly makin' this easy, are you?" Logan asked with one eyebrow raised, though he was honestly relieved to see Peter acting like himself.

"And ruin the surprise? Never."

The kid that appeared in the door was one that Logan recognized despite the lack of green coloring. "Guys," the kid panted with his hands on his knees. "You gotta slow down. Me. Short legs. You. Long legs. I got lost like three times." Gar finally looked up, and his gaze instantly fell on Dick. With a sudden burst of energy considering his complaining seconds ago, the boy launched himself across the floor and at his teammate with a loud "DIIIIIIIICK!" And just like that, the pair ended up on the floor with Gar's arms securely locked around Dick's neck.

"Gar!" Dick managed to get out, along with the 'oof' of hitting the floor, grinning widely.

"Must be something in the water here," Logan muttered to Kurt.

"We had a similar problem with Wade tackling Peter," Kurt agreed.

Logan frowned at that but didn't ask any further questions. He kept his attention on Dick and Gar instead as the youngest boy in the room did his best to catch Dick up.

"Dude, you're not gonna believe what's down here. There's all sorts of food in the cafeteria — not as good as the food we had before, but still all kinds — and there's a really cool training area where you can climb all over things and practice tricks and stuff and maybe you can teach me some cool flips because that's just awesome and there's towels that are super soft and you can totally bunk with us because we have bunk beds and there's an extra one and Peter and Kurt won't mind, do you guys? See, they don't care," Gar kept babbling. "I was going to save the bed for Raven, but I haven't seen her yet. But when we find her, we can just bring in an extra bed or I can share with her or I can sleep on the floor. I'm used to that, you know?"

"Looks like it's going to be pretty cozy in your bunk," Logan muttered half under his breath, entirely amused at the situation.

Kurt grinned. "He fits right in."

"Good," Logan replied. "You needed another one."

"Aw, you're getting all sentimental again." Peter jostled his shoulder lightly.

"Don't know what you're talkin' about, Parker. I'm not joining your little marshmallow roasting session," Logan said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. We all know you're a big softie when it comes to us."

"Peter! Kurt! Come here and meet Dick. He's gonna be our new roommate."

Grinning at Gar, Kurt and Peter moved to where Gar and Dick were now sitting next to each other on the floor. And while the group was shooting questions and jokes back and forth, Skye managed to pull Logan away from the group for Simmons to corner him. "I know you're having fun — which is kind of a miracle in itself — but you _need to know_ what happened while you were under," Skye said looking serious, and Simmons was nodding along with her.

"It was a weapons issue," Simmons said quietly, glancing past him to where the four boys were getting warmed up to each other. "And you were too far under the influence for me to explain things in a more timely manner before. We honestly didn't expect you to react that badly to the drugs _before_ surgery."

"I'm fine," Logan said, shaking his head. "And you said it was some kinda bio-"

"Yes. _Now_ you are," Simmons replied. "And it was a biomechanical development. But …you didn't even _ask_ what we did!"

"It was a _big_ project," Skye said. "And you're going to want to know all about it sooner than later."

Logan looked irritated at the intrusion, but the look he was getting from both of them made it painfully clear that they weren't going to _stop_ until they said their piece. "Fine. What is so damned important?" He turned his back to the guys and gave the women his full attention.

Simmons drew in a breath and tried to hold back the smile, but she couldn't quite manage it. "It's quite extraordinary, really," she said, smiling wider with every word and obviously proud. "Fitz and I designed it together — it was a stroke of genius on his part. I just did the final work up, picked the material, and the surgery … you know… _details_." She laughed under her breath, already caught up in her own story. "You _inspired_ him!"

Logan narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, studying her as if he'd never seen something quite like her. "My surgery?" he asked, starting to catch up finally. "You told me this stuff beforehand."

"Yes, but I didn't get the _details_ to you," she said, looking taken back at her own oversight as she stepped forward and took a hold of Logan's arm, walking him away from the reunion scene and talking low. "You took such a sharp turn once we got started with your medications to prepare for this." She paused, well away from the other boys in the room, and lowered her voice to a whisper. "It's one of a kind — Director Fury was _very_ clear that the plans and all information regarding this project had to be incinerated as soon as it was finished …"

"What the hell is it?" Logan asked, cutting across her. "You've been talking, but you haven't said a damn thing."

"I was getting there," she said, frowning a bit herself, though she reached over and picked up his arm, only to push his sleeve back, and smile as she turned his arm back and forth, clearly pleased. "You really should have just stayed put. We'll need to run some tests before you use them, but it looks as though you've healed beautifully. No scars at all! We had to repurpose a few sections of muscle—"

 _BOOM!_

There was a flash of light in the hall, and none of them could hear what was going on after that as a loud alarm blared through the passageways — making hearing anything impossible for the time being. Without thinking about it, Logan took a firm hold of Simmons' arm and reached over to grab Skye too, pulling them along with him. The guys had made their way over quickly, and with a few wordless nods, Peter took the lead, with the rest following him.

More, smaller explosions rocked the underground complex, and Logan made sure to keep Simmons and Skye ahead of him as they all cringed at the sound. They kept moving until Peter had them in a secured looking room — though by that time, Skye and Koenig, who had joined then in the hallway, both had their weapons out and were entirely wide-eyed and trying to take control of the situation.

The door to the enclosed room locked shut behind them about half a second before all of the power in the complex went out and was replaced with a slowly blinking red emergency light. "This is not good," Koenig said — which had the entire group of them staring at him for further explanation. He let out a huff and looked almost pained as he admitted what he knew. "It's just that once the locks engage, they won't come back on until the power is restored and the director puts in the codes."

"We're stuck here?" Peter blurted out, then started to pace, his hands on his head as he babbled to himself.

"We don't have any weapons," Kurt said, his jaw locked and looking entirely frustrated, though he was looking for something to use.

"I have to get back to the lab," Simmons said, looking truly frightened. "Fitz! We barely passed our field qualifications!"

The sound of marching and shouting soldiers filled the hall echoing into the room, and though it was clear that Koenig and Skye were prepared to do their best to fight off whoever it was, it was also clear they were petrified.

"Make a tight fist!" Simmons said to Logan, gesturing at him. Logan squinted at her as if it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "Do it! Make a fist!" The shouts were getting closer, and they could hear them kicking doors open and shooting — usually followed by someone screaming.

She gave him a pleading look. "We need _all_ the weapons available." Logan froze as he understood what Simmons was saying. He could feel the blood rushing from his face as he lightly shook his head 'no'. _Weapons._ His mind was overflowing and entirely blank at the same time, but all he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears.

The Tahiti kids all moved back, away from the door, trying to keep out of view of Simmons as she tried to get Logan to focus. Skye and Koenig had their weapons drawn aimed at the door … just waiting for it to be breached.

 _Wham!_

The intruders were at their door — and trying to get in. Logan turned his attention to the two agents that were armed with guns and saw that both of their barrels had a slight shake …. _They're not ready for this_ , he thought to himself as he straightened up and set his jaw. His hands clenched into fists at his sides — not too unlike the other four behind him that had pushed Simmons to some kind of protection … only Logan wasn't thinking about it as he felt the little _click_ when his wrists were perfectly straight with his forearms. He was concentrating on getting himself under control instead.

 _Wham! Crack!_

The world started to slow down for him as he watched the door frame splinter under the assault. Syke and Koenig both took an unconscious step backward as Logan moved forward. He was standing right between the two agents, waiting for the breach, hyper-focused.

 _Crack! Crunch!_

He felt as if they were moving in slow motion as the door broke loose. He could see the green uniforms pushing in, and he darted toward them, one arm drawn back and already sure how this fight was going to end.

 _Snikt!_

He handled his strikes as if he was holding a sword, though he hadn't looked yet at the claws that he knew were there. It was the only thing that made sense, with Simmons' half-explanations and Logan's history in the Games.

As he cut through the soldiers, he felt hot liquid hit him across the face, though he forced back the knowledge of what that thick, coppery scent meant. He only stopped when it was obvious that all the soldiers that had been in that group weren't breathing anymore, and he moved forward, trusting that the others were going to follow.

Halfway down the hall, another group of soldiers, sporting silver-tentacled emblems, burst out of an adjoining path, and again, Logan didn't hesitate to dive in — tearing through them without looking at the results... until he heard Skye let out a frustrated, panicked sort of ' _No'_.

He turned to find her trying to push a tall, dark-haired soldier away. He had a hold of her and was clearly trying to drag her off. "Capture them," he shouted. "Lady Hydra wants them!" But that was only answered with Peter and Kurt firing back at them — having liberated some weapons from the fallen soldiers.

Logan however, wasn't about to lose his bodyguard. With a frown set deeply on his features, he went for Skye and her assailant. The Hydra soldiers in his way were cut down with swift, efficient movements, and they dropped to the ground bleeding profusely.

Skye was fighting hard, stomping and struggling to get free. The soldier holding her turned toward Logan with a glare and raised his gun at him. "Surrender and I won't shoot you anywhere important. But Skye's coming with me."

"Like hell," Logan snarled out as he took a run at the guy. A loud pop echoed the hall, though it was hidden with all of the others, and Logan barely felt it when the round struck his shoulder. The guy let go of Skye when he realized that Logan wasn't stopping. As the Hydra specialist took aim, Skye threw an elbow into his solar plexus, making him drop the gun. He swore and twisted her arm further in retaliation. Just before Logan got to him, he pulled a knife, but he never got to use it when Logan's one and only hit on the guy was an uppercut into the soft flesh under his chin with the claws extended all the way through the top of his head.

Logan pulled his arm back with a wet and crunching _schlukt_ and stood there for a moment, panting, with blood dripping off of his claws onto the tile floor. Finally, he turned back toward the group behind him. Skye had rejoined the group, though she was clearly shaken. Both she and Koenig had emptied their weapons, and all of them were staring back at him open-mouthed.

"Time to go," Logan half growled out.

"Um. Logan…" Peter started to say in a quiet, awed tone.

" _Move!"_ Logan bellowed, which prompted Peter to be quiet for the first time ever as he darted past Logan and led the way out.


	117. Chapter 116: Calm Like a Bomb

**(A/N): Happy Tuesday! This is our last chapter of this round, and we couldn't think of a better way to round it off than with Miran Anders' Helena Wayne. There's one more round of chapters after this, but... you'll see... Things are about to get interesting.**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed (we're loving the hype!) and to Slim Summers2002 for all your excitement as well!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Sixteen - Calm Like a Bomb**

 **Night of Day Nine**

 **Helena Wayne, District Seven**

 **Written by Miran Anders**

* * *

 _Hope lies in the smoldering rubble of empires_

 _Back through the shanties and the cities remains_

 _The same bodies buried hungry,_

 _but with different last names_

— _Rage Against the Machine, Calm Like A Bomb_

* * *

Helena stalked quietly through the edges of the swamp, searching for game in the failing light of evening. Her crossbow sat rigidly against her shoulder, loaded and ready. Over the course of days in the arena, she had retrieved every bolt she could, cleaned and trued them, and was now more than ready to kill the first thing she saw. Her hands were steady, her eyes were keen. Anger, tightly controlled, boiled just beneath the surface.

She had never felt quite so _helpless_ in her life.

Her brother lay dying in the deserted madhouse. Her mind was too quick, too perceptive not to know that it was absolutely inevitable, given his injuries and the lack of help available in the arena. It was hopeless, and she was _useless_ sitting by his side watching him die, and she hated it. She hated that Kory was there, fussing hopefully over him. She hated that she _knew_ the girl's attention was good for him. Good for both of them. She hated being the one who, once again, couldn't do anything to help.

Somehow, Ivy had suddenly become the calm, sensible one, the one who suggested Helena go and find some food, so at least her brother's body would have some nourishment to fight with.

How could she refuse? It was her calling. It was something she could actually do for him. So here she was, the _huntress_ once more, putting all of her concentration into finding food for her brother. _Who is dying._

She _knew_ it. Or rather, her head knew it. _But not yet, Grayson. Not yet. We'll get you through this, I swear_ —

 _Boom_.

Given the highly-strung state of her nervous system, the sound jarred her to the core, causing her to gasp and jerk where she stood. It took a couple seconds more for her to realize what the sound was, once she got control of her body enough to process her thoughts.

 _Cannon!_

She spun and ran, splashing onto solid ground once more as the bulk of the asylum came into view. _Dick. No. It can't be Dick! I thought we had the bleeding stopped!_ She skidded to a halt, throwing a shoulder against the door as she looked inside. Slowly, almost in a dream, she walked in.

A small fire was burning in the middle of the anteroom they had taken as shelter. It was dying slowly but cast enough dull yellow light to see — although shadows loomed and flickered in every corner.

Slouched against the wall, right where she had left him, was her brother. His wrappings were stained with fresh blood from his wounds bleeding out, and his beautiful, sparkling blue eyes stared into nothingness. She was kneeling at his side instantly. "Dick?"

There was no response as she put her hand on his. _Oh, God. Still warm. Maybe..._ She pleaded with the universe, even as the eyes that mirrored her own were growing dimmer, losing their shine. She threaded her fingers through his and tapped twice on his wrist. No response. She shifted her hand and let her fingers rest on his wrist for a moment, hoping against hope to sense a pulse. When she registered nothing there, her hand went to his throat, seeing if his jugular would give her a telltale beat.

 _Nothing. But then, you knew that, didn't you._

"Oh. Oh, Dick..." Her breath sounded in harsh gasps as she lifted her trembling fingertips toward his eyes, and she paused to take one last look before she gently, gently closed them.

Her hand slipped to his shoulder, and her head dropped forward as tears fell down her cheeks, pattering onto his bloody chest. "I'm sorry. I _tried_ , Dick. I really tried…" A sob tore loose as she shook her head, anger mixing with the grief. "I should have been with you the whole time. Dammit, Grayson, I should have been—" But she knew _that_ couldn't have happened either. They both had accepted the decision, both had agreed. The fact was, knowing that didn't help now. No matter how sensible their reasons for splitting up in the arena, the guilt lay across her shoulders like a heavy yoke, weighing her down. "I'm so sorry…"

She sat holding his hand until she felt it starting to cool in hers — far, far too soon. Her breath caught as she realized it was happening, and she tapped his wrist once more. "I love you. Always. And I promise I won't give up." Leaning forward, she kissed his forehead gently.

Sitting back on her heels, she reached behind her neck and unhooked the pendant she had been wearing since the day this nightmare started. Gently, she fastened it around his neck, tucking the softly shimmering stone into his shirt and resting it against his battered chest.

She sniffed hard and gave him the strongest smile she could muster, even though it was contorted by grief. "You take this. It'll be easier for you and Mom to find each…" Her voice faltered, and she took another breath as she whispered into the silence. "Okay. See you on the other side, brother."

Then, her voice hardened with stony resolve. "I promise you they'll pay. All of them."

A small noise from nearby made her turn. Kory was waking up, shaking her head and looking confused. She stretched into a yawn. "Ooh. Ivy. What was in that tea?" Her gaze lifted, and she saw Helena. Saw her tears. Saw Dick.

"No!"

Kory scrambled over to him on all fours and wrapped her arms around Dick, his blood mirroring its stain on her shirt in a ghastly Rorschach blot. "No, no, no…" Her voice cracked as she cradled him. "I should have been here with you! Why did I fall asleep?"

Helena took a few breaths, trying to make room in her mind for Kory's feelings. _I owe him that much_. She gently put a hand on her shoulder. "I think it was quiet, at the end." Helena hoped she wasn't lying to herself. He did look peaceful — but then, Dick always had that beautiful air of inner joy.

Kory drew back and looked at his face, still handsome, even in death. Her voice rang with hope as she studied him. "Do you really think so?" She stopped, stared at his lips, and looked around the shadowy room. A frown furrowed her brow, and her voice became quite abruptly harsh. "Where is Ivy?"

Helena frowned at the sudden change and looked into the dark corners of the room. "Ivy? I didn't see her when I got back — I assumed she was out for water or something."

Kory lifted a trembling hand and drew a finger across Dick's lip. She held it up for Helena to see in the flickering light of their fire. "Look."

Helena frowned for a second, then her eyes snapped wide. "No." The smear of crimson lipstick was clearly not anything Kory had been wearing. Looking at the fresh blood at his side, Helena swallowed hard. "Oh, God. _She's_ the reason he bled out."

The two women looked at each other, then back at Dick's still body. Kory spoke first. "I'll kill her."

"Not if I see her first." Helena snatched up her bow and headed for the door.

"Wait! We should go together."

Helena looked over her shoulder and gave her a cool look, anger fueling her. "Should we?"

"Please, Helena. You may have known him longer — you are his sister. He loved you. I know that. But I know he loved _me_ too. And I loved him. This is _my_ hurt, _my_ loss as well as yours." Kory's face was wet with tears, but her voice was strong. "It is _fair_ that we do this together."

Something in her tone sounded so much like Dick that Helena took a step back. "Okay. Fine. But we should go. The trail will only get colder." _And so will he._ She shook herself at the morbid thought, but could have sworn she heard the tickling echo of her brother's delighted laugh. "Let's go get her."

* * *

The nearly full moon was swathed in a sheer veil of clouds, as if a goddess was watching them, barely hidden in the steamy night. Sultry, silvery light oozed through the thick canopy of the trees as they moved deeper into the swamp, stealing all color and leaving only misty shades of gray. Now and then, a bit of clearing would give them more light and a brief respite — not only from the thick, stifling atmosphere, but from the shifting shadows of trees and trailing vines that seemed poised, almost anxious, to reach out and grab them.

The clouds thickened over the moon, turning the swamp entirely black. Helena checked her footing and paused beneath a towering cypress, putting a hand on Kory's arm to stop her as well. She pulled out her water bottle, and they each took a drink of the tepid liquid.

The night was hot, and the ever-humid swamp left them feeling like they were being manhandled by an over-eager admirer. They didn't miss the bloody jackets they had left behind — the ones that had been used for Dick's stretcher.

"Do you believe we are still on the track?" Kory asked.

Helena peered out into the night as the clouds thinned again and shrugged. "I think so. It feels right. I mean..." She paused, pushing some sweaty strands of hair back off her face. "She's got this thing about plants, so the more the merrier, I assume."

"I noticed," Kory replied.

They had been lucky when they set out. Pamela must have hit the swamp running, probably bare minutes before Helena heard the cannon and headed back to the asylum. Fortunately for them, it meant a flurry of muddy prints headed straight into the darkest, thickest heart of the swamp. While there were very few spots that vegetation was damaged or turned aside, there were some tell-tale signs of her passing: carefully taken vines, a bit of green juice and pulp smeared on the branches, freshly churned mud. It appeared to be more than just gathering supplies. It looked like she was trying to blend into the swamp, camouflage herself.

Some distance ahead, they heard a quiet splash. It could have been a turtle or a gator. It could have been a fish jumping. Helena and Kory shared a dark look and took one more drink before setting off into the night.

They moved slowly through the silver'd black, even more cautiously than before. The water deepened, slowing their pace for nearly an hour until they came to another muddy hillock, still traveling toward the sound they had heard as best they could.

Helena's overwrought nerves twanged as sheet lightning flashed in the distance. She held up a hand.

"Wait." The flickering grew brighter, until the Marvel anthem began to play, and it became clear it wasn't just lightning. Helena muttered a curse. "God. I don't even know if I want to see this…"

Kory took a shuddering breath, pulling her back straight. "But we must."

Helena looked at the girl beside her, surprised by her bravery. _I guess Dick wasn't seeing just a pretty face. I should have realized that sooner._ "You're right. We do."

They stood and stared at the water, watching as face after face appeared — and Helena was almost embarrassed to find she was counting. So many of the tributes that had begun the Quarter Quell were gone now, reduced to shimmering outlines on the water. So many had become sacrifices to the monstrous, ever-hungry entity that Marvel had become. Helena found her fists were clenched so tightly her nails were digging into her palms by the time Dick's face was shown. Even though she thought she was ready for it, her heart pounded in her chest.

To their credit, they used a handsome image of him. He was smiling; she could practically see the sparkle in his eyes. _Oh, Dick. I miss you already._ But after too short a moment, the show had moved on, and face after face continued to appear on the swamp's murky water. Helena heard Kory take a breath when the portrait of her district partner — the boy Constantine — appeared… but that image passed quickly as well.

The music ended; the lightshow drew to a close. The sudden darkness after the brilliant blue-white projections left familiar silhouettes and streaks across Helena's already watery vision. Wiping the back of her hand across her cheek, she took a breath, staring at the surface of the dark water where she last saw her brother's face.

 _Dammit, Grayson. We were supposed to get through this together._ The sudden image of him hanging upside down in front of her, laughing, blue eyes sparkling with customary mischief, brought a strangled sob to her throat. _Goodbye, brother._

A small sound made her realize that Kory was still with her, standing beside her in the dark. There was no mistaking the catch in Kory's breathing, the faint whimper as she tried not to cry out loud.

Perhaps it was the darkness. Perhaps it was the influence of her brother's kind spirit, lingering near her still. All Helena knew was that she found herself reaching over to take the Kory's hand, and Kory grasped it firmly. They stood side by side, looking out over the deathly quiet water, and let bitter tears fall for the boy they loved so well.

Slowly, their night vision returned, albeit blurred with salt water.

"Should we stop until morning?" Kory breathed the question near Helena's ear. But Helena shook her head.

"I'm not stopping." She felt calm at the moment but held on to her anger. Anger was a gift she could use right now, to finish this insanity.

Kory simply nodded and staggered back a step. "Perhaps a short break, then?"

Helena looked at her and realized how long they had been hunting in the night. _And_ that Kory had been fighting whatever Isley had drugged her with all this time. "Okay. Sure. This is a good spot. Almost dry." She tried to give her a smile, but it was tight.

Kory didn't seem to notice, though. She nodded, settling down near the base of a black willow. She leaned her head back against the trunk and closed her eyes. Helena sat on a nearby trunk to keep watch.

 _She could probably use a little sleep. God knows what was in that tea Isley gave her._ Helena shifted her view out over the swamp, slowly moving her head back and forth to listen for any giveaway sounds. It was possible that her eyes closed for a few minutes, even though she would never admit to the physical and emotional exhaustion she felt.

* * *

 _They were sitting on the high wall in the garden, looking off toward the town and eating the first, just-about ripe peaches of the season, better because they were still warm from the sun._

 _"Well, what would we do then?"_

 _Her brother kicked his heels against the stone wall, frowning as he finished off the last of his peach. "Okay. They always show the transport ships coming in, right?"_

 _She nodded with the serious, thoughtful look only a ten-year-old could manage properly. "Yeah. After the cannon stuff."_

 _He tossed the pit and brushed his hands together before tracing his plan on the flat stone top of the wall. "So when it comes down, thinking one of us is dead, I wait for the door to open and run at it, jump up and grab the side. Then all I have to do is get in there and punch them out! They'll never expect it. Then you can come up out of the water and help me fly it home."_

 _"Wait a minute. I want to beat them up, too." She frowned over at him. "And how come_ I'm _the dead one?"_

 _"Well, you're the girl…" He grinned ferociously, knowing what was coming. "It only makes sense, you being weaker and more likely to die first." She would have shoved him off the wall with a kick, but he jumped almost before he finished his sentence. "Too slow, Hel!"_

 _"Jerk!" She threw her peach pit at him, which he dodged, laughing, as she jumped down and ran at him._

 _He always laughed, even when she was winning_. Especially _when she was winning._

 _Jerk._

* * *

Helena's eyes opened with a start. Something, somewhere, was off.

It was a faint sound.

It was almost musical, softened as it was by the sticky, humid air.

 _What the hell?_

She stood up and looked out into the darkness, lifting her bow to her shoulder. The clouds were mere wisps around the moon once more, casting the swampy jungle into glowing lines and blackened shadows. The air itself was thick and smelled of green. Even the birds and animals were quiet, as if a storm was on the way.

It sounded again. A laugh.

Not like Joker's maniacal cackle — but not pleasant. No, not pleasant. A sound that wound around the swamp and left Helena feeling dirty. No, more like _slimy_. A familiar voice called through the darkness.

"And here you finally are. Welcome to my garden."

"Kory, wake up," Helena hissed loudly and, as it turned out, unnecessarily, as Kory had jumped when she heard the voice and was at her side instantly. "Where are you, Isley? Show yourself!"

"That's _Ivy_."

"In your dreams, bitch." Helena tried to listen for a direction, but it was hard. She scanned the area with her gaze, her bow pointing the way.

"No, I'm afraid it's more like your _nightmares_. You're in _my_ world now."

"Show yourself, murderess!" Kory yelled out over the water. "Where are you?"

The laugh sounded again, a bit more unbalanced than before. "All around you, as the plants and I are one. Come into my parlor…" Again, the laugh that sounded near and far at the same time.

Abruptly, a different voice called in the night, stronger and harder, although muffled by trees and distance. "Show yourself, woman! There is no honor in concealing yourself to taunt me!"

Kory looked at her ally, eyes wide. "Who was _that_?"

Helena frowned before her face settled into a grimace. "I'm guessing it's Prince."

"Four?"

"Yes. Didn't see her in the light show, did you?"

Kory shook her head. "Honestly, I did not notice." A frown creased her brow. "Then... we are all together."

"Great." _The Gamemakers must be planning their big finale_. Helena squinted into the shadowy night and motioned with her head to the side. "She sounds farther away than Isley. Maybe on the other side of wherever Plantasia is hiding."

"We will deal with them one at a time, then."

Helena nodded, but her eyes were hard. She'd watched Diana during training, seen the way she moved, the controlled power. Not someone she'd choose to fight with casually. But then, a voice in her head said, _You're a good match for her, aren't you? No way she could beat you now. You're mad as Hel!_ She heard his laugh and felt a sigh well up in her chest, even though a sad smile touched her eyes. _Oh, brother._

They moved forward slowly and stepped into a moonlit clearing.

Trees formed a rough circle here, their tall trunks festooned with hanging moss, reaching toward the stars like pillars in the ruins of a forgotten temple. A third of the circle — the part they slowly moved into — was ankle-deep in water, while the rest rose to an island of fairly dry land. A conjoined spread of trees formed a stunning backdrop, a wooden wall to close the mystical round.

Helena gritted her teeth, ignoring the almost gothic beauty of the place. _Well, isn't this a dramatic setting. Damn them!_

In the middle of the wall, one tree had broken down, and in the resulting cleft, it seemed a mass of vegetation had taken root.

Or perhaps not.

"Holy..." Helena stopped dead, and Kory nearly bumped into her.

"What?"

"Look."

The vines and vegetation in the central spot began to move, sinuously, sliding down the extended roots to the ground. Moving into the clearing, into the moonlight.

"What is… is that a mutt?" Kory whispered breathlessly.

A figure emerged into the misty moonlight. She was green as the moss, textured with leaves and crushed seeds that covered every inch of her skin. Her hair was styled with mud from the swamp, brick red streaks that pulled it into waves and curled onto her shoulders. Vines were wrapped around her torso and onto her arms, hugging her body as if they'd grown there.

Helena didn't speak the words that she was thinking. _Great. No mutt. Just a crazed Swamp Goddess._

She was so startled by the transformation that she didn't realize Kory was running until the other girl was only feet from the apparition that Isley had become. Kory stopped short, though, when the green woman snapped a vine like a whip.

Kory's voice was a strangled scream. "I will kill you!" Her eyes grew wild as her hand scrambled in a pocket. "Why did you do it?"

Ivy laughed. "Oh, please. He was going to die anyway. And now, you will, too."

The knife appeared in Kory's hand instantly. "Not if I cut you down first."

"I'll grow back. We always grow back."

"Not this time, you _weed_." Kory circled around, her knife flashing silver in the moonlight.

To Helena's frustration, Kory stopped right where her torso blocked a clean shot at Pamela with the bow. Helena could see Isley's eyes gleaming in the shadows but didn't want to chance a headshot that close to Kory in the dim light.

"You think you—" Kory's retort was cut short as Ivy drew back an arm and whipped it forward again, causing the vine that trailed from it to snap forward and wrap around Kory's feet. Ivy pulled hard, still laughing evilly, and Kory ended up flat on her back, stunned, the knife fallen from her hand.

The would-be swamp goddess straddled her victim and leaned over, grabbing the collar of Kory's shirt to pull her face close. She spoke in a hiss loud enough for Helena to hear as well. " _Yes_ , I killed him. Killed him with a kiss, and do you know what he did?" Her laugh mocked them. "He _kissed me back_. Poor little bird thought I was _you_."

With a movement quick as a striking snake, Ivy dipped her other hand in the water and scooped across the surface. "Or maybe," she said, letting go of the shirt unexpectedly and stepping away as Kory fell back with a splash, "Maybe he _didn't_." She took another step and flung a handful of algae and duckweed across Kory's face, where it splattered with an ugly sound.

Kory yelled as the warm, slimy mess hit her eyes and mouth and began to cough. Still, she scrambled to her feet and staggered forward unsteadily, half-blinded and trying to wipe her eyes as Ivy turned to melt gracefully into the shadows. She threw a handful of the muck away and screamed, "You will not get away that easily!" as she leapt after the retreating figure.

She got close enough to grab a handful of muddy hair and pulled hard. Ivy yelled, squirmed around, and hauled back her arm to throw something — but Kory blocked her arm and punched a flat palm into her sternum, making her gasp. They grappled, grunting as they fell to the ground and rolled over each other.

"Kory, move, I've got—" Helena shouted while lifting her bow, trying to get a clear shot at the writhing pair. A sudden splash interrupted and made her turn with a start, as a shadowy figure stepped out from between two trees into the shallow water on her side of the circle. _Diana Prince_. "Terrific," she mumbled, turning to face the new threat. "We have no grudge with you, Prince! Just get out of here."

"I need no grudge to kill you all." Prince stalked toward her defiantly. "Perhaps you underestimate what it does to a warrior's resolve when an ally is lost. What it is to be alone in the world."

Helena's bow dipped for only a second. "You really, _really_ don't know what you're talking about," she said, spitting the words bitterly.

"And you don't know who you're up against; you will meet Hades before the night is out."

Helena frowned, trying to control her rising fury. _Great. Another self-righteous bitch._ "You think any loss you have is greater just because it happened to _you_? Get real, princess." She glanced quickly toward the other two women, who were still grappling, getting closer to the muddy shoreline. Any hope of a clean shot, or even being able to tell who was who, was fading as they became a writhing ball of mud in the moonlight. And now she had the girl from Four to deal with as well. She jerked her attention back to Diana. "I don't know what your problem is, but it is _not_ me."

Diana had produced a coil of rope from her side. She swung it upward and then cracked it down toward Helena, aiming to dislodge the crossbow in her grasp and eliminate her distance advantage. Helena dodged, leaping to one side as the lasso hit the swamp ground with a satisfying _squelch_ , then snapped back to its owner with a practiced ease.

Helena shot Prince a dark look. Fifteen feet away, she heard a yell, a grunt, and saw a chunk of what might have been muddy hair fly out of the fray. "Look, I'm a little busy here trying to deal with _that_ ," Helena shouted. "So this can't be a fair fight."

"Fair is a child's word," Prince responded, swinging the lasso once more.

"You don't know what she did—" Helena leapt backward, trying to stay out of range, as the lasso's end clipped the loaded crossbow, actually tearing the cock fletching partially off her loaded bolt.

"Dammit! Can't you stop pontificating for five minutes and just listen to reas—" She broke off her words as she struggled to adjust the bolt, aware of Prince closing the gap between them. _Well, at least she can't use that thing as a whip close up... but damn, she moves fast._ She lifted the bow again, knowing her shot would be off — but that wouldn't matter in a few seconds. Prince didn't have only a lasso for a weapon; she was drawing a sword.

 _Crap_! Helena fired the bolt, cursing under her breath as it angled to the left. But Prince had gotten closer than she realized, and Helena savored a small victory as the broad-headed arrow caught the tall girl's right shoulder, slicing across a healing wound and singing off behind her. Diana's advance was slowed as she twisted angrily away from the pain.

Helena used the moment to glance over at the other girls again. "Kory! Get over here, we need to regroup—" But it was too late. Prince was already heading for her again, panting against the pain, lifting her blade — now in her _left_ hand, Helena noticed — to strike.

 _Terrific. I may as well be fighting with Dick._

Helena lifted her crossbow to shield herself when Prince swung the sword toward her. She could see stains on the blade as it clanged against the carbon fiber of her own weapon, the hilt jamming itself into the crosspieces. Helena saw the geometry of the situation and shifted her grip. The sword twisted to flat in Prince's hand, and the two stood square, Helena pushing forward, Prince grunting as she pushed on with the broad side of her sword, the other side of the blade pushing against her chest.

"This ends tonight." Prince said through gritted teeth.

"Oh? And you think _you're_ the one who's going to end it? You think you'll be some kind of queen?" Helena hissed back. For a moment, Prince's brow rose, then it furrowed once more, and Helena's upper arms protested as renewed force went behind her attack. She could hear the sword squealing against the crossbow, then going silent as it dug into the wood of the stock.

"Someone has to finish this," Prince said, suddenly jerking the sword away and shifting her attack quickly to jab at Helena's side. "Someone who can do it with honor." The sudden loss of pressure on the bow left Helena momentarily off-balance. She managed to pirouette to one side, but the sword point still found her hip.

 _Dammit. That's going to leave a mark_. Helena shook her head and hissed in a breath. Still, she'd take the pain of a superficial jab to being gutted any day.

 _Come on, Hel, you got this. You're both tired. Distract her._ "Sure, kill without reason. Do just what the Capitol _wants_ you to do. Where's the so-called _honor_ in that, puppet?"

Prince stopped, and uncertainty overruled the pain and exhaustion in her expression. The uncertainty, as Helena hoped, was enough to make her lower her guard, the sword point drooping ever so slightly.

Yes.

Helena took advantage of the moment, stepping forward and turning to kick Prince's hand hard enough to make her drop the sword, if not break her wrist. Prince yelped as the sword fell, cradling her hand to her chest. Helena jumped backward, loading and lifting her crossbow in one smooth movement.

"Alright. Now _freeze_."

Prince's gaze hardened. "You are the one with no honor."

"You have no weapon to back up that claim. And I do have honor. I didn't lie to you." She glanced over toward Kory and Isley. "Hey! You two — freeze as well. I'm about ready to shoot you all right now, and I already know the order I'll go in."

Kory looked over her shoulder with a frown but shoved herself away from Isley far enough that they could both catch their breath.

"Ah. Honor?" Diana gestured in disgust toward Ivy. "Is it honorable to threaten unarmed foes?"

Helena laughed bitterly, without humor. "No. But I think there's honor in taking out the bitch who killed my brother." Prince frowned in confusion, and Helena gestured with the bow. "Slimy over there poisoned him. With a kiss." She glared angrily, her eyes flashing in the moonlight. "Still think I don't have reason?"

Diana looked momentarily shocked. She stared at Helena for a long moment, gauging her tone. Then she straightened up, looking over at Isley. "It is true?"

Ivy rolled her eyes at her and began to laugh. "Helena, I understand, you lost your brother, and Kory, you lost your lover. But you, Diana? Let me guess; you've come to right a _wrong. Justice_ must be done. How very sanctimonious of you."

Prince bent slowly to pick up her sword and walked even more slowly to stand beside Helena as she replied, staring at Isley. "In the Capitol, you seemed… you did not seem like _this_."

The mud had partly washed off Ivy's skin, leaving her streaked with green and somehow looking more statuesque than Kory. "Oh, please. Everyone expected me to roll over and die. And when I didn't — when clearly, I had more power here than ever before — I still didn't get any respect. I could have killed Jack. It was my right! But _Helena_ had to do it." She shook her head bitterly, her voice suddenly smaller. "And Harley died trying to save _her_ brother," she said, motioning at Helena with a muddy palm. "Harley deserved better. And I deserve better. I deserve _so_ much more—"

Helena stared at the girl and wondered what brought them all to this point. _This is too much._ She took a deep breath and sighed it out. _I'm tired of killing for them. For their pleasure. There has to be something_ —

A faint sound that had been in the background was suddenly enough to intrude on their distracted conversation, even though they couldn't see anything.

Helena looked skyward, her bow still trained on Isley. "What the — is that a _transport_?" She took in the other three girls in a swift glance. "Aren't we the only ones left in the arena?"

"If the nightly reports are to be believed, then yes," Diana said, with a hint of suspicion in her voice. "Unless they send something to narrow the field further."

"And it is running without lights," Kory added. "I would not put it past them to drop mutts on us just for fun."

"Could be." Helena looked at Kory. "Keep an eye on Mean and Green, will you? We may have to move quick—"

She was startled into silence when the light changed.

The nearly full moon that shone into the clearing from high above was darkened, stained by the black silhouette of a winged transport, hanging like a badge in the sky. It hovered there for a moment, perhaps looking for a place to land and not finding one near enough the clearing.

"What the hell?"

Slowly, it descended toward them, getting louder, with the obvious intent of landing in the clearing itself. The four women retreated to the higher ground by the tree wall — but didn't run. The idea of the Capitol trying to thin the herd had three of them, at least, ready to fight together.

Almost automatically, Helena lifted her bow and took aim. Diana stood nearby, her sword lifted, while Kory kept hold of Isley by a handful of vines at her back.

Helena felt her anger rising. _They're toying with us again. Making their fun little show for the Capitol. Well, not this time. Not again._

The transport had settled easily into the shallow water when a door on the side opened, and a dark figure appeared silhouetted in the cabin lights, one hand wrapped around the drop bar, while the other was lifted, palm out, toward her. She stepped forward, sighting down the bolt on her bow. "Who are you? What do you want with us?"

A firm voice answered.

"Stand down, Kitten."

Helena stopped breathing. She lowered her bow and stared, her eyes wide with shock. When she finally spoke, it was a plaintive whisper, although her heart was pounding so hard she felt like her chest would explode.

 _"Dad?"_


	118. Chapter 117: The Enemy of My Enemy

**(A/N): Happy Friday the 13th! To celebrate, what say we kick off a revolution?**

 **Thanks to all of our writers who reviewed. We're super psyched to see everyone, well, super psyched!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Seventeen - The Enemy of My Enemy**

 **The Capitol**

 **Written by Canucklehead Cowgirl and robbiepoo2341**

* * *

 **Peter Quill**

 **Twenty-First Victor of the Avenger Games**

* * *

Once the final five had reduced to the final four, the mood at the viewing party that Peter Quill was attending shifted dramatically. The crowd was no longer watching the princesses nearly as much as they had been before — not when the past several years of Games had taken their final four and positively blown up on the last day. There was too much on screen for them to miss should they be overly distracted in what Gamora and Nebula were doing to pass the time — or to note which tribute they were disappointed to see go.

Which was a perfect opening for Peter to take a gentle hold of Gamora's wrist and direct her toward a darker corner with a playful sort of smirk on his face.

Of course, the green-tinted princess gave him a stern look for a moment, but that cracked almost as soon as they were out of view of the party. "Peter, now is not the time for your games," Gamora said, though she did not pull her hand back from him, even as he moved closer and put one hand on her waist. And that only got Peter's smile to go from somewhat low-key for him to one that was entirely troublemaking.

He bit his lip and looked over his shoulder just before he darted in and _finally_ stole his kiss. He was entirely wrapped up in it — but not so wrapped up that he missed the fact that she was _returning_ the kiss … or the fact that she had her hands on his shoulders …

And when the ground shook and she suddenly pulled back, he was lost enough that he honestly didn't know _why_ she'd stopped. "Hey, wait …."

" _Peter_ ," she said, very suddenly looking like she was ready to fight. "We're under attack. It's time to move!"

"Are you sure?" he asked, though as the words left his mouth, another rumbling explosion shook the ground and knocked both of them off of their feet. Peter closed his eyes and flinched, though when his head was cushioned suddenly, he cracked open an eye to see that Gamora had managed to stop him from busting his skull open with her hand. He couldn't help but grin at her crookedly, and she'd seen the expression on his face enough to know what was coming.

"We don't have time for more kisses," she said, though her eyes were dancing with laughter and the smile pulled at the corners of her lips, showing exactly how tough it was for her to maintain some semblance of composure.

"One could argue that's the only thing worth taking time for …"

She smiled for an instant, then schooled her features back to a more war-like expression. "It has started. We need to get as many victors to safety as we can." He let his head fall back to the ground with his eyes closed for a moment. "Peter—"

"I know, _I know_ ," Peter said looking more irritated. "It's just the _timing_ could have been so much better!"

Gamora watched him as he got to his feet, smirking to herself as she produced a gun seemingly out of thin air, though Peter was pretty sure she'd had it hidden at the small of her back. "Take this, and don't _die,_ " Gamora said slowly, looking entirely serious before she leaned forward and stole a quick kiss. When the kiss ended, she yanked him to his feet to set him upright, and the two of them began to dart through the crowd of panic-stricken Capitolites.

Chaos was breaking loose all around them, and they hadn't gone more than a handful of steps before Peter nearly tripped on the body of a fallen Capitolite. He paused and looked down at the somewhat familiar face only to get kicked in the center of his back when Nebula made her presence known. She kicked him over onto his back, sword raised over her head already, and Peter froze, forgetting for a moment that he had Gamora's gun in his hand.

Nebula was sneering as she began to drive the sword down, and Peter belatedly reached for the gun as Gamora came barrelling in and kicked her sister away from him. Peter was left scrambling while the two princesses fought, swirling and kicking, slashing and stabbing at each other. Their entire dance was accentuated with cries of exertion and frustration — it was plainly clear that neither woman was holding back at all as they fought.

They were evenly matched, so Peter raised his weapon to help. But before he could fire, Nebula shifted to place Gamora in his crosshairs. They were moving too fast for a clear shot. But before he could express his frustration, Gamora made it clear.

"You have a job to do, Star-Lord! Do it and leave my wretch of a sister to me!"

He opened his mouth to argue, but to accentuate her point, a loud report echoed the area of the dancefloor — and a moment later, Peter Quill saw Uatu fall dead to the floor.

Peter swore under his breath and turned to see who it was that had killed Uatu. Sure, the guy had always been a little creepy, but he never did more than just observe.… When Peter saw the green uniform, he opened fire, dropping the soldier in his tracks as he ran toward him. He had never seen so many green-clad soldiers in his life.… He'd never even known that this was a _thing_ , but these guys clearly weren't with the Capitol — or SHIELD. When he knelt down next to the soldier, he checked for a pulse while fights were breaking out all around him — and then he pulled a face when he saw the tentacled skull pin on the man's lapel. "Oh, great," he muttered before he pulled the pin off and dove back into the fray.

First thing's first, though … the victors were like a family — at least, the ones he liked were — and he wasn't going to let Ol' Charles Xavier be trapped in a fire fight with no way to get out when he saw _that_ going on farther out. He ducked behind a pillar and looked down the row to find Sam Wilson there. "Do you know what the hell's going on out there?" Sam shouted over the screams and chaos.

"It's the revolution, bro! Follow me and we'll get out of here. We gotta get the good guys, you know?" Peter shouted back. As they headed to the next good looking section of cover, the fight between Nebula and Gamora spilled out into the center of the dance floor — both women nearly shrieking at each other as they fought, teeth clenched and scowling with every thrown punch.

"Get them to the checkpoint!" Gamora called out. "I'll finish with my sister!" She barely got the words out of her mouth before Nebula attacked, and the two women locked horns in battle once again.

Nebula screeched as she made a rush at Gamora, all of her training forgotten in her rage as she struck out. Blue clashed with green, and in a desperate attempt to avoid a nasty concussion, Gamora dodged, though she lost her balance and fell flat to the floor.

"Psychopath!" Gamora hissed out from the floor just before she pushed herself up, in time to defend herself from Nebula's double-bladed strikes. It took far too long for Gamora to retrieve her own blades and assert herself — first blocking, then going on the offensive. Grunts and cries echoed out with every hit as the two women fought.

A small explosion rocked the room and blasted both of them onto the dance floor — something that neither expected, an attack on the princesses even as they strived to end each other. The two sisters shared a look as the flames began to spread and the smoke thickened — and an instant later, Nebula rushed toward Gamora and managed to get the upper hand. Her hands were around her sister's throat, the weapons forgotten as the two adoptive sisters went into their final battle.

But Gamora wasn't about to let her undefeated streak against her sister end. "No!" she snarled out before she rocked herself hard and did her best to throw her, tossing one leg up and quickly shifting positions with a roar so that she was now seated on her sister and punching her hard. Two, then three strikes echoed with fist on flesh before Nebula pulled nearly the exact same move, though Gamora spun away rather than allow herself to be pinned again.

The two women were both on hands and knees, glaring at each other, sizing each other up — until Gamora dashed forward. She struck out — and missed the mark just as the ringing sound of metal echoed as Nebula drew her hidden blade. A crack rang out, and Gamora screamed, her arm broken in the scuffle, and before she could think to react, Nebula's blade was to her throat.

Nebula was breathing heavily as Gamora squirmed — though she had no solid way to fight when her sister had so thoroughly trounced her. Both of them stayed there for a long moment — though it was clear that Gamora couldn't determine why it was that Nebula was hesitating.

"I win," Nebula said. "Finally, I win."

"Then finish it!" Gamora snarled out.

"Stop telling me what to do!" All at once, Nebula released Gamora and tipped her chin up toward where Peter Quill was staring wide-eyed. "Go."

The two sisters shared a glance for a long moment, and as Gamora took a step toward Nebula, another explosion rocked the room, sending both of them flying. But when the dust settled, it was clear that Nebula was twisted in an unnatural way — her eyes unseeing. Gamora was close by her sister, though her eyes were closed where she lay.

Quill swore outright, even before the smoke was cleared out, and as gunfire rained down around him, he rushed toward Gamora, panicking outright as he checked for a pulse. It took some time, but there was a faint pulse at her neck. "You don't get to die on me, Princess," Quill said as he hoisted her up to carry toward some SHIELD agents shouting at him to move.

They gave him an odd look when they saw the unconscious princess, but seeing as a couple victors had been severely wounded already, they weren't going to ask too many questions as they ushered him into a transport — still carrying Gamora.

* * *

 **Anthony Masters**

 **Sixteenth Victor of the Avengers Games**

* * *

Tony Masters had been keeping his cards close to his chest, refusing to give SHIELD or Hydra a definitive answer one way or the other when it came to his support. He always preferred to see where things would fall — and side with the stronger force when the dust settled out a bit more.

And watching the _three_ -sided conflict, he was certainly glad that he had. SHIELD had staged its little rebellion, yes, but more impressive was the fact that even with SHIELD staging their uprising in the middle of the Games — certainly not the timeline he thought had been discussed, based on what he'd been able to learn — Hydra managed to preempt the revolution and get their soldiers in motion as well.

The number of green uniforms, considering how much time Masters knew they _hadn't_ had to prepare, was nothing short of impressive, and Masters found himself smirking as he saw, in particular, Jessica Drew and Ophelia Sarkissian waltzing through the place as though they already owned it.

And yet…

He had to admit that SHIELD seemed to have quite the advantage as well. He knew, for example, that Quill was one of Fury's little soldiers, and just before everything had happened, the charismatic blonde had been with one of the princesses.

If SHIELD was powerful enough to get their spies that high up the chain, then there was something to be said for siding with them.

Masters considered all of this as he spun his way through the battlefield. The years since his Games victory hadn't tempered his skills in the slightest, not when he was training, practicing… even the time he had taken in molding Harvey hadn't slowed him down.

If anything, it had made him sharper, stronger, more alert to weakness.

As one of the Nova Corps guards got too close to Masters, clearly meaning to arrest every single one of the victors regardless of whether they had actively professed loyalty to one faction or another, Masters simply smirked before he spun hard enough to land a solid kick to the guard's chest, knocking him neatly back.

"Thank you for your generosity," he almost purred as he reached down to scoop up the weapon that the guard had dropped, smiling to himself as he turned his sights on the battlefield.

Guns were so inelegant, in his opinion. And yet there was something to be said for expediency in this situation.

He had not yet decided on a side, and so he emptied his weapon on the Nova Corps. He might not yet know if he wanted to support SHIELD or Hydra, but he did know that he was no supporter of the Capitol.

That was simple enough to start — as soon as he had emptied one weapon, he would steal another from a fallen soldier. There were plenty to choose from.

But with the Nova Corps guards focusing on getting Thanos out… it was quickly becoming apparent that the only people left to kill were in either Hydra's green uniforms or SHIELD's blue ones.

Neutrality was fast becoming, frankly, an option that would get him killed.

Masters took a moment to take in the scene around him anew, this time watching the pairs of Hydra and SHIELD agents fighting each other. Some of Hydra's men were in the blue of SHIELD as well — the infiltration had been massive, apparently.

That, more than anything, had his attention drifting toward Hydra. The swarms of soldiers in blue who never saw the attack coming until it was too late. The obvious planning that had gone into it, even if it was obvious that SHIELD had surprised them to start… this plan, this infiltration… this had been in place for some time, simply waiting for the time to be right to reveal themselves.

And all of it right under Fury's nose.

Masters nodded to himself as he made his decision, neatly grabbing up a fallen rifle that he simply emptied into several soldiers wearing blue, making his way to where it seemed Sebastian Shaw was more or less letting loose on one of SHIELD's agents that had dared to get too close to him.

Masters shot the man in Shaw's grasp and gave him a lazy sort of smile. "It's hard to know the players without a scorecard," he said. "They all wear each other's clothes."

"And you don't wear any colors," Shaw sneered.

"I certainly don't wave them like an idiotic flag," Masters shot back. "I don't paint targets on my own chest. Maybe you could learn a little something."

"How to be a coward, perhaps," Shaw said dismissively.

"How to think," Masters replied easily before he simply shot down several more soldiers, watching dispassionately as they crumpled before him. Their armor was no use if he could get at the weak points, or get a head shot, or simply shoot them in the neck where they were exposed where their helmet met their uniform.

After all, Tony Masters had been anything but idle.

Shaw paused, seemingly content to watch Masters clear himself a path through anyone wearing blue, before he nodded at last, almost thoughtfully. "And now?" he asked, simply.

Masters gestured over his shoulder to where the blue uniforms were mixing. "That," he said, "was a piece of brilliant strategy. SHIELD can't defend against _itself_." He leaned forward, eyes bright. "You need loyalty right now, Shaw. I offer you mine."

Shaw narrowed his eyes at him for a long moment as he considered the offer before he slowly nodded, a smile spreading over his features. "If you survive the day, I'll show you who you need to convince."

Masters chuckled and spun the weapon in his hands. "Simple enough," he said before he turned back to the battle — and got to work.

* * *

 **Jessica Drew**

 **Seventeenth Victor of the Avenger Games**

* * *

Jessica Drew was near to her _real_ mentor as the pandemonium broke out around them. There were already firefights and outright panic as the little rats of the Capitol scurried for cover. And at the start of it, Jessica and Viper were leaning against the bar, deep emerald green martinis in hand, dispassionately observing as Hydra's forces made themselves known.

"The girls are in place, I take it," Viper said smoothly as she raised the poisonous looking concoction to her nearly black coated lips.

"Of course," Jessica replied. "I took care of it myself. Your orders were delivered privately to their handlers. And those trivial little boys know better than to cross you." Jessica took a moment to glance over at Viper.

"All the same … you did use our little insurance measures, didn't you?"

"Of course," Jessica replied. "They had six hours to get the antidote. Every one of them was quick to retrieve it."

Viper smirked. "And they have no idea how the poison was administered?"

"Please," Jessica said as she took another drink. "If SHIELD couldn't figure out how you were dosing one of their victors, these imbeciles have no hope." The answer seemed to please Viper right down to her toes, and for that, Jessica was smiling along with her.

Not a day passed that Jessica wasn't grateful for all that Viper had taught her. It had been a truly horrific experience, winning as the youngest victor. It had become somehow more terrifying for her as every year passed, too. Not that she ever showed it.

She'd been too young for the Capitol to really and truly show themselves to her during her victory tour, so for Jessica, her first year as a victor had been wonderful. The victory tour was unlike any that the others had to deal with as well, though Victor Creed coming in the year after her was positively terrifying.

But it wasn't until Viper had won that Jessica really found out what all was wrong with the Capitol. She was only a year younger than Viper, after all. And since it was her first year in the dirty dealings the Capitol handled, she was grateful to have someone to go through it with. Which was how she and Viper had initially gotten to be so close. And it was at this moment — watching the Capitol fall to shambles around them — that Jessica was perfectly happy.

Her best friend was secretly one of the highest ranking members of Hydra. And that afforded both of them certain privileges. Such as being fairly protected in the midst of total chaos.

Viper smiled sedately, clearly pleased with how well the upheaval was moving along. The Skull and the other, _lesser_ Heads of Hydra had made their orders to move before SHIELD could — and Viper had been no exception to that, though she was flexing her muscles well behind the backs of the men who _thought_ they were running the show. Of course, Lady Hydra was more than happy to let them squabble and kill each other. And just as Viper had done to win her own games, Jessica, at least, knew that Viper would let them kill each other, poisoning them from within their own ranks only to rise above them. And Jessica planned to be right there with her at the top when all the smoke cleared.

It was a good strategy, and one that the posturing men didn't seem to see coming - even though that was precisely what Viper was known for. Even the mighty Red Skull seemed too taken in by the fact that the far younger woman was giving him her attention to notice that she was sharpening the blade to cut through his heart.

And the women that planned to rule were more than happy to let them all fall on their swords.

* * *

 **Bobbi Morse**

 **Twenty-Second Victor of the Avenger Games**

* * *

When the fighting broke out, most of the people associated with SHIELD had been prepared, but not everyone was quite ready for violence.

Bobbi, of course, was more than ready to knock some heads together, especially some of the slimiest Capitolites that had wanted to 'negotiate' with her over sponsorships and such. But she had only just finished knocking one of them off his feet when she heard a squeal of surprise that was so girlishly high and honestly terrified that she knew exactly who it was in a second. She spun to see that Honey Lemon, one of the stylists for Eight, was being menaced by a few Hydra soldiers.

Before Bobbi could quite get there, though, she saw Barda, Eleven's stylist, simply crash into the man who had been closest to Honey — and the rest of Eight's prep team helped her to get out of there.

By the time Bobbi arrived, Barda had her eyes narrowed, and her chest was heaving after she'd properly trashed the Hydra soldier. She glanced up to see Bobbi and shook her head. "You couldn't give us more warning?"

"We really couldn't," Bobbi admitted. "We had to step up the timetable at the last second to keep from being overrun."

Barda sighed. "You could have at least given some of us a little warning. Warren was still working his contacts when it happened, and he very nearly got swept up with the Nova Corps trying to 'protect' him."

Bobbi smirked. "At least that means they had no idea he's on our side."

"Oh, I don't think they've figured out that _any_ of us are on your side," Barda said with a wicked smirk. "We're just _stylists_ , Bobbi. What threat could we be?" To emphasize her point, she grabbed up the fallen Hydra soldier's gun and used it to crack a Sentinel's helmet hard enough to break the gun.

Bobbi had to chuckled at that. "Oh yeah. Completely defenseless."

"Well, _some_ of us are," Barda admitted. She fixed Bobbi with a hard look as she added, "These guys — these Hydra people — they're targeting stylists from the districts with remaining tributes in the Games. Looking for leverage, since they won't get the newest victor. Or victors, I should say, if that even applies anymore."

"Is everyone alright?" Bobbi asked.

"So far," Barda said. "That little firecracker from Seven absolutely beat down the guy who tried to get his hands on Noh-Varr, so you know; we're a hard group to break up."

"Jubilee?"

"Yeah, surprised me too," Barda laughed. "Especially since Noh's the one we've been working the information exchange with."

"She's so new ... we didn't ask her to jump in during her first year…"

Barda gestured grandly. "Well, you missed the bus."

"Apparently," Bobbi said, shaking her head. She turned a more critical eye over the fight, now looking not for people that she personally wanted to take down but for the colorful stylists — to see who needed help. She saw GoGo deck a guy who tried to stop the Eights from slipping out. And Santo hadn't even dropped his drink as he sidestepped a pair of fighters — of course he hadn't.

Noh-Varr and Jubilee had managed to get separated as Noh backflipped and took on a small group of Hydra soldiers on his own. It clearly wasn't an intentional separation, but he'd barely gotten into the center of trouble when another Hydra goon managed to get the drop on Jubilee. He'd wrapped her up from behind and had her pulled off the ground as she started swearing up a blue streak. But instead of panicking and screaming, the little yellow-trenchcoated stylist curled her lip up and threw an elbow into the guy's gut. He folded over but didn't let her go, and as soon as her feet hit the ground, Jubilee stomped hard on his foot and threw her head back to break the guy's nose. When he _still didn't let her go,_ she took a step back into him, set her feet, and threw him over her shoulder — only to rush forward and start kicking him around the head and shoulders as she blew a huge, pink bubble. When it popped, she kicked him one more time for good measure, her hands on her hips. "Hands off, creeper!"

Barda gestured grandly with a raised eyebrow Bobbi's way. She didn't say anything, but the 'see?' was implicit in her expression, and Bobbi had to laugh.

"Would you help me get everyone to a jet?" Bobbi asked Barda. "Obviously, they can handle themselves, but we don't want to leave anyone behind."

"As devastating as it would be to leave behind these little fighters," Barda smirked.

Bobbi just laughed at that before she tipped her head for Barda to follow her, and the two women made their way through the fight to start picking up stylists. After all, several of them had been solid sources of inside information for SHIELD for a long time now. They couldn't leave them out to dry.

And besides that, Barda was right: Hydra would take any leverage they could get. And tributes tended to bond with their stylists if they were any good at all. Better to leave Hydra with empty hands as much as possible.

* * *

 **Victor Creed**

 **Eighteenth Victor of the Avenger Games**

* * *

When the first shots were fired — and the first improvised bomb went off — Victor wasn't nearly as surprised as some of his peers. There had been too many flags pointing to this kind of thing happening, and as the bartender ducked and ran, Victor reached over the counter and took a new bottle of District Seven's finest whiskey for himself. No reason to piddle around if they weren't going to throttle him back.

He unscrewed the bottle and tossed the cap across the room as he turned to lean against the bar, drinking straight out of the bottle as he watched the chaos break loose.

SHIELD clearly hadn't paid much attention to who was loyal to who, judgin' by the number of blue uniforms shooting at other blue uniforms.

As Victor took in the scene, his eyes dilated, and his pulse actually began to even out. This was an all-out brawl, and he didn't care for any of the sides throwin' their hats in the ring.

The Capitol could go straight to hell as far as he was concerned, and though Fury and his white-hat crew weren't as ride or die as Thanos' ilk, he didn't want a damn thing to do with their self-sacrificin' idiocy.

Of course, there wasn't any love lost between him an' Schmidt either. Out of all the other victors, Schmidt was the one that Victor hated above all the others. He tipped the whiskey bottle back and took a few long, deep pulls before he stuck his foot out to trip a green-suited soldier as he ran by. The self-important little moron went down face-first and Victor took the time to set the whiskey down on the bar before he knelt down on the man's back, placed a hand on either side of his head, and snapped his neck with a satisfying sort of _crack_ that seemed to hang in the air longer than the report of gunfire.

Victor's lips curled into a little 'o' as he sucked in a breath, truly enjoying the snap of the Hydra soldier's neck. He didn't want to play favorites, though, and the next blue-coated SHIELD agent that passed by found himself with his rifle sling yanked up across his throat. Victor simply twisted the rifle, tightening the nylon strap around the man's neck. The SHIELD agent tried to fight, of course, but Victor yanked him off his feet, then put his own foot between the man's shoulder blades and simply smiled as he twisted the rifle again — cutting off the man's air and crushing his throat as his body began to spasm under Victor's hold.

When the chump went limp, Victor dropped the rifle, not bothering to look at the soldier's body before he stepped on the guy's neck for a few extra crunching sounds on his way back to the whiskey bottle on the bar. The mouth breathers might have just figured out that this was a war, but Victor still had his priorities.

Already bored with the lack of fight in his prey, Victor turned his back to the action and raised the bottle again, tipping it to his lips, but just before it found its mark, the bottom half of the bottle shattered in his hand, leaving him with little more than an empty fractured neck and the better part of a fifth of whiskey dripping down his front.

Furious, he turned and then froze where he stood when he saw the sweeping green cloak as it swirled around the angry-looking young woman. "I thought you were dead, ya uppity little squaw," Victor drawled out — his eyebrows drawing together.

"That's what you were aiming for all along wasn't it, you low-down puddle of human garbage," Silver Fox hissed back as she raised her gun again and fired directly at Victor's chest.

The prongs hit on either side of his heart, and for a long moment, Victor had no idea how much time had passed as his muscles locked up and he went to the ground. But the electrical pulsing didn't stop even as Silver Fox walked almost right up to him, sneering down at him as his body remained locked up.

"I've been waiting a long time to do that," Fox said, but Victor simply couldn't even think about anything going on around him … though the intensity of the shock was slowly ebbing. Victor watched as Fox seemed to be less and less interested in him until finally, she let go of the trigger she'd been holding and turned to her guards.

Victor's hands were shaking as he carefully reached up and yanked the probes from the taser free — and, using the sound of explosions and gunfire as a cover, he teetered to his feet.

"He's never going to join up with Hydra," Silver Fox said into a communications device. "He's a mindless, drooling animal who only is concerned with himself. And that's on a good day," she said. "I'm not waiting for a response. I'm going to put him down like a rabid dog."

Victor was ready to strangle the life out of her — and the first guard that realized he was on his feet lifted his rifle a moment too late. Victor tore it from his hands and then shot half the men around them before taking a round in the stomach from Silver Fox.

Before she could squeeze off another round, he grabbed her wrist and snapped it neatly — forcing her to drop the gun as the bones shattered.

She screamed — a keening sort of wail that made his heart quicken even as he wrapped his free hand around her throat and leaned in. "Do that again — just as loud and pretty as before — and I might not kill you outright."

She looked furious and terrified all at once, and the instant that Victor leaned in close enough that her hair moved with his breath, her nerves and fear got the better of her, and another high, long scream split the air — only to cut off partway through with a wet-sounding _crack._

Silver Fox's body dropped into a pile on the ground, and Victor kicked her once before he simply turned and started breaking anyone in his way as he made his way out of the party — though he was sure to give extra care to the Hydra idiots that crossed his path.

"Ain't any fun no more anyhow," Victor said before he decked a Hydra soldier squarely in the throat — then broke into a run as he left the scene, slipping out of the crowd and melting into the city to start having some _fun_.


	119. Chapter 118: Wings in the Night

**(A/N): Couldn't leave you hanging on that cliffhanger from last time we were in the arena for too long! So let's jump right back in with another Helena chapter, picking right back up where the last one left off...**

 **Thanks as always for reviewing and letting us know what you think. Things are only heating up hotter over here!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Eighteen - Wings in the Night**

 **Final Day of the Quarter Quell, The Arena**

 **Helena Wayne, District Seven**

 **Written By Miran Anders**

* * *

 _"Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach;_

 _Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come,_

 _I'll fill your grave up: stir, nay, come away,_

 _Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him_

 _Dear life redeems you. "_

 _Shakespeare_

* * *

The moon hung over the trees, a disk of mottled gold on velvet. It shone into the clearing but was abruptly darkened, stained by the black silhouette of a winged transport that hung like a signal of impending death in the sky. The ship hovered there for a moment, perhaps looking for a place to land and not finding one near enough the clearing.

"What the hell?"

Helena felt her anger rising. _They're toying with us again. Making their fun little show for the Capitol. Well, not this time. Not again._

The transport had settled into the shallow water side of the clearing, and a door opened. A dark figure appeared silhouetted in the cabin lights, one hand wrapped around the drop bar. Something stopped Helena from shooting it instantly, and she stepped forward, sighting down the bolt on her bow and calling out in a strident tone. "Who are you? What do you want with us?"

A firm voice answered.

"Stand down, Kitten."

Helena stopped breathing. She lowered her bow and stared, her eyes wide with shock. When she finally spoke, it was a plaintive whisper, although her heart was pounding so hard she felt like her chest would explode.

" _Dad?"_

"Yes." The figure jumped down, taking a confident step forward.

She shook her head, and her bow jerked back up. "No. This is a trick. A hallucination."

The figure paused. "I understand why you might think that… but it's me."

She swallowed hard. "Prove it."

"Helena…" The figure lifted both hands and stepped into the swamp. "It's me. I promise."

Her finger tightened on the trigger, and she repeated herself a bit more harshly. "Then _prove_ it."

There was a deep sigh and a fairly long pause. "I know your favorite bow is the one Dick bought you for your fifteenth birthday. He thought you didn't like it, and you finally had to tell him that you didn't use it for a month because it meant so much to you, and you were afraid of something happening to it." When she didn't respond, a second sigh breathed out into the night. "And while you and Dick never complained, I know Alfred was often a better father than I was."

Her expression faltered, and she blinked several times before slowly lowering the bow. "Dad?"

"Yes. We're getting you all out of here."

A frown creased her brow. "All of us? Did you _steal_ this transport? Even if we get out, the Sentinels will be all over us!"

 _Dick dying must have pushed him over the top. This is insanity._

He drew closer, and his eyes, serious as ever, met hers. "The Games are over. The Capitol is over."

Her jaw dropped. "What? How the—" She was interrupted by a sudden cry, and both she and her father turned to see Kory wrestling Ivy to the ground once more. Helena's bow seemed to aim all by itself at the green-streaked girl. "I've got her, Kory. Get out of the way!"

The bolt hit the ground as her father pushed her weapon down, triggering the mechanism as he did. "No. We get you _all_ out."

"But she—"

"No."

Helena felt her heart pounding hard enough in her chest to make her dizzy. "Seriously? You _must_ have seen what she did to Dick! Don't you even _care_ that he's dead?" His stoic facade was too much for her to bear, and her own emotions spilled out to fill the void. "Dad!"

Her father lifted something from a pack at his belt as he stepped quickly over to where the girls were struggling and deftly pushed a hypo against Ivy's neck. It had barely stopped hissing when the green-stained girl released Kory and dropped back into the mud. "You don't have all the facts. Everyone into the transport. Now." He turned toward the ship and called to a bearded man now standing in the hatchway. "Dr. Hamilton — we have all four. Only one down."

"Good. Bring her in first." The figure spun on his heel and retreated into the ship.

Shock and anger flooded through Helena's system, releasing a fresh burst of adrenaline. First fighting for her life, and now this — whatever _this_ was. She still didn't trust it to be a sudden escape. "You can't be _serious_." Her father appeared to ignore her comment as he helped Kory to her feet and then scooped Pamela up off the ground.

"Come on. It's not safe here. We'll discuss it later."

His tone brooked no argument, and that was that. Just like a thousand times in the past, she bit her tongue as she bent to pull the bolt out of the muddy ground. A hand touched her shoulder as she rose, and she was so tightly wound that she nearly jumped. When she turned, it was into the confused gaze of Kory Anders.

"For now, let us be thankful to get out of this hellhole."

Helena nodded, tears stinging her eyes. "You're right. Let's go." The water splashed around their knees as they turned, then began to pull at their ankles.

"What the—" A strangely familiar background noise suddenly became the only sound in the world. She yelled to her father. "I thought you said the Games were over!"

But her father was frowning himself now and staring off in the distance. "Damn it. If the systems are shutting themselves down, then whatever they used to flood the swamp…" Father and daughter's eyes met with sudden realization, and he shook his head.

"Run."

The water was rising, but that wasn't their main concern. Their concern was the roaring sound that announced a suddenly released wave crashing through the trees, destroying everything in its path.

Kory stumbled, and Helena helped her up and pushed her toward the transport, where Diana was already reaching a hand from the door to get them inside. For a moment, Helena stood and stared, feeling the rumble of the water through the ground. _If there's no one controlling it_ — _if they're not just trying to make life difficult for tributes_ — _it could destroy everything._ A yell broke through her frozen thoughts.

"It's coming!"

"Get in, now!"

Her legs gave up on waiting for input, so without thinking, she turned and bolted for the ship. She scrambled over the threshold and grabbed the drop bar.

 _I never thought I'd be in one of these… alive. I wonder if it's the same one that picked up Dick..._

Clenching her jaw, Helena watched with hooded eyes as her father carefully lay Ivy down in a long basket that was obviously used for picking up bodies. _More worried about taking care of the girl who killed Dick than actually getting us out of here?_

Turning away from the still unconscious Ivy, her father called toward the front of the ship. "Everybody strap in. Trevor, get us out of here!"

Captain Steve Trevor, the SHIELD pilot for this mission, called back calmly. "Just waiting for you."

"There's a tidal wave coming! Take off now!"

The reply had much more urgency now. "Why didn't you say?" The hum of the ship rose to a roar as the pilot yelled back. "Close the hatch!"

The rumble of the water was audible through the walls of the transport, and only seconds had passed when the ship jerked sideways. For a moment, the deck angled crazily beneath them, and they heard the engines strain before it lurched up out of the flood.

The pilot's voice called from the cockpit. "Hoo-boy. Any take off you can walk away from, I guess. Everyone okay?"

"I'm finding that out now." The bearded man stopped to check on Pamela before he turned to the other girls. "Sit, please. Buckle in. I'm Doctor Hamilton. I'll do what I can for you while we're in the air…" His voice trailed off as he turned back to examine Ivy's injuries.

Bruce worked his way to the front of the ship, where he slipped into the navigator's side seat and pulled up some map diagrams. "Good work, Captain."

The young man smiled grimly. "Yeah, we were lucky. Only got a free wash. Get me the coordinates, and let's get the hell out of here."

Helena stared at the deck of the ship, only lifting her gaze when Kory moved to sit down opposite her. Kory shrugged Helena's way before glancing toward where Ivy was lying. Helena didn't miss the narrowing of her eyes and the tightening of her jaw — but then, she was feeling the same frustrated anger. She forced herself to look back at their would-be prisoner and gave an involuntary shudder. At least her father had attached restraints to the green-streaked wrists.

Bruce's voice called back to them. "Make yourselves as comfortable as you can. We're going to be up here for a while."

Diana, whose lifted brow made it clear she was aware of the surrounding tension, took the opportunity to close her eyes to it all. With the training of a practiced warrior, she was asleep within moments. Helena watched as her breathing slowed and shook her head with a pang of jealousy. _I'm so tired..._

A soft voice distracted her. "Helena…? Why would he be so concerned about saving _her_?"

Helena looked up into Kory's tear-filled eyes and shook her head. "I don't know." She stood, swaying slightly with the movement of the ship, and moved toward where her father sat. "But I'm going to find out."

As in most aircraft, there was a narrow passage between the cockpit and the hold. She stood at the door for a moment, took a deep breath, and went in. The copilot's seat was empty, and she sat down, barely glancing at the pilot.

"You should be in back, miss. It's safer."

When she didn't reply, her father glanced up from his instruments, seeing only her stony profile. "Helena?"

"How could you?"

He checked their course and made a few adjustments. "How could I make sure I got here before you four killed each other? You're welcome, by the way."

"You know what I'm talking about." She shifted uncomfortably in the copilot's seat and stared at the lights on the console. "That bitch killed him."

"She's a very troubled child. It wasn't her fault that—"

"She's as old as I am! Are you saying _I'm_ a child?"

Her father took a deep breath and let it out slowly, infuriatingly calm. "I'm saying she's troubled. Very troubled. The Games are over, Helena. There was never a reason to kill each other, and now, there's no one forcing you."

A tense silence descended on them for a few minutes, as Helena tried not to scream. Bruce hit a few switches and spoke crisply to the captain. "Coordinates laid in as given, Captain Trevor."

"Great." Trevor checked several gauges and set a few dials. "We're at altitude, I'm switching to auto-pilot. I'm...ah… going to see if Hamilton needs anything." He seriously doubted that either of the Waynes really noticed him leave. There was enough stubborn anger resonating in the cockpit to keep the plane aloft without engines.

Helena, unmoving, stared at the lights of the console.

 _I'm so tired._ _And so angry. But..._

Her brain was having trouble processing this at all. The fighting to stay alive, not really getting any sleep in at least the last two days, and then Dick…

 _Oh, Grayson. I miss you so much. If only I could talk to you. What if this is all a dream? What if the Games aren't over, if I'm not escaping… if you're not dead..._

She closed her eyes and took a few breaths, willing herself to think clearly and not explode.

 _How can he be so calm? I mean, he's never been what I'd call emotional, but this?_

She took another breath, and her mind settled slightly.

 _How… unless there's something I don't know that he does._

A soft frown creased her brow, partly hidden by smudges of mud.

 _But… what? What would keep him from being upset about one of us dying?_

She opened her eyes and stared straight ahead at the steady rhythm of the flashing lights of the console, suddenly projecting an oddly frozen calm that made her look quite a bit like the man sitting behind her.

"Dad?"

Her father didn't speak, but he glanced toward her, waiting.

She spoke quietly. "What don't I know?"

"Where do I begin?" he said, but there was a warmth in his tone that softened the words. She said nothing, waiting, and he stared quietly for a moment before swiveling his seat toward her. "Helena." He hesitated, looked thoughtful, and sighed out a phrase. "There is more in heaven and earth, Helena—"

"—than is dreamt of in my philosophy. I know. Alfred has said that many times." She swiveled her seat back to face him, and they sat silently, their knees nearly touching. The silence was not nearly so chilly now. "So tell me, then, just what is being dreamt and by who." With considerable although imperfect control, she modulated her tone to one approaching pure reason. "Please, Dad."

"Kitten…" He paused, his head tilting slightly. "You must remember, through all this... there's always hope." His gaze grew uncharacteristically soft. "Even for Dick."

Her eyes widened as exhaustion once again pushed her voice toward hysteria. "Wait. Hope that he might be _okay_? Dad, I was _there_. It was… it was horrible. It… it was more than horrible. It should have been _me_ —" Her words cracked painfully as, without warning, her heart broke. _Both or neither._ "I shouldn't have survived without him — I should have _stayed_ with him — we should _both_ be dead, or _both_ be in this transport—"

She didn't realize that she'd started crying. She didn't realize that he had reached out and pulled her to him, cradling her on his lap as if she were still a little girl. Not until the gasping tears had slowed, and she felt warm arms tight around her, and the softness of his jacket under her cheek. Not until she pulled her head back enough to see the glistening lines of tears on his face as well. "I'm sorry. I'm—"

"No, Kitten." He swallowed hard and smiled at her. "Neither of you should have had to deal with going at all. Not both. Neither." He hugged her more tightly and kissed her forehead. "Listen. I have to tell you something."

He didn't let go, and Helena didn't fight to move away. She sat listening as he held her close. He talked about Nick Fury, about a project called Tahiti. He talked about scientific methods and long-time plans. He talked about miracles. He talked.

"And I know it sounds far-fetched, but I met one of them."

"One of..."

"One of the ones who, well, _came back_ from the last Games."

She frowned as her mind tried to wrap itself around what he was saying. "Who?"

"The archer. His name is Clint B-"

" _Barton_? But he's dead. He died in the arena, I remember—" Her eyes widened. "Are you saying — are you _sure_?"

Her father took a deep breath and let it out slowly, never losing eye contact with her. "As sure as I am that you're here."

He went on, talking about plans, and promises from people who could do strange things. About other tributes being 'brought back'.

About her brother being reborn.

 _Alive_.

"But — are you _sure_?"

Bruce sighed. "I know it can be done. I know it _has_ been done. I know bringing Dick back was… implied." He looked away and shook his head. "I don't have proof that it happened — or that it worked if they tried it." He stared off through the windshield of the craft, his distant gaze seeing some possible future. "I have hope." His gaze met hers in an unusual flash of connection. "It doesn't feel like he's gone, does it?"

Her eyes widened, both at the intensity of the connection and the emotion behind it. She shook her head. "No. It doesn't."

After a long pause, as they stared off in the same direction into the star-swept night, she spoke again. "Dad." He didn't respond, but she felt him nod. "How many?"

"How many?"

"How many are they bringing back, Dad? Will Jack be there? Will Harley?" She shook her head. "Just who is playing God here? How do they decide?"

She felt as much as heard his sigh. "I don't know all the details, Kitten. I'm not the one making those decisions — but evidently it's involved, as you can imagine, and there are limits on resources."

 _Deciding who lives or dies._ She frowned into the night. _That would be a blessing and curse. The responsibility..._

* * *

Back in the hold, Steve Trevor exhaled, realizing that he was actually only moving from one brand of tense to another. At least back here he didn't feel like he was eavesdropping.

He automatically glanced at the passengers to see that they were all strapped in, and his gaze fell on the dozing face of Diana Prince. Sleep gentled the strength of her face, and he looked thoughtfully at her.

"You are the pilot?" Kory's question brought him out of his distraction.

"I am."

"Where are we going? Do you know?"

"Somewhere safe, miss, ah—"

"Kory." She gave him a small smile. "Thank you for saving us."

"Mostly Mr. Wayne to thank on that. And all the people fighting in the Capitol."

She saw his eyes change and spoke softly. "Did you lose someone?"

"We all did." His expression was tinged with sadness for a brief moment, but he pulled back to smile at her. "We'll be safe where we're headed. Nowhere near the fighting."

She nodded and looked over at where Ivy was being treated by the doctor. "Have you been watching the Games?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then you saw…" She gestured vaguely toward the girl in the basket, her natural skin color showing through in splotches where the doctor had cleaned it to treat various wounds.

"Yes." He took a deep breath, suddenly very much the soldier. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Her eyes widened, startled. It was the first time anyone had said anything like that to her, and she realized it probably wouldn't be the last. It probably meant that everyone watching knew how she and Dick felt about each other — _had_ felt about each other. It was like tearing the wound open all over again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you—"

"No, no. I will be fine." She blinked up at him through watery eyes. "Just not quite yet."

The doctor stood from where he was finishing bandaging Pamela and walked toward them. "Miss Anders. I'd like to examine you now."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Now?"

Dr. Hamilton nodded patiently. "Just a cursory exam, I assure you. You're all breathing, so it's down to bleeding and bones." He gave her a small, professional grin. "At least until we get to a med center — and it seems we'll be in the air for a while." He pulled out a packet of pills and handed it to her, jotting things down on a pad as he spoke. "First things first. We'll get your vitamins and minerals balanced…here's a bottle of water… have you suffered from dysentery?" A look of horror widened her eyes even more, but the doctor didn't notice as he started checking her arms and back.

Steve looked at her and gave her a considerably warmer smile than the doctor. "Do you want me to stay, or go?"

The look of gratitude that flashed across her face spoke volumes. "Stay. Chat with me." She leaned away from the older man and spoke in a whisper. "I hate doctors."

The pilot chuckled and nodded. "Almost as much as dysentery?" She rolled her eyes and nodded. "Okay. So… what are you looking forward to the most when you get back?"

Kory looked pensive for a few moments while Hamilton continued checking her wounds. "I think… a shower."

He grinned at her and nodded. "I can imagine."

* * *

Eventually, it was quiet in the cockpit.

When her father had finished telling her what he knew, Helena sat quietly leaning against him, trying to let it all sink in. Finally she spoke, although it was a tentative whisper. "Will he be himself, though?"

Bruce sighed. "Physically? I'm guessing it will take some time to relearn his body. Just as if he'd been severely injured, and not been able to use his muscles for a long time..."

She shook her head against his shoulder. "No. I mean…" Pushing gently away from him, she looked into her father's eyes. "He _was_ severely injured. He was tortured, Dad. Horribly. He… died. I mean, he went through it all. The whole experience." Her own eyes grew wider. "Will he be able to live with that?"

He nodded slowly. "I don't know, Kitten. But we'll help him. Whatever comes next, we'll get through this as a family."

Helena hugged him once more, hard, before shifting back to the copilot's seat.

 _We will. And this time… if there is a this time... we're sticking together, brother._


	120. Chapter 119: The Sisterhood

**(A/N): And we're back with our Friday update! :) This time, let's check in with the Hydra side of things and some more awesome ladies!**

 **Thanks as always to all the writers who reviewed and to Slim Summers2002 for your marathon reviews. Glad to see you love the Bat-dad :D**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen - The Sisterhood**

 **TAHITI Strike Team Facility**

 **Sinthea Schmidt, Formerly of District Six**

 **Written by Silmarilz1701**

* * *

" _No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." - Eleanor Roosevelt_

* * *

Red flashed everywhere. Red alarms, scarlet lights lining the floors of the hallways — everything screamed danger. For the average SHIELD agent, it caused chaos, confusion. Yet again their supposedly top secret base had been targeted. An assassin was inside, getting ready to target the strike team from Tahiti. What they didn't realize… the assassins _were_ Tahiti.

Her moment had come. Sin stalked through the hallway, her mind bent on one course of action. Those who passed her moved out of her way, giving her a clear path to her mission. To _their_ mission.

She wore her favorite armor: black leggings of a bullet-resistant material, red boots that covered even over her knees, and best of all, a red corset in which six knives could fit, three on each side. In the center of her chest, she placed her Red Skull pin. But now, that pin did not signify a connection to the brutish absent father figure she had chased forever but instead to the name she took. She would be the new Red Skull, Lady Sin of the Sisterhood.

But she also knew secrecy needed to be preserved. So over her armor was a black trench coat. She walked through the hallways with purpose, reporting to her assignment within SHIELD: protect Amanda Waller. Who knew where the infiltrators were, after all?

She smiled to herself. She knew. Sin pressed the earpiece she wore. "Kate, report."

"On my way to your location," came the reply.

Sin knew SHIELD monitored all their transmissions. For this to work, they had to be able to get close to their target. Though Hydra had been caught completely off-guard by the revolution's accelerated timetable, they had recovered well enough. Someone high up in Hydra had purposefully tipped off SHIELD to the presence of an intruder in their ranks within the underground facility. They'd hoped it would cause Waller to order the strike team to her location and open up a perfectly staged execution. And it had gone all but exactly as planned.

The only kink in their execution came from the fact that Natasha had been showering when the alarms sounded and their orders from SHIELD came in. That put her a bit behind Kate and Sin, but Sin knew this would hardly affect Natasha's role. Natasha had too much skill to be put off by the unfortunate timing.

"Nat?" Sin called to the other redhead through the comms.

When Natasha responded, "Almost to you," Sin could all but hear the smirk in her voice.

She replied quickly, "Good. We need to get to Waller and Flagg. They're likely targets for Hydra."

Sinthea turned right around a corner and almost ran into Kate Bishop as she left a darkened room carrying her favorite bow. Kate had a soft smile on her lips that mirrored Sin's own. Chills rolled down Sinthea's spine. It was finally happening. She could help eliminate Fury's daughter, eliminate a high ranking official in the enemy's ranks. She felt the hilt of her gun in its holster, caressed the smooth metal pistol. With each pound of their footsteps on the white floors, the girls came closer to victory.

 _At least victory for today_ , Sin reminded herself.

Natasha joined the two girls at a four-way junction, coming from their left. Wearing a black spandex suit with her shock bracelets, her Widow's Bite, around her wrists and a black widow hourglass symbol on her belt, she looked every part the assassin she had been trained to be. Her red hair still hung wet about her face. Sinthea sent her a smirk as they looked toward the doorway at the end of the long hall they had to walk through. Waller's "bunker."

Sin gestured for them to turn off comms. They did so. This way, they could speak semi-freely. She murmured quietly as they stalked forward. "Bakshi said to expect at least a dozen foot soldiers in the room, plus Flagg and Waller themselves."

"We're ready for this," Kate assured them. She smiled. "You guys are great; they won't know what hit them."

Sinthea shook her head softly. "You should include yourself in there as well."

They reached the door. Sinthea opened it after undergoing an ocular scan. The flashing red lights of the alarms continued on behind them, a perfect backdrop to their mission, she couldn't help but feel excited. The moment of truth would happen as they walked inside. Either fourteen guns would be trained on them, or none. She hesitated for a single moment as the door rolled open.

 _Don't stop._

She, Kate, and Natasha all stepped forward at the same moment. They found fourteen guns trained on them, but when Waller confirmed the girls' identities, she ordered her soldiers to lower their weapons.

"Took you too long," Waller criticized angrily. "Sloppy."

Sinthea narrowed her eyes angrily. "We did our best."

"It isn't good enough." Waller looked at the three girls with scorn.

As the door locked behind them, the only way out of the room, Sin looked at the ground as if in shame. But her blood boiled. _Not good enough_. Waller treated her like Johann Schmidt. And Sin wasn't okay with that.

"Nothing is ever good enough for you," Sin murmured quietly, keeping her eyes low. She noted Nat's hands clenching, and Kate slowly shifting into a fighting stance. And so Sin looked up and met Waller's gaze. "Good thing I don't care one bit what you think."

The room exploded into chaos. Natasha struck first, kicking the weapons away from three guards all but instantly. Kate, a small smile on her face, dove forward and tackled a fourth soldier. The small room played to their advantage. The foot soldiers of SHIELD feared using their guns against one another, and with such close quarters, that remained a distinct possibility. Sinthea, a snarl forming in her expression, threw off her trench coat and drew out two of her knives. She didn't remove her gaze from Waller's surprised and furious face, relishing that she had been able to see the usually calm, cool, and collected woman startled like that before she died.

But this wasn't going to be easy.

Rick Flagg reacted almost as quickly as the trio of girls. He released a stream of bullets, not caring who he hit in the process as long as it wasn't Waller. This did two things. First, it thinned out the crowd a bit. Two of Waller's men dropped, bleeding out on the ground. The crimson blood stained the floor as Sin stepped in a pool of it, tracking it across the ground with her boots. She ripped out her pistol and sent three shots right back at Flagg while holding on to one of the smaller soldiers for her own defense. She glanced left and watched as Natasha took down two more agents with her hands and legs, swinging in all sorts of directions that shouldn't have been anatomically possible. Sin grinned.

"This is funny, Waller," Sin spat at her in anger. "You, me, here. Daughter of the head of SHIELD against the Daughter of a head of Hydra. Only one of us walks away."

Waller let out a noise of pure fury and raised her own gun. "Three children against me?" She shook with anger.

Sinthea shot at Flagg again, hitting him in the leg as she was jostled by the agent she held. In retaliation, she shoved her free hand into his gut. But to Waller, she smiled. "See, that's your pride talking."

A crash to her left made all three glance that way. Kate had used her bow like a staff and tripped two soldiers into a metal shelving unit. Natasha wasted no time capitalizing on the distraction. Within two seconds, her gun was out and pointed right at Rick Flagg. He dropped to the ground, a bullet hole in his brain.

Nat leapt aside as Waller released her own shots. Only four soldiers remained, one still held captive by Sin. She moved forward, holding the man as a shield. Waller shot the frightened man, killing him instantly with a headshot. Sin snarled. She began to shoot through the body, holding her gun point blank against his skin. Waller scrambled away before switching her target. Instead, she pointed her gun straight at Kate, who had just finished off two of the last four agents. Sin immediately dropped her human shield and raised her gun with a shout.

Waller then turned to Sin and fired. Sin barely had time to register the threat, adrenaline causing her to dodge as best she could, which wasn't well at all. The bullet struck her shoulder, forming a massive bruise and a bit of bleeding beneath her suit. She shouted in pain. But the straight face that Waller forced herself to hold up, despite her trembling in fury, caused Sinthea to smile once she had recovered from the shock. Waller had run out of bullets. Her allies were all dead, bleeding out on the floor. They had won.

Sin chuckled, shaking her head. "Your pride has betrayed you, Waller. Children, that's what you call us. We're better than you will ever be." She smirked, narrowing her eyes. "And this, this is where it ends for you."

Nat and Kate stood behind her as she drew out her favorite knife from her bodice. Sin looked closely at it before she stooped over Waller's seated form. Sinthea smirked. But the daughter of Nick Fury lashed out with a hidden knife and kicked Sinthea to the ground. Sin screamed in frustration. But the knife hadn't even scratched her, hitting her corset and glancing away. As she scrambled up, Sin lunged towards Waller furiously, and with a final plunge of her knife, she drove the blade into Waller's jugular.

"It's done," Kate murmured. After a moment, she smiled. "Good job, you guys."

"You too." Natasha laid a hand on her shoulder. She glanced at her watch, and then she looked between her two companions. "We need to move. Extraction is in six minutes."

Sin nodded and gently pushed Kate forward toward door. "Let's go!"

Nat opened the door this time, using a Hydra access code. All three had reloaded their weapons with bullets from the deceased agents. These quickly came in handy as multiple SHIELD agents rounded the corner and glanced past the girls back into the blood-soaked room. Shouts went up all around, and the trio made short work of the agents.

"Where's Bakshi?" growled Natasha as they ran through the mostly empty hallways of the Tahiti ward. "He's our way out."

Sin didn't answer, though similar thoughts ran through her own mind.

Once more, the girls used a Hydra access code on a locked door to slip through. They made it to the hanger. This last part of the base had erupted into chaos not long ago, based on the frantic shouts and racing feet. They stayed to the perimeter. Only Sinthea had seen the hangar bay before, and then it had been but a glimpse from under a Hydra blindfold.

They moved as one. Sin went in front, Kate behind and to the right, with Natasha to the left. Each had a pistol in her hand. Bakshi's rendezvous needed to be reached as soon as they possibly could. Already, their anonymity was beginning to fade. No one in the hangar had fired shots their way, but it was only a matter of time.

Finally, Sin spotted Bakshi's quinjet. He stood behind it, barely visible. But she knew him by his silhouette alone. They hurried toward him. Nearly there, several shots rang out behind them, and Nat rolled to the ground to dodge them.

Sin grabbed Kate and pushed her forward. "Go!"

Kate frowned and shook her head, but Sin wouldn't let her argue. As Sinthea released a stream or bullets at the SHIELD agents, Kate dove away into the quinjet. Nat helped finish the agents off, but their gunshots had attracted unwanted attention.

"We have to go. Now!" Natasha shouted at Sin. "Come on!"

Sinthea nodded, drawing a small grenade from her boot. She activated it and threw it toward the approaching group of soldiers. In the ensuing blast, both young women managed to scurry into the quinjet. Bakshi ordered them to strap in. Somehow, he managed to open the hangar doors, and out they went, speeding away. They quickly lost any pursuers, and Sinthea unstrapped herself.

Walking over to Bakshi, she leaned against the gray back of his pilot seat. Sin took in the view before her. Blue sky, white clouds, and below, Capitol buildings too far to make out distinct shapes. A small smile played at her lips. Things had gone so well with Waller. Her smile grew.

Sin had initially been furious when they'd been ordered to abandon any hope of getting the kill shot for President Thanos. Her blood had boiled. At first, Sinthea had thought it to be another attempt by the Red Skull to screw with her sisterhood. But according to Viper, they'd merely decided to allow SHIELD the kill while Hydra attacked from within.

With Waller and Flagg down and out cleanly, so many possibilities could open up. But every door would be slammed in her face if she went to her father. So she made a different call.

"Bakshi, change course and take us to Viper's location." Sinthea spoke calmly, but she had a hand on her gun, just in case.

As expected, Bakshi chuckled at her statement. "You are supposed to report to your loving father, Sinthea."

She didn't rise to the bait. "I said take us to Viper, Bakshi. I'll handle the retaliation."

"Very well. The entertainment I may witness from this course of action is well worth the risk." He tapped a few buttons on the quinjet's navigational system. "Sit tight."

Sin nodded and released the hold on her gun. When she turned back to her sisters, she found them looking at her quizzically. Nat seemed more surprised than confused. Sin sat down beside Natasha and across from Kate.

"Viper and not the Skull, then?" Nat asked her quietly. "What prompted this?"

"My father and I had a little… disagreement about the place of our team within Hydra." Sin lowered her voice. "He was quite clear that no matter what we do, there will be no reward."

Across from them, Kate frowned. "But Hydra rewards compliance?"

Bakshi raised his voice from the cockpit. "Yes it does, Miss Bishop. Sinthea overreacted. Your compliance _will_ be rewarded."

Kate quieted down after that. Her focus seemed off, and Sin recognized Bakshi's language as him asserting Hydra's dominance over her mind. It made her sick. Sinthea had never approved of Whitehall's methods, nor Kilgrave's. Sin saw firsthand how conditioned Kilgrave had made Kate. That psychopath was one of a growing number of Hydra leaders Sin now wanted dead. Her list kept growing.

 _Red Skull. Kilgrave. Bakshi._

She tremendously disliked her handler, Bakshi. His blind faith in his betters like the Red Skull disgusted her, for she had now seen the underbelly of Hydra and more and more wanted out. She still believed in their ideals, of course, and would work within their system until her entire list had been crossed off. And Bakshi just annoyed her.

 _Red Skull. Kilgrave. Bakshi. Whitehall. Fury. Waller. Flagg. Thanos. Jason Todd._

Three names down, six to go. She'd added Jason to her list as soon as she'd known her father's intention to bring him back. He would feel her wrath, and she knew in her heart that both Natasha and Kate would support her. They were sisters, after all.

Sin turned back to Natasha and spoke quietly once more. "Viper will give us better assignments. My father—" She spat the word. "—will dismiss us out of hand."

Natasha nodded. "Then we go to her. Might be able to get another big target."

They settled into their seats quietly. For the rest of their short journey, they didn't speak. Kate drifted off to sleep for a bit while Sin guessed Nat just feigned slumber to avoid Bakshi as much as possible. For herself, Sinthea remained quiet, contemplating how she would approach the topic of missions with Viper.

After they landed, Bakshi pointed out a building that, compared to the insane decor around it, looked more like it fit into a Victor's Village than the Capitol. He disappeared into the shadows a moment or two later, leaving the girls to navigate themselves. Sin wondered what lay in store for them inside as she led the way up a few marble steps to a pair of double doors.

She pushed the door open quietly, slipping inside, with Natasha and Kate close behind. Night had begun to fall, and the beautiful colors of sunset trickled in through the one massive window that had its red curtains drawn back. Eerie silence met them. A dance floor and several gambling tables sat empty before them. Natasha and Sin both held silenced pistols down at their sides just in case.

There was a revolution going on, after all.

But when they finally heard footsteps coming down a large, sweeping staircase, Sin breathed a sigh of relief. "Viper."

"Hello, girls," Viper purred. "Your mission went well, I hope? SHIELD is positively scrambling!" She finally reached the bottom of the stairs and sent them a little smile that just screamed danger. "Sin, darling, I'm so glad you found your way to my place. Much more fitting of a young woman of your talents."

Sin glanced around but nodded to her after a moment. She liked the velvety feel of the drapes. "It's a nice place. Must be your taste."

"I'd like to think that I find my own reflection in those I choose to keep close," Viper replied. "Those with hidden potential … perfectly capable of waiting for the right moment to strike."

"Speaking of," Sin began quickly. "We were wondering…" She paused and glanced back at Natasha and Kate. Natasha didn't seem phased at all, but Kate shifted a little.

Viper began to smile — a crooked smirk that started at the corner of her emerald-coated lips that stretched slowly into a knowing grin. "I've got a little assignment for you if you're interested — provided you're not too … taxed by the success you've had already tonight. It's a special one that I thought you might covet. I snatched it out of the grasp of that sorry little boy from Six."

"Oh?" Sin immediately brightened. Her eyes lit up, and she inched closer.

"If you girls wouldn't mind … there's a bit of riff-raff that needs to be dealt with," Viper said with a dismissive wave as she strutted across the room to where the man behind the otherwise empty bar produced a pad of paper and a pen for her. "Here are the coordinates to where a certain one-eyed cretin is going to be funneled once he shows his face. Exterminate him."

Kate, Natasha, and Sin all stood taller. Sin walked over and gestured with her hand to take the paper. Her gaze was hungry. Another name to scratch off her list, and this one was big.

"I don't care how it happens — but I want it to hurt. For as long as you can manage, provided he has no hope of surviving it," Viper nearly hissed out.

Kate piped up. "A few well placed arrows should do some damage."

"And a nice kick in the chest," added Natasha.

"He's interfered too many times in my businesses," Viper said. "I trust you young ladies will do what you think is best." She gave them a wicked sort of smile. "And of course, tell me all about it later."

Sin mirrored her expression, though she tried not to smile too much. She had an image to keep up. One of the new Red Skull. The better Red Skull. "You know we won't fail you." She paused and looked back at her sisters. "The three of us can do anything."

Natasha smirked. "Given the right tools."

"All I need is a bow!" Kate assured them as she made her way to the door with Nat.

Before the girls could slip out, Viper reached out and gently took a hold of Sin's arm. "Fury has many lieutenants in SHIELD. They should make good target practice if they're stupid enough to try to save him." Her gaze darted to Kate's turned back. "But any victors you find near Fury's orbit — I _want_ them. Capture and bring them to me. As unharmed as you can manage."

Sin nodded immediately. "Of course. Can't be killing potential allies."

Viper gave her a wicked grin. "No. I suppose there's that too. They are of course, far too precious alive for so many reasons. Killing them would be... such a waste."

Sinthea turned to join Natasha and Kate at the door when she suddenly had an idea. She turned back to Sarkissian. "Could we stay here a bit? We acquired a few unfortunate wounds from our assignment, and frankly, I have no interest in spending extra time with Bakshi."

"My dear girl, the private booths upstairs are open to you." She gestured back the way she came and paused on the bottom step. "Of course, this is such a dangerous time we're all enduring. I'm sure no one would be surprised should Hydra lose a few of our less … prepared number." Her eyes glittered with malice. "If you're being burdened by Bakshi, I could have a word with him. Share a drink." Her smile widened, but her eyes narrowed. "Rest up quickly girls — you'll only get one chance to remove Fury before he's too well protected, and we wouldn't want that to happen, now would we? Come back when the deed is done and we can toast his timely demise."

Sinthea nodded. "Not long. Maybe an hour, and then we'll head out."

"We are _not_ going to miss this assignment," assured Natasha, folding her arms across her chest.

And so the three girls headed up the stairs which swept right to an upper floor like a balcony. Along and to the left of the top of the stairs, great velvety red curtains separated and surrounded private suites. The young women chose one and pushed past the curtains. Inside were pillows, couches, and a small table.

"This is amazing," Kate grinned. "Whoever said Hydra didn't reward us was so wrong!"

Sinthea nearly laughed. She began taking off her corset and then the protective black shirt under it. To the right of her right hand bra strap a massive purple and yellow and black bruise had formed. A bit of dried blood caked around it as well.

"That looks painful," Kate said with a frown, walking over and looking at it more closely as Sin sat on the red couch.

"There's some ice over here." Natasha gestured to a large bucket of ice for keeping alcohol cold. She took a piece, wrapped it in a napkin, and handed it to Sin. "That'll take the swelling down. You're lucky it missed your neck."

"It wasn't luck," argued Kate. "She's just that good."

Sin laughed in response. Taking the makeshift ice pack from Natasha, she applied it to her shoulder. Her laughter died slightly as she thought about a shoulder wound she'd had once, a lifetime ago. An arrow through her skin had been much worse than a bullet deflected by her armor.

"Rest up." She looked at her sisters softly. "We leave in one hour."

But as the hour passed, the girls felt restless already. They packed up their weapons, did some last minute adjustments to their various suits, and stood by the curtains.

"Ready?" Sin asked them.

Kate responded first with a resounding 'yes' before Natasha nodded as well. Sin led them out, pushing through the velvety red curtains and making their way to the stairs. The scene that greeted them surprised all the young women.

Before them on the floor by the bar, Bakshi lay splayed out on his back, his skin pale and sickly. His eyes, unseeing, had glassed over, and white, bubbling foam dripped from his mouth.

"Woah." Kate paused, turning from Bakshi's body to Sin and Natasha.

Nat shrugged and crossed her arms. "Clearly, Viper took your complaint under consideration."

A small smirk formed on Sin's face. It grew and grew until, finally, she couldn't contain herself and released a small laugh. She approached the body and crouched down beside him, finding his skin still somewhat warm to the touch as she laid her hand on his wrist. Pulling back his jacket, she found a extremely expensive-looking pistol.

"Well, Bakshi," she said quietly. "You certainly won't be needing this."

Natasha called over to her. "Come on, Sin. We need to move."

Sinthea smiled one more time at Bakshi's pallid, sunken face before standing and and turning to leave. Together, the girls left The Princess Bar, heading to the coordinates they had received from Viper. They had a job to do.

Fury wouldn't know what hit him.


	121. Chapter 120: Dead Reckoning

**(A/N): Here we are with our Tuesday update. This one might just surprise you, but then, that's what happens when Canucklehead Cowgirl writes Wade Wilson.**

 **Thanks to the writers who reviewed; we're trucking toward the end and we're excited to see all your hard work coming to fruition!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Twenty - Dead Reckoning**

 **In the Capitol**

 **Wade W. Wilson formerly of District One**

 **Written by Canucklehead Cowgirl**

* * *

" _Maximum effort." - Wade Wilson,_ Deadpool

* * *

Hydra had struck first.

Wade wasn't there in the underground section of the facility to see it — but he'd heard all about it on his earwig when Hydra set off the first bomb, obviously trying to preempt SHIELD after the Games footage had more or less announced the revolution. Of course, Wade's anxiety only showed on his face, since the general public in the Capitol had no idea what kind of hell was raging beneath their feet.

But that ignorance was bound to be short-lived.

The cocktail party was positively charming — classical music drifted over the expanse of marble and ugly topiaries while waiters wove through the crowd with trays of champagne balanced on one hand. Wade had taken one—

 _Might as well, buddy, that's your last drink._

 **You said that three drinks ago. Lightweight.**

"I'm not list-en-ing," Wade sang under his breath before he sipped — and then threw the champagne back.

 _ **That never worked before. Drinking.**_

"Maybe it'll work this time."

 _That's positivity for you._

Wade smiled tightly and handed off the empty champagne glass, this time picking up a canape on his way closer to where the president was seated — above the crowd, watching the Games intently as his children feigned interest in the same large screens. The Capitolites around them were tripping over themselves to react to each and every blow on screen as if they all lived and died by what were to happen next.

* * *

" _I know I'm asking a lot, but this is important. Whoever it is that goes in may very well not come back," Fury said as he addressed the group of Tahiti assassins. There weren't a ton of them, but those that were playing for SHIELD were well-used._

 _Wade looked down both directions and thought it over. On one side of him was Clint Barton, who he knew had been revived almost as often as Wade himself had been. A little further down were some slightly older 'kids' from previous Games that no one really remembered too much, even if Wade himself had gotten to know them intimately. David North, John Wraith and the one lovely lady that silently travelled in their pack of killers. Tatsu Yamashiro of Three was a mouthful, and a handful … and … it was just a lot easier to call her Katana than to remember which 't' belonged where._

Is it ' _tsu_ ' or ' _soo_ ', _Wade thought to himself as he managed to catch her steely gaze. Katana glanced his way slowly, almost daring him to speak out of turn, but Wade gave her a cheeky smile and blew her a kiss, which got a eye roll and the brush off, as always. "Still sore that I can spin a pair of katanas aren't you, Tatsu?" Wade whispered, but before it could escalate, Clint elbowed him to get him to straighten up._

 _He preferred the codenames more and more, if he was being honest. 'David' seemed to fall woefully short when he was used to calling the guy 'Maverick,' and 'Wraith,' though a_ massively _cool name simply didn't fit as well as 'Kestrel.' And Clint … well. That guy just_ screamed ' _Hawk-guy'._

" _We're all professionals here, sir," Clint said, earning a huff from Wade as he breathed out 'brown noser.' "Just tell us who you want where, and we'll hit it like we always do."_

" _That's just it," Fury said. "This isn't your normal level of trouble." Fury took a moment to watch each of them in turn. "The target is President Thanos."_

" _Oh God," Wade said, one hand covering his mouth with a little 'eep' when Fury turned his way. "The purple pieman! He gives me tha fears!"_

" _Wade …"_

" _I'm just saying, he's like … scary on a_ cosmic _level," Wade said, kicking the ground with one foot as the rest of the line up tried valiantly to ignore him._

 _Fury let out a weary breath and pushed several folders across the table for the group of them to look over, and just before Katana sat down, she adjusted her sword_ — _which made the green jewel on the hilt sparkle just right in the low light. Wade frowned and stared at her for a long moment, mesmerized by what he thought was the sound of voices echoing far in the distance as he stared at the half inch of glistening silver blade peeking out from the purple silk-wrapped scabbard._

 _With a sharp snap, the sword's mistress sheathed the sword the last bit, bringing Wade back to the here and now with a glare. He didn't take his gaze off of her until he distractedly opened the folder in front of him and began to gloss over the contents. "So … no solid extraction plan in place," Wade said, seemingly getting back to his professionalism._

" _Nothing solid, no," Fury said. "Our timeline is short. Shorter than I'd like. But as the five of you well know, SHIELD has been infiltrated by Hydra. We need to act before they do."_

" _Alright, but it's gonna cost ya," Wade said, leaning back. "I'll do it."_

" _Though I have no doubts you can, I still need you to read through it all," Fury said._

" _Please," Wade replied with a wave. "You're talking about an ailing old man. At least … mentally ailing. I'm sure physically too. How much trouble can a pompous morose purple shoegazer be. Especially one who's spent the last oh … twenty some years sitting in his office talking to himself?"_

" _You're underselling him, Wilson. I'll have a back up team in place to cover_ —"

" _Keep your resources elsewhere," Wade said almost chidingly. "You want him dead; he's dead. I'll take dirty Fury money for offing the big violet dork who collects shiny rocks and whose brother looks like the lovechild result of Spock roofie-ing Wolverine. Large bills only, please. And I'll require cash up front. No skee-ball tickets this time, Nicholas."_

 _As Fury gave him a dry look, a long lost sound echoed in the back of Wade's mind_ — _just loud enough to get him to hold his breath and freeze to the spot._

He really doesn't have any faith, does he?

 _ **Not even a little bit. But that's alright, cause we're the best there is at what we d-oh… wait. No. that's … not ... that's the hairy little weasel. Not us.**_

" _Oh crap," Wade muttered, which was enough to cause Fury to stop his pacing and look up at Wade._

" _That's more the level of respect I was looking for," he said in an even tone as he pushed the folder across the desk to him._

* * *

Wade played along with the celebrating Capitolites, though he tried to keep his distance from the victors that were dispersed among the crowd. He was sure to gasp dramatically when Helena had a near miss, or when Ivy dodged one of Kory's strikes. It was all very exciting, and the Capitolites were eating it up right alongside him. Wade Wilson, the once torched nutbag tribute from One, was seamlessly integrated into the highest upper crust of Marvel, even getting almost awed smiles from some of the ladies and men alike as he introduced himself as 'Ryan'. At least until he could slip away a handful of steps behind a Nova Corps guard that was clearly running an errand for the president's box.

Wade slipped into the shadows, watching the man carefully — it would do no good to come back empty-handed. But when the Nova Corpsman began harshly berating an Inhuman, Wade had enough.

"Hey, that's not nice," Wade said as he reached out and tipped the yellow helmet off of the man's head. When the man turned, gun raised, Wade shot him square in the face with his silenced sidearm then waved at the Inhuman with the gun still in his hand. "Was this guy bothering you?" The Inhuman stared, wide-eyed, and smiled as Wade put the gun back into the back of his pants. "I don't suppose you'd mind just … getting whatever it was he came here for ... while I …" Wade gestured at the body and crouched down to start unbuckling the armor.

The servant shook his head, and Wade smiled tightly. "Great. You're a gem. Thanks." In short order, he stripped the Nova Corps guard and put the yellow uniform on himself, smirking as the helmet covered much of his face. By the time he was redressed, the Inhuman returned with a few others and an elaborately-detailed cart that held a large magnum of champagne that Wade realized was simply Thanos preparing to toast the last of the deaths. Before he could go, the little group of Inhumans stepped around him and cleaned up the splatters of blood so that the yellow armor was spotless before letting him move forward.

He tipped his head at the servants and held one finger up over his lips, though not one of them that had seen what had happened would have tipped anyone off as Wade began to push the cart toward the presidential party.

 _This is going so smoothly! Oh. Em. Gee! We're … we're close enough to give him a wet willie._

 **That isn't going to happen. Who knows where his ears have been.**

 _With that color? Good point._

Wade kept his composure as he fell into place with the others in the guard, looking far too serious for his own good.

Thanos leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with malice as he watched the girls battle on screen. "Far too long since a _girl_ proved any worth," he muttered under his breath. "My mistress … they will bow to your will. There is no other way…. The entire country stands in grave peril.… Destiny waits for no man. Not even one who shall bring all of Marvel to its knees…. I do this for you, Mistress …. Your most loyal consort ..." The mumbling got quiet enough that Wade honestly couldn't hear him, but he frowned at Thanos' words, sure that there was no woman in any of the intel that spoke of Thanos.

And then a glass broke on the dance floor. And one of the partygoers looked from his broken glass to the quickly blooming scarlet on his perfect white shirt. And the screaming began.

In a flash, the Nova Corps were surrounding the president and trying to usher him out, but it was apparent that Thanos had other ideas — instead glaring out into the crowd himself, searching out whoever would be so bold to attack him in his own home.

Two more pops and two Nova Corps fell not far from Thanos himself, but the Mad Titan refused to be ushered off, instead watching with interest as Drax crashed his way closer to the president.

"Thanos! Mad Titan!" Drax bellowed. "You killed my wife! My daughter! And now — I _will_ destroy you."

It was only then that Wade realized that the old victor had managed to get his hands on a pair of well-matched and wicked-looking blades — and he was starting the _real_ rush toward Thanos with a roar.

The Nova corps were clicking off safeties as Drax ran, and to everyone's shock, Thanos held up one hand. "Let him come." The president took a step forward, and for a moment, Wade was sure that he really _was_ as crazy as the rumors said, since he was facing down a _Very Angry Drax_ without a weapon in his hands.

But it was clear right from the start that Thanos knew exactly what he was doing. Drax's swings were wide and sloppy. He was too overcome with emotion to truly make the attack into what he had intended, and after a few attacks from Drax that yielded nothing but a few cheap, taunting shots from the president, the real fight was all but over. Thanos simply laid into Drax hard with his gold-coated Infinity Gauntlet.

The first hit Thanos landed after that was a square shot to the front of Drax's throat that dropped the victor — who was gasping as he let his swords clatter to the ground. Thanos reached forward and wrapped his hand around Drax's throat, clearly intending to crush what was left of his windpipe. Drax still hit back, trying to get him to release his hold, but Thanos' grip was iron, and after a swipe at his face, the Mad Titan took Drax to the ground. Without any further ado, Thanos simply choked him out, kneeling across Drax's chest and pressing down on his throat until Drax the Destroyer went still.

That was when Wade finally sprang into action.

He wasn't closest to Thanos, as some of the Nova Corps had moved to surround the president once again. He was, however, out of Thanos' immediate line of sight, and in short order, he'd taken a gun off of one of the fallen Nova Corps to add to the one he already held.

There was a cry of fury not too far from where Thanos stood — and Wade glanced over to find that the two princesses were locked into battle as the people nearest them scattered. He hadn't seen Gamora until then, and he was more than a little taken off-guard at seeing her and her sister choosing _now_ to cross swords but …. _Whatever._

Wade stuck as tightly to the Mad Titan as he could, and when Thanos finally got moving, he fell back — just enough that the Nova Corps around him wouldn't notice when Wade raised his rifle and simply picked them off all around Thanos. And shot the dictator in one knee.

He wasn't prepared, though, when Thanos spun on his one good leg and hit Wade hard enough to knock him halfway across the empty hallway. He'd caught him a bit low and off-center, which was incredibly lucky, or Wade was _sure_ that he'd have been unconscious at the very least.

"Wow, you move fast for a big guy …" Wade said as he raised his gun to take a shot, but he found himself with a jammed rifle as Thanos bore down on him. He threw a hard punch to the side of Thanos' head, but Thanos didn't seem phased by it in the least.

"You would challenge your master so brazenly?" Thanos drawled out as he drew back and then hit Wade hard enough to knock out several teeth. "You would think that by now, with all that I've done, my reputation would precede me." Another hit had Wade seeing stars.

"I take it back," Wade said in a gasp. "It was a joke! It was a joke when I said I wanted to fight Thanos."

"You feeble-minded, pathetic fool. What makes you believe you and your puny uprising can take it upon yourselves to challenge me?"

" _Cojones_ , my chin-ribbed, dip-dyed friend," Wade said before he threw a punch that broke the president's nose. On hearing the crack, Wade raised both hands over his head in celebration, whooping for an instant. "It means … ah … wooden box I think."

"For your effrontery here today, in my own home …I'll grant you such a box."

"'A-front-tree'? Thaney, honey, I'm more a back-tree man," Wade squeaked out, grinning through bloodied teeth.

Thanos sneered and drew back, but as he did, Wade drew out the tanto he'd been sure to hide under his clothes. When he jammed it up under Thanos' ribcage, the monster tore loose the Nova Corps armor to finally find the SHIELD emblem on Wade's shoulder. "You like that, big guy? That's the end of your reign of terror seepin' out and staining my sneakers, T-dawg."

"Wade Wilson," Thanos said, slowly shaking his head. "SHIELD has finally, and for all time, shown Marvel that they are a swarm of irresponsible, traitorous scum that must be put down before they destroy us all. Say goodbye to your home, boy. Once the people of Marvel learn that you and your miserable alliance of turncoats have spit in the face of the mistress Death by _daring_ to steal away her rightful prizes from her realm …. The defiance of the natural order meant to cull the weak …. Nothing will save your SHIELD friends. No one will fail to kneel at the altar of Death, and no one … not even you, who shirked from her eternal embrace … will refuse oblivion. And because Thanos decrees it — _you will die_."

"Wait, wait … Mistress Death? You mean the hot green-eyed chick in the purple robe?" Wade said, stopping Thanos in his tracks as Wade started to smile. "Oh, _yeah_. Me and her … _that's my girl_."

Thanos froze, somehow more enraged at his words beyond his actions, and before Wade could say anything else, Thanos hauled back and hit Wade hard enough to black him out completely.

* * *

Wade gasped and tried to shy away from the cold fingers that traced a gentle outline on his jaw. " _Hrrk!_ Oh. Hey, Babe," Wade muttered as he gazed up at the skeletal figure robed in purple, her eyes glowing an eerie green. "Forgot … that you have some frigid digits, Death. That's the kind of detail a guy _should_ remember from our short time together."

The glowing green visage under the purple robe smirked back but did not speak.

"Man, we had some good times, huh? We laughed," Wade swept over to her and pulled her into a twirl. "We danced — though you never did master the lambada. I guess it's the forbidden dance for a reason."

As soon as the twirl was over, Mistress Death swept back away from him and crossed her arms, turning her back to him — but still not speaking one word.

"Dying was the best time of my life — and all of our 'dates' since then?" He grinned and pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her head just under his chin as he snuggled up. "Come on, babe … why so quiet?" But when no answer came, he finally let her go and stepped back to watch her. "I never pegged you for a woman who'd hold a grudge … but it sure seems like you are. It wasn't my call, snookums. I didn't get to choose…."

Death smiled up at him sadly and shook her head, only to lean over so she could look past him. Wade turned to see what it was that might have his lady-love's attention, only to swear under his breath as Thanos appeared — younger, stronger … and looking perfectly pleased with himself, right down to his chin riblets.

Wade spun back to her, ignoring Thanos as he drew nearer. "So that's why you're so quiet … you're not really here for _me_ … Oh, not… no … _HIM?!_ Are you serious?!."

"He's got moves," Mistress Death said with a highly amused sort of smirk. "Sorry, kid. What can I say?"

" _I_ have moves! I'll … I'll show you! I'll become the world's freshest breakdancer! I'll … I'll skip taking the dirty Fury money and just … I'll wipe 'em out …"

"In life, my every moment was spent in either dealing out death or worshipping it," Thanos said as he came to stand next to the purple-robed goddess. "That is the one thing that has remained true. My love and devotion to milady Death was proven when I culled half the souls in Marvel for her name. Tell me, _Wilson_ , who under the stars is better suited than I to be Death's consort?"

Wade stared between them in horror for a long moment before Mistress Death spoke again — her words echoing coldly around him. "This is a gift, young man … don't waste what you have before you." She stepped forward, only to fall short of giving him a kiss. "The next time we cross paths, it will be a kiss hello."

* * *

"Owwww…" Wade let out a noise bordering on a scream as he rolled from his stomach to his side and opened his eyes to see Thanos' lifeless stare. He was back in the realm of the living. He was heartbroken. And his mistress had abandoned him to the cold reality of _life._

For a long moment, he simply stared, unable to believe that not only was Thanos _dead_ … but Wade W. Wilson, favorite child of District One, was the one _wholly_ and undeniably responsible.

"How's that for moves," he said with a crooked sort of smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before the smile twisted into a grimace. He sat up and started to look around the hallway as his hearing started to return … and amazingly, the voices? The voices were quiet. For now.

Gunfire and screams were plainly clear — even this far from the center of the action. He got to his feet, then very nearly crumpled again. Somehow, somewhere along the line, he must have broken his ankle. "That slimy little mouth breather freakin' kicked me when I was out! Why am I not surprised?!" He began to hop toward the action — if nothing else just to see what his chances were of actually getting an evac.

He wasn't expecting all the Hydra soldiers swarmed over the place — or the handful of victors that had been rounded up — injured and gathered up in a tight knot, guarded by heavily-armed guards. He took a gun off of a dead Nova corpsman and was ready to start picking off Hydra when he saw Razzala — the Queen Bee — and he quickly backed off.

"Okay … my common sense is tingling," Wade said under his breath before he began to hop in the direction Thanos was planning to exit. There was an open area at the end of the hall — on the interior courtyard of the palace that Thanos would have used to get out himself … that … would have to do.

He reached for his comm and relished saying the words. "Eagle One, Eagle One … I've got a confirmation on a big purple prune that's totally dried up. Well. he's oozing on the floor ... that … that is a stain that just won't come out, let me tell you. A-ny hoo … any chance a guy could get a ride?"

He stopped next to Thanos as he waited for a response, his head tipped to the side as he looked at the prone and still form of the now ex-president of Marvel. " _Where are you at, Deadpoo_ l?"

"Um …" He knelt down next to Thanos, pulled a knife from his boot, and activated the beacon that would show his ride where to find him. "Just … saying goodbye to the periwinkle pooper himself. Gonna grab a lil' somethin' somethin' to show ye olde director how we get it done in District One." He picked up Thanos' left hand and pulled on the Infinity Gauntlet, trying to dislodge it — even trying to slip the knife between the president's arm and the golden glove — but no luck.

" _You'll need to continue due east to the balcony,"_ Quartermain said. " _Everyone's pretty tied up right now, but … we'll get you out."_

"Oh. Good. That's …" He started sawing at the purple flesh, panting at the work he was doing on top of his injuries. "That's … totally doable."

There was silence for just a moment. " _Deadpool … what … what are you doing_?"

"Oh … just … going above and beyond the call to make sure the torch is passed _right_ ," he said. "East balcony from my position. _Ten four, good buddy!"_ He smiled as the wet crunch echoed the hall. "Tell 'em I'll be the guy in red."

Wade picked up a satchel as he passed through the president's quarters, taking only a moment to admire the golden glove in his hand before he dropped it into the bag and found a spot to wait for his ride.


	122. Chapter 121: Women Scorned

**(A/N): Happy Friday! Let's check in with our little group of Final Four tributes, this time with Unlucky Alis and the amazing Kory Anders.**

 **Thanks to our writers who reviews as well as to Slim Summers2002 and HydraRules for your reviews and excitement!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-One – Women Scorned**

 **In the Skies Above Marvel**

 **Kory Anders of District Twelve**

 **Written by Unlucky Alis**

* * *

" _Sometimes, you have to get angry to get things done." - Ang Lee_

* * *

As promised, Dr. Hamilton's examination was brief and uneventful. Kory kept up a steady conversation with Steve throughout it, a welcome distraction. It was mostly small talk, about little things that didn't matter much or didn't matter in the face of much larger issues. What things she looked forward to — good food, proper hygiene, a hairbrush — and little stories from her adventures in Twelve. As long as she was talking, she was too busy to think about Dick and the arena.

At least that's what she hoped would happen, but things didn't always work out the way she wanted them to.

"If only I had thought to put coal dust in my hair, then I could have made it into the mines." Kory smiled at the memory, remembering how the Okaraans had gotten her out of that little scrape with the other Sentinels.

"Why would that have worked?" Steve asked.

"It would have made my hair black, like Kammie or y—" She cut herself off abruptly. Her next word would have been 'you', but that wasn't right. Steve didn't have black hair; he was blond. Dick had black hair, though, and he was the last person she had told this story to.

Kory found her gaze sliding over to the unconscious Ivy. She wondered how long the injection Bruce had given her would last. A few more minutes, hours, days? She would prefer if it lasted forever, but that would be far too kind. It wouldn't take much effort to unstrap herself, walk over, and finish the girl off herself. Too bad Dr. Hamilton, and Steve too probably, would stop her before she got close.

She could vaguely recall Bruce saying something about having the facts before knocking Ivy out, but she hadn't been paying all that much attention to his words in the heat of the moment. The transport's arrival had swept her into a sea of confusion, but one idea shone clear through the night. She was getting _out_.

But now that confusion was fading, and she didn't like what it was leaving behind.

"Kory? Are you alright?"

She narrowed her eyes, clenched her jaw, and slowly dragged her gaze away from Ivy and back to Steve. His eyebrows were raised, and she could see a glint of concern in his eyes.

After a moment, Kory smiled brightly. "I'm fine, thank you — just tired."

She glanced across the hold at Diana, who Dr. Hamilton had roused for her own brief examination but still looked very much at rest.

"I think I'll take Diana's lead and rest if I can, if that's alright?" Kory said.

"Yeah, of course." Steve nodded and stood, but he didn't move right away, instead looking toward the passage that lead to the cockpit. Helena was still in there with her father, and in the meantime, Steve's conversation with Kory had done wonders to ease the tension back there up until that point. He folded his arms, leaning back a little as he glanced over at Diana.

The doctor was almost done with Diana, and she looked much more awake while she sipped her water and took the pills she had been given.

Kory tapped Steve on the elbow to gain his attention and nodded in Diana's direction. "I'm sure my fellow tribute would enjoy some pleasant conversation as well," she said, giving him an encouraging smile.

Steve seemed to agree with her, because as soon as Dr. Hamilton stepped from Diana, he took a seat and introduced himself.

Kory's gaze hardened, now that she was alone as she could be, and she closed her eyes. But she didn't sleep. With the shock and confusion leaving her system, all she felt was anger. No, not anger. Pure, unadulterated fury.

She was doing her best to control it. By some miracle, she had managed to go through most of the Games without losing her temper. There was her fight against Angela, but that was nothing compared to this. The rigidity of her shoulders, the tightening of her fists, and the scowl that she couldn't seem to smooth over now that she wasn't talking gave her away.

Ivy was right there, _right there_ , breathing, having her wounds checked, being cared for. It wasn't right. If she weren't unconscious, Kory might have snapped already. What she needed was to hear from Helena, but she hadn't left the cockpit yet.

Kory could understand. They had been in the arena for over a week knowing it could very well be their grave. They were all aware they might never have seen their loved ones again, and losing Dick would have made that very real for Helena. But it was real for Kory too. At least Helena had her father to share it with.

Dick, her allies — even Jason for that short time — had been what she was missing, and she had only known them for so long before they were gone. If they wouldn't let Kory kill Ivy, the least they could do would be to tell her why.

She breathed deeply, clenching and unclenching her fists, rolling her shoulders, everything her teachers showed her to try and keep a calm, level head in those rare instances her anger started to build. They would be proud of her for doing so.

Kory wondered if they had been watching her. Would they be pleased with how she applied their teachings? They might have disapproved of her attachments to her allies, especially considering there was always the risk she might have to face off against them herself. She wouldn't regret it, though. While it upset her that she hadn't been there to save Gar, Raven, or Thea, she was glad it didn't have to come down to them fighting against each other. Although, if it had, then they might have been in the transport right behind her.

With a sharp shake of her head, she cast those thoughts aside. A part of her missed her younger allies, but they were gone now. _Honor the fallen, but do not cling to them_ is what her teachers would say.

Finally feeling somewhat calm, Kory opened her eyes and immediately made the mistake of glancing Ivy's way once again. She clenched her teeth and turned her head. So maybe she wasn't as calm as she would have liked, but she could try and pretend.

"You still wish to kill her, Anders."

Kory started, her focus snapping toward Diana. Steve was still sitting close by, but he was silent as the two girls stared at one another.

"Yes," Kory answered after a beat of silence. "Of course I do."

Diana looked Kory over, sparing a brief glance at Ivy and looking pained as she did so. Not the same way Kory looked when ever she saw — or thought — of Ivy, but like she felt sorry for her.

"Justice is a noble cause," Diana finally said, "but blind vengeance is not."

Kory scowled. "Sometimes they're the same thing."

Diana opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of a door opening and brisk footsteps on the metal deck made her pause. A second later, Helena and Bruce strode into the hold.

Helena looked different than she had before. Sadness still lingered in her gaze, but the angry glint was subdued. She looked contemplative and serious, with her brows drawn and a slight downward curve to her lips. Unsatisfied, but not wholly displeased.

Kory couldn't decide if that was good or bad.

"Captain Trevor, we need you back at the controls. Quartermain called; we've been rerouted. We have one more pickup to make," Bruce said. "Helena, you still need a checkup."

Helena rolled her eyes at her father sounding so _fatherly_ , but she and Dr. Hamilton moved off to the side, Steve rose to his feet and started toward the cockpit. "Sure thing, Mr. Wayne," he said. "Where are we going?"

"The Capitol," Bruce said without missing a beat. "We've got to pick up one of SHIELD's fighters. I haven't met him yet, but they said his name was Wade."

Steve's eyes widened, and he nodded, resuming his pace with fervor.

"Wade?" Kory asked. She only knew of one person with that name, and with her mind still on the Games, her first thought was of the tribute from the previous year. But that was impossible.

"Wade Wilson," Bruce clarified.

Kory and Diana wore matching looks of incredulity as they stared at Bruce.

"Wade Wilson is dead," Diana said.

Bruce nodded patiently, crossing his arms. "Yes, he was. And now he isn't."

Kory leaned forward, her fingers curling around the edge of her seat. "How?"

"I don't know all the details of the process, and we don't have time to get into it right now, but he won't be alive for long if we don't go and get him," Bruce said in a tone that said he wasn't going to brook any argument.

In that moment, Kory felt a great flood of hope wash over her. What Bruce said didn't make sense, it wasn't possible that Wade Wilson would still be living and breathing. She had watched him die, put out of his misery by that Elektra girl. There was no real proof, besides Bruce's word, that Wilson lived. Kory knew she shouldn't believe him so easily— not that she didn't think she could trust him. But if he _was_ telling the truth, then that meant there was hope.

She looked to Helena, taking stock of her expression again. What Bruce just said, Helena knew. He must have told her something about it. Their eyes met, and Helena offered her a tight smile. A peace offering, an acceptance, a confirmation. There was hope.

"What has he done?" Diana asked, drawing Kory's attention back to the matter at hand.

"Thanos is dead," Bruce answered, and while Helena seemed fairly composed — it was likely her father had told her this already — Diana looked downright stunned.

Another unexpected surprise, but this one just as welcome as the last. Saved from the arena, facing the possibility of Dick being alive again, _and_ learning that Thanos was gone? Ivy still needed to die, but it was a start.

"I'm not sure what it will be like when we get there. Wade could be waiting for us, or we might have to fight our way to him." Bruce turned to the doctor. "Will you clear them for combat?"

Dr. Hamilton frowned at the women as he stepped away from Helena but gave his assent.

"Good. I'll be accompanying you, if it comes to that. Helena, I know you have your bow, and Diana still has her whip, but we've got ICERs. It's short for incapacitating cartridge emitting railgun. One shot to any exposed part of the body, and the dendrotoxin in the rounds will leave whoever is hit incapacitated." Bruce took a moment to walk the girls through how the weapons worked and how to aim them when the time came as they put on some obviously too-big bulletproof vests.

"Can we tighten these straps? I need my shoulders free to aim." Helena turned her back to Bruce and he snugged the adjustments as best he could.

Kory wasn't too concerned about that; she had just latched onto the idea of fighting and wouldn't let it go. She was ready to fight; she needed to fight; and she really hoped Wade wouldn't be sitting pretty waiting for them when they arrived.

* * *

Agent Quartermain had said that Wade would be waiting for them at the east balcony of the presidential palace, but Steve couldn't bring them right to him, not with all the Nova Corps battling both SHIELD agents and a large enclave of green uniforms of the _third_ player in this revolution. They would have to fight their way inside, retrieve Wade, and then fight their way back out.

Kory was pleased. She stood between Helena and Diana, each of them gripping the drop bar, lined up and ready to exit the transport as soon as they landed. The gun felt unfamiliar in her hands. The Warlords never let her handle theirs, for obvious reasons, but she was fairly confident in her marksmanship abilities. Shooting a gun wouldn't be like throwing a knife, but a target was a target, and if all she needed was a clean hit anywhere, she could manage.

"We're almost there," Bruce announced as he turned from the cockpit. He took his place closest to the door, looking the young women over. "Captain Trevor won't be able to wait around for us. We'll be jumping off, and he will retreat with the transport. We have thirty minutes to get Wade, and then Trevor will come back for us where he dropped us off." He paused, looking them over once again. "Are you ready?"

"Of course," Kory said, with Helena and Diana nodding their agreement.

"Dr. Hamilton will have first aid ready for us; try not to need it."

Bruce turned away, and they braced themselves as the transport swayed and dipped down. The door opened with a hiss, and as soon as they were low enough, Bruce jumped out, followed by the women.

Kory hit the ground running, hugging her gun to her chest as Steve had shown them in his quick rundown of the ICERs. The entrance they were heading for was across one hundred feet of lavish garden that she would have revelled in any other day. It was the garden's fault they couldn't land any closer, with the tall hedges and ornamental statues, but it provided suitable cover for the first twenty feet before a Nova Corps guard spotted them and realized the retreating transport wasn't one of their own.

The guard let out a shout of warning as Bruce pulled the trigger, and the guard dropped a moment later. That one shout was all the other enemies needed before they started closing in on the gardens.

Kory's first couple shots missed; she had underestimated the difficulty of running and shooting. But stopping to shoot was slowing her down, and made her an easy target. She threw herself off the path when the Nova Corps started returning fire.

While her ammunition was designed to knock out, their foes' was lethal.

Helena joined her behind the hedges a moment later, with Bruce and Diana across the path from them. With the enemy shooting right through the hedge, they had to press themselves down to the cobble. Kory hissed as a shot came too close for comfort and whipped around when Helena grabbed her arm.

"Don't try to move and shoot at the same time if you can avoid it. We're almost at the door, so do what I do," she said.

Kory nodded. Out of the two of them, Helena was by far the expert on this kind of combat with a long-ranged weapon.

As soon as there was a pause in the enemy fire, Helena jumped over the hedge, with Kory following. They fired, forcing their targets to duck, and charged towards their next source of cover. Moving quickly and methodically, they cleared out the attacking guards in moments and sprinted the last few feet to the door.

"Stay together and move fast. We still have twenty-five minutes, but we can't afford to waste any time," Bruce said. True to his word, he barely even waited for a reply before bursting through the door.

It was chaos inside. Capitolites and Inhumans were tearing about. Soldiers dressed in bright yellow, and others decked out in green or blue, were cutting through the throng in their direction.

"East!" Bruce yelled over the noise, and they started shoving their way through.

A terrified woman rammed into Kory's shoulder as she streaked past, and she whirled around to attack on instinct, her gun raised. The woman shrieked and ducked, and Kory's finger twitched on the trigger. She swivelled, changing her aim to an approaching soldier, and fired. The cartridge nailed him in the neck, and he fell.

When she spun back around, the others had moved farther ahead, unaware of her brief plight. She took off after them, doing her best to shoot and run despite Helena's earlier advice. Bruce had given them the layout of their route before leaving, but she wasn't sure if she could remember it perfectly. She had almost caught up to them when a squad of three Nova Corps guards barrelled into her at a hallway intersection.

Kory tumbled to the floor, fumbling for her gun. She quickly right herself and trained the ICER on the middle guard, who aimed right back at her. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to get even one good shot off before they fired.

"Stop! Lower your weapon!" the middle guard commanded.

She hesitated, then slowly let her arms go slack, reaching down to place the gun on the floor. It was almost down when there was a loud shout of "Anders!" and a sharp crack as a golden lariat snapped against one guard's hands.

The gun went off, the shot going wild, and Kory dove forward as the others fired over her head. She rammed into the middle guard, sending them both to the floor, and jammed the barrel of her gun against the guard's chest before firing. Rolling away just as the remaining guard fired, Kory kicked out to throw him off-balance, giving her enough time to scramble to her feet.

She knocked the rifle out of his hands and shot forward, but the guard managed to catch her gun before she could take aim. They grappled for a moment, fighting for control, and Kory narrowed her eyes. This was _not_ going to happen; not today.

"Screw this," she hissed and twisted. The gun tore out of the guard's hands, and she slammed the butt into her assailant's throat, followed by a sharp knee to the stomach. Grabbing the collar of his uniform, she spun and slammed the guard into the ground, snapping his neck with a quick jerk as soon as he was down.

Rising to her feet once more, Kory hefted her gun against her shoulder, blowing a long strand of hair out of her eyes, and nodded at Diana. "Thanks."

"You are welcome. You are a formidable warrior, Kory Anders," Diana said, eyeing the two guards Kory had taken out. Her own opponent was unconscious at her feet.

"I had excellent teachers," Kory said.

They caught up with the Waynes at the end of the next hall, and from there, it only took a couple minutes to tear through any Nova Corps that came to meet them.

Kory abandoned her gun from time to time in favor of her hands. She was adjusting to the weapon quickly, but sometimes, it was more efficient to use what she worked with best. Diana's lasso was a whirlwind of gold as she used it to trip up, trap, and choke out anyone she didn't shoot. Helena moved with speed and precision, switching from one target to the next in the space of heartbeat. All the while, Bruce laid down cover fire, showing a skill with the weapon Kory never would have expected from someone like him.

There was a solid fifteen minutes left when the sight of a large form collapsed in the middle of the hallways made them stop. It only took a moment to recognize Thanos, the Mad Titan, lying defeated.

Kory couldn't help the tingle of apprehension she felt as she stepped closer. If it weren't for Thanos' open eyes, she would have expected his hand to suddenly lash out and close around her ankle, and send her flying across the room — even with the hilt of a sword sticking out from his chest. But he was dead, really dead... and his hand was gone.

That made her pause, and she glanced at the others.

"The Infinity Gauntlet," Helena said, staring at the empty space, and the pool of blood around it. "Holy crap."

Kory glanced at Bruce, whose brow was tightly furrowed. The missing gauntlet was a concern. There was always the chance Wade had taken it; he seemed like the kind of unpredictable person that would do that. But at the same time, there was so much chaos throughout the halls, anyone could have slipped through and taken it. Another SHIELD agent, an Inhuman, one of the victors, or even a Capitolite that didn't love their dear president as much as they claimed. With a trophy like that, anyone could claim responsibility for Thanos' death.

Was Wade even alive? The hallway was a mess, with smears of blood, and there was no sign of him anywhere.

"Wilson should be nearby," Bruce said, walking past Thanos. "This is the courtyard up ahead, so the east balcony should be down the next hall.

Kory stared at Thanos a moment longer, still not quite believing he was dead, when Diana stopped by her shoulder.

" _This_ is justice. An unjust ruler paying for their crimes." she said. She looked at Kory with something akin to righteousness and added, "What kind of justice do you seek?"

Kory frowned, looking away as she followed after Bruce and Helena. She certainly agreed with Diana when it came to Thanos, and she admired Diana's skill as a fighter, but it seemed they wouldn't agree on all things.

Finding Wade from there was simply a matter of following the trail of blood, with little drops and streaks guiding them to the balcony. He was lying off to the side, facedown, with his arms folded underneath him.

"Is he dead?" Helena asked incredulously, quirking an eyebrow. She poked him in the shoulder with her gun while Bruce leaned down to feel his pulse.

Before his fingers could meet Wade's neck, Wade jerked and rolled over, revealing a bloodied bag in his grasp. "My heroes!" he cheered, heaving himself to his feet with more energy than anyone in his condition should have. They were so surprised by his sudden awakening, none of them realized what Wade was going to do until he already had Helena's face in his bloody hands, the bloody bag containing Thanos' hand falling to the floor.

With an exaggerated _mwah_ , he pulled her tight to him around the waist and gave her a long, hard kiss before very suddenly letting go. Helena stumbled back once she was released, her hands flying to her face. "What the -" She stared as Wade turned on Diana with the same fervor, going so far as to sweep her into a low dip before smashing their lips together.

Furious, Diana shoved him away from her, and Kory braced herself as Wade whirled in her direction, ready to fend him off. He lurched forward, then stopped abruptly and raised his splayed hands as he swayed unsteadily

"Wait! Ah, ah, ah, you little minx. I can't kiss _you_. You're taken, naughty girl," he said, wagging his finger. He stood up straight, looking almost healthy for a moment, before he cringed and pressed a hand to his forehead. "Catch me!"

Kory reached out do just that as Wade collapsed, although she would almost call it swooning with the way his groan of pain changed into a soft croon.

"How'd I do?" he asked. "I'd give it a ten out of ten. One for the ankle," he shook his leg with his hands, "two for the kill, and seven for that!" With a great flourish, he gestured to the gruesomely stained bag nearby. "Be a dear and get that for me, would you _garçon_?" Wade asked.

Kory couldn't decide if she wanted to drop him or not. It was very, very tempting.

"Enough of this," Diana snapped. "You did well smiting Thanos, but we must take our leave."

"Would you like to do the honors, snookums?" Wade held out his arms like a child begging to be picked up. "I'd do it myself, but I _don't know_ if I can. I used up all my heroism taking down the jerk with the chin riblets. It was _wearing_."

He certainly didn't look like he could walk on his own, especially if he was telling the truth about his leg. Kory's clothes were already spotted with red, not that they were so clean in the first place. A little of Wade's blood on top of her own would hardly make a difference, at least not to her. Wade himself might care, though.

"I'll take him," Bruce said, stepping forward. "We need all three of you free to fight our way out of here."

Kory readily handed Wade off, even with the dangerous glint in Bruce's eyes. It was the kind of look only angry fathers wore, and Bruce was none too happy about Wade's momentary assault on his daughter. The little squeak of pain Wade emitted once he was leaning against Bruce provided enough evidence of that.

"Easy there, big fella," Wade said with a sharp groan. "You break it, you bought it."

Kory lined up in front of Bruce with Helena and Diana, weapons bared, and shared a solemn nod. Whatever disagreements they had, all three of them were survivors of the arena, and they needed each other to get through this.

They stormed back into the halls, working together to protect Wade and the nearly defenseless Bruce. They made an excellent team. Kory and Diana shared the lead while covering Helena, who was their best marksman, and taking out anyone that got too close while Helena picked off those farther down the hall. Quick, clinical, and deliberate with every move, the three of them made sure the soldiers that stepped in their path had no chance.

They made it outside, panting with relief, and could see the transport coming down to meet them across the garden. With the enemies hot on their heels, and the clock running down, they didn't have time to rest.

Glancing to her right, Kory caught Diana's eye and jerked her head. With a nod of agreement, they both fell back. It wouldn't help to reach the transport just to get swarmed by soldiers, and someone had to take care of their tails.

Diana lashed out with her lasso, using it like a whip as she caught the closest guard by the wrist, while Kory darted forward to bash him in the face with her gun. She took aim at the next few guards, firing off three quick shots and giving Diana the chance to rush in and take care of a couple more. They spun, punched, kicked, and shot, holding their ground until Bruce and Helena made it to the transport.

"We're in! Come on!" Helena shouted.

A shot from Helena's weapon whizzed over Kory's shoulder, sinking into a soldier's arm. She and Diana spun on their heels and charged toward the transport, ducking and weaving to avoid getting shot while Helena and Bruce laid down cover fire.

Kory threw herself onboard, turning back to give Diana a helping hand, and then they were rising into the air, the door sliding shut as they dropped into their seats.

"Everyone alright back there?" Steve shouted back.

Spread out across several seats, Wade shoved a double thumbs up into the air.


	123. Chapter 122: Hail to the King

**(A/N): Happy Tuesday! This time, we're bringing you a peek into what's going on in the districts writ large, with InDeepDarkWood's ever-amazing Ororo Munro.**

 **Thanks to the writers who reviewed and for all the hype that's being generated as we hurtle into the revolution! Thanks also to Slim Summers2002 and our guest reviewer. We also love Wade ;)**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Two - Hail to the King**

 **District Eleven**

 **Ororo Munroe, formerly of District Eleven**

 **Written by InDeepDarkWood**

* * *

" _Maybe we can't be okay. But maybe we're tough and we'll try anyway_

 _I don't need a life that's normal, that's way too far away - But something next to normal_

 _would be okay"_ \- Next To Normal

* * *

Ororo had never thought she would see home again. Even in her dreams down below, even when speaking to Eric in the dusk, she had never even dared to imagine a time when she could return _home._ Ororo breathed deeply, taking in the heat and the taste of humidity, the choking heaviness of her district, and she thought her heart would burst with happiness.

 _Happiness, at a time like this,_ she thought, rolling her eyes, her arms crossed as she leaned against the door.

Eleven was in chaos. Marvel always liked to show the Games with perfect power to every single citizen, but even if a person _wasn't_ at that moment in time glued to the screen with the final four tributes, word had quickly spread through the district that a revolution was happening. Ororo thought that the Capitolites themselves would be impressed by the speed. She allowed herself a small smile; half the Sentinels probably hadn't known the revolution had started while Eleven's chain of news was carried around.

She dropped the smile as the pair of rebel fighters she was waiting for appeared from one of the alleyways and sprinted toward her. _They're early,_ she thought. Both of their faces were covered up, concealing their identity, but Ororo could see the feline grace of one that picked him out as T'Challa.

 _T'Challa._

"We have incoming!" she called over her shoulder, flipping out her bo staff in one hand and pulling a knife from its sheath with the other. _Even in Eleven, I'm still on lookout duty,_ she grumbled inwardly.

Behind the pair came a set of Sentinels, one dropping to a knee, gun hoisted up for a shot. Ororo flung the knife out, her arm following through the way she had been taught, the weapon striking true. The gun dropped into the dust; the Sentinel instinctively reached over to where the knife had embedded itself in the meaty and unprotected upper arm. _Crack!_ went a gunshot, and Ororo's gaze flashed toward her two men, expecting one of them to have fallen.

But no, they barrelled past her, their identities becoming jumbled up again, though one gripped her shoulder tight, and she was half-dragged, half-stumbled into the house. The door slammed shut behind her and was bolted. She twisted back around, glancing through the peephole to examine the scene outside. The Sentinel she had hit was moving toward a fallen comrade as more Sentinels spilled into the area. _Crack!_ went another gunshot, louder than before, and Ororo watched one fall mid-stride.

"Nice shot, Shuri!" The man who had pulled Ororo inside pulled off his balaclava, revealing the pink flush of excitement on his pale cheeks, and loosened his grip on her shoulder.

"Thank you, Brother; I know." Shuri hadn't moved from her position by the boarded window, her finger still on the trigger, but Ororo could see Shuri's small smile of satisfaction. Beside her, Hunter was laughing, clapping his hands.

"What a rush! Shuri, we were so close! That gadget of Ebersol's—"

"Mine and Ebersol's, you mean," she corrected.

"Of course, little sister — it worked like a charm. We even got most of the supplies until—"

"Until our _White Wolf_ thought it wise to try and kidnap our Sentinel Prime," a new voice broke into the conversation.

 _T'Challa._

Ororo still got a strange _whoosh_ in her chest when she heard him speak. It was not the same as when she first heard Steve, because that had been a shock, but an expected shock. But this had come so long after she saw everyone else that she hadn't thought she would see him again.

When Ororo had landed in Eleven before the revolution launched, she knew she wasn't alone. Benedetta had been dropped into the district before her — but had gone dark. Her first task was to find her mission partner.

She hadn't expected to find _her district partner_. Alive. Not dead.

* * *

" _Honestly, why did they even_ give _me this stupid thing if it's not even going to work?" Ororo threw the transmitter to the ground in annoyance, then quickly bent down to pick it back up, wincing internally at the headshake she could only imagine Remy was giving her. "Petit, whatchu do dat for?" she mimicked, shoving the transmitter back into her pocket. "How else d'you plan on hearin' ol' Remy when he got important tings to say? You tink about dat when you t'rowin' tings?"_

Stupid Remy, _she grumbled._

 _Benedetta was supposed to be here. Ororo wasn't sure why her mission partner had been dropped into Eleven beforehand_ — Maybe she was too weak to carry boxes? — _but Ororo had been told by Hill that she would rendezvous at the appointed spot._

 _It made her uneasy, being out in the open like this. It was_ Eleven _, so it was all familiar, which was nice, because she had missed the Justice Building, and she had missed the smell of sticky heat and fruit in the orchards. But every alleyway could have Sentinels... or a member of the underground Hatut Zeraze ready to take her out under friendly fire._

 _The transmitter blipped in her pocket. "Finally," she said, slipping into the shadows of the building as the transmitter blipped again, and she peered around for Benedetta to come in to view._

 _Instead, she saw a tall man with a hat pulled close to his forehead._ Balaclava, _her thoughts helpfully supplied. 'Danger' also came up in her head. There didn't seem to be anyone else around, though a quick look with her other eye showed a shadow in the alley the man had originated from._

" _SHIELD," the man said, his voice a stage-whisper. "Have you come to help us fight the cause?"_

It's a trap, _she thought. The man had Benedetta's transmitter. Ororo came to the conclusion he was her murderer._

" _White Wolf, there is no one here," the shadow behind the wall called out._

" _Dammit, I'm telling you; our sister hijacked the system and pinpointed a second one here," White Wolf argued. The first voice sounded familiar to Ororo, but she had to remember she was in her home district; lots of voices would be familiar._

" _I do not think SHIELD will want to help me. Or us, for that matter," the shadow called again, and Ororo's eyes widened as she finally placed the voice._

" _Come here and put that cat nose to use," White Wolf said, and the shadowy figure came out to stand with him. "Our father decided it fit to give you that totem, so use it."_

Totem. _Ororo stepped out from the shadows into full view. "T'Challa?"_

 _Both men turned to look at her. The first was a stranger, broad and tall, but the second one…_

" _T'Challa," she said again. This time, it wasn't a question. Ororo thought he was dead. Eric had said not everyone came back, and even in her snooping and sneaking, she hadn't heard even a whisper of her partner's name._

" _Ororo." He looked almost like he had before the Games_ — _a little broader, a little lined in the forehead, but the rest was how she remembered him and how she had seen him in the night's sky in the arena._

" _You weren't in Tahiti," she said, taking a few steps toward him._

" _No," T'Challa answered. "I was in a nightmare. I think I have woken up now, though."_

 _She reached him within a heartbeat and threw her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. He returned the hug with a more reserved affection. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear._

" _For what?"_

" _Saving me from the bloodbath." She smiled into his sleeve as his hug became more enthusiastic, holding her tight until she reached up to his cheek and pinched him._

" _What was that for?" he asked, wincing._

" _Just proving you_ have _woken up."_

* * *

"Oh, come on, T'Challa; it was our perfect opportunity!" Hunter argued. T'Challa had been quiet since they'd come through the door, but Ororo could see he was inwardly seething with rage. She just couldn't tell if it was truly directed at his brother... or something else. "Primes know what's going on in the Capitol. She was what we needed to get information. You would be a fool to think otherwise."

"Now look at what has happened, Hunter," T'Challa responded. "The Sentinels know our location. It will not take them long to figure out our tunnel system. Then what will happen to our citizens?"

"They will stand up and _fight_ instead of just staying downtrodden like rats in the sewers," Hunter said. "We were doing this _long_ before you came back into our lives."

"I hate to break it to you, Brother, but Hunter is right," Shuri piped up. "Don't you think our people will want to fight and reclaim their land anyway?"

"I have been a part of too much bloodshed while I was gone," T'Challa said as Shuri fired her gun to hit a mark. Ororo blinked her eyes closed, watching the hazy gray shadow of the target collapse beyond the closed door. "I do not want to force people to fight that have no desire to."

"You have to give them the choice, T'Challa." Ororo didn't want to interfere with family matters, knowing how much she disliked it when people made comments on her adoptive family, but it wasn't just _about_ family matters anymore. "I think you'll find Elevens have a bigger fighting spirit than you give us credit for. We have a chance to be free."

Her district partner was quiet, thoughtful as he turned over the information. Ororo was glad he didn't instantly reject the idea. _Then again,_ she thought, _he always was a good leader._ Good enough to have contingency plans in the Games for his inevitable, if early, death. Good enough to not let emotions cloud his judgement and make him unable to listen to advice.

"We have Hunter's Hatut Zeraze," T'Challa eventually said. "Who else can we trust to follow commands?"

"Don't even try M'Baku," Shuri answered, raising her weapon and gesturing to the ground. "We are surrounded; we can chat and escape at the same time."

"The Scarecrows," Ororo chipped in, lifting the trapdoor as Hunter dropped down into the tunnel that linked the building with the mines, with Shuri following him. "Most of them are pretty odd, but they can listen to orders. Sometimes a little _too_ well."

"J'onn is already in the mines, keeping the peace between citizens," Shuri called up from the tunnel. "And he will likely be open to following a dead man walking." Ororo couldn't see her face, but she could hear the smile in her words, and she knew T'Challa had heard it too from his eye roll beside her.

"You first, Ro," he said, gesturing.

"Are you nerv—" Ororo broke off her question as the panel by the door splintered apart with gunfire. She yanked T'Challa by the shoulder, dragging him into the tunnel at the same time the trap door sealed shut above them with a dull thud. The four of them wasted no time in moving. Ororo hadn't been in the mining tunnels for a very long time, but the memories of sneaking in with Forge and playing in the semi-darkness came back to her quickly.

She knew Forge had been alive when she had been dropped into Eleven, because Shuri had told her so. But that had been at least a day ago, and a lot of killings had taken place since then, of people who had been trying to escape into the tunnels, or people who had tried to stand alone against the Sentinels, or people who were just hiding in their houses, praying to the gods.

T'Challa had been impressed when they'd been reunited; she was not just someone who could _hide_ anymore. He didn't talk about where he'd been for the year, only that he'd met Wade and Kate, but Ororo knew something had happened, and he viewed her more on equal footing now, capable of holding her own against opponents, and capable of making intelligent decisions. " _Sometimes I do not think I can make a decision unless I am told to do so,"_ he'd said, after they had hugged and discussed tactics and caught up with what SHIELD's orders for Ororo had been. " _Sometimes I do not trust my decision-making as I once did. But I know you are able to see which decisions are right, just like you were able in the Capitol."_

"J'onn J'onnz leads many of our people; they look to him, and we need that unity," T'Challa was saying to Hunter as they sped toward the mine.

"He is prejudiced and won't look at some of our citizens for help," Hunter countered.

"He will overcome his prejudice; if he hopes to lead, he cannot do so without the support of our _full_ district," T'Challa insisted.

"And I am telling you; we cannot trust J'onnz. His family were killed, and that's sad, but our father was killed too, and you don't see me blaming a whole faction of people," Hunter argued.

"I have been dead for a year, Hunter, and in many people's eyes, I am still only a boy. An ally in J'onn is what we need, distasteful though you may find it."

"Until he stabs me in the back," Hunter growled. "Not everyone can just come back to life, you know."

"Are they always like this?" Ororo asked Shuri, half-whispering as the brothers continued to keep their voices quiet, if heated. Shuri laughed, adjusting her grip on her gun slung over her shoulder.

"I wish I could say no, but yes, they have very different views of the world." She shook her head, calling out to her brothers. "Hunter, I think you'll find the rebellion has forced J'onn to ally with those he once condemned. It is slow progress, but down here in the mines, he may yet be realizing we are not all that different from the rest." Shuri tilted her head toward Ororo as the arguing ahead paused for a moment to reflect her words, then erupted once more. "I think T'Challa is also worried about showing people he is back from the dead — like you are too."

Ororo glanced away, the words containing more truth than she wanted to admit out loud. Shuri and Hunter had taken T'Challa's revival as easily as could be expected, but his family were well-educated and accepting. She didn't know how _hers_ would feel.

"They'll see T'Chaka in him as soon as he speaks," Ororo said, keeping the focus on her friend.

"Well, let's hope they see it sooner rather than later," Shuri replied grimly. "Because he is right; the Sentinels will be right behind us."

* * *

The mines had never been so full of people. Ororo guessed at least three-quarters of the population were there, all mingled together, from the smallest newborn to the grizzled old men with their beards and sad eyes. It gave her a little pang in her heart, seeing the sea of families around her, looking at her. _Toward,_ she corrected. They weren't looking at her; they were looking at a living, breathing T'Challa.

"This is going better than I expected," Hunter leaned over to whisper. "Nobody has tried to burn him yet."

"Klaw isn't here — or M'Baku," Shuri said. "Or it would be a different story. J'onnz is listening."

"I will not tell you to fight." T'Challa's voice carried easily through the mines. "But I will _ask_ you to fight. Alone, we cannot do much, but together, we are strong. We are Eleven, and this is our _home_." Ororo scanned the crowd, searching for shouts of agreement to his words. "For too long, the Capitol and our own prejudice have stopped us from uniting. It is time we stand as one."

There were murmurs in the crowd, but it was hard to tell if they were murmurs of agreement or whisperings about the undead man standing before them.

 _I wonder is Steve having this much trouble in Six,_ she mused. They had separated after being pack horses for Hill, and her friend had grumbled about helping some Castle person instead of trying to find Bucky. _I hope not._

"Do you have a plan?" It was J'onn who spoke up finally, clearer than the others.

"Yes," T'Challa answered, relief evident in his voice. "With the help of equipment my sister designed with Paul Ebersol, we have launched guerrilla warfare and successfully dismantled many of the Sentinel watchtowers. Most of their operations have been pushed back to their central headquarters in the square. Now, we need numbers to face our opposition and send them out of Eleven."

"And how do you know _who_ you can trust down here?" J'onn asked, his arms folded. "How do you know _they_ aren't going to cut you down as quickly as the Sentinels?"

"There is no 'they', J'onn," T'Challa stated quietly; Ororo knew he had seen Hunter tense at J'onn's words. "There is just 'us'. If we let our anger at each other grow, we will never be able to defeat the real enemy we face."

"Very well," J'onn said with a nod, turning his head around to the crowd. "If you want to help free Eleven, we will follow you in that endeavor." The man moved to stand beside Shuri without another word.

Ororo expected a climactic moment, some words between the older man and Hunter, some raised voices; she was disappointed when the crowd simply began to talk amongst themselves, and groups of people break off to join the cause. There was no fanfare. There was just a sudden swelling of people around her.

"The Sentinels have quelled rebellion in the time since the broadcast of the Games announced SHIELD's intentions," J'onn informed T'Challa.

"Overt rebellion, you mean." Ororo recognized Ebersol as the man who pushed his way in front, clapping T'Challa on the back with affection. Behind him, she caught a glimpse of a lanky teen, and her heart flip-flopped. "Their supplies have been decimated by the Hatut Zeraze. We've already seen some defect beyond the wire fence," Ebersol added.

"They didn't make it very far," Hunter said. "We got them, or someone else got them."

"We need to hit them hard and fast," Ororo said, making herself stand taller, glad the mohawk added a few more inches to her height as J'onn glanced her way. She wasn't watching him, though; all she could see was Forge looking right at her from behind Ebersol, his face ashen. "And soon."

* * *

Shuri had warned them all that the Capitol would be coming, but Ororo still hadn't realized just how soon was 'soon'. Instead of going straight to Forge for a memorable reunion, she darted away like a frightened jackrabbit to help set up the mismatched forces of Eleven. The mines conveniently had a variety of weapons — used for sourcing vibranium, but also perfectly capable of gutting opponents.

The gardeners that had come down into the quarry had brought their own supplies; from this year's Games, she thought she recognized some of the deadly plants being carefully crushed and applied to the ends of hoes and scythes. As she had predicted, the scarecrows from the orchards were there to fight; she turned her head away as she caught sight of Peter, but he didn't seem to recognize her with her new hair and her new eye.

Then, she had been set to keep watch on the second entrance to the mines, the one away from where she and T'Challa had emerged. Initially thinking she had been put away from the fight, she realized quickly instead that it was a smart move from T'Challa. The Sentinels knew how they had escaped and would follow in the same direction: the trapdoor tunnel. Her eye would let Eleven know if the Sentinels decided to come this way as well.

The mine was quiet when the whistle came up from the far side, the sound absorbed by the vibranium in the walls.

Ororo's heart leaped for a moment at the absurdity of the plan, because these were _farmers_ and _miners_ going up against trained forces.

Then, she remembered that she was just an ordinary person too, and so were Steve and Eric and Benedetta — but she didn't think it was absurd that they were all fighting trained forces and dying.

Ororo turned her focus back to the entrance she was watching, but she could hear the shouts behind her, T'Challa crying out something in Wakandan she was too far away to hear fully. She stole a glance back to see those that understood the command follow through smoothly as the Sentinels spilled into the mine.

They had been preparing for unarmed civilians; they did not expect to be surrounded by a force, guerrilla-style.

She turned her head away again, but she had already seen blood spray on the ground of the mines. Her bo out, she gripped it tightly, ready for the sound of approaching footsteps from behind that would indicate a sneak attack. Eleven was still in chaos. She didn't want to think of all her friends dying behind her. _Better to look for someone who can kill me in the front_. Closing her eye, she scanned the tunnel religiously through the bedrock, searching for gray shapes on the other side of the wall.

One set of footsteps behind her gave her pause during her scan, and she flipped the staff around, catching the Sentinel before that Sentinel fired a close range shot. Her move caught the Sentinel off-guard, and the gun wobbled, losing accuracy, but she still saw a burst of stars as the bullet grazed across her forearm, the vibranium staining red on the walls. Leaping toward the Sentinel, she slammed the staff across the chest piece of the armor, reaching for her knife to finish the job.

The visor flipped up, revealing a blonde woman as she gasped for air, the force of the staff likely cracking a rib or two. Ororo paused, her knife raised, locking eyes with the woman. Her gaze drifted down, and she saw the small name tag of Sara Essen — and now the woman had a _name_.

Then, T'Challa was beside the Sentinel, three throwing knives in hand, sinking the blades straight into the woman's chest like cat claws. Essen's whole body lifted, choking on the blood pooling at her lips, her eyes wide and staring at Ororo. Ororo looked at T'Challa, who gazed back wordlessly, removing the knives and letting the Sentinel slump down. For a brief moment, his eyes were hollow, and then he blinked, and the look was gone.

"Any trouble this way?" he asked.

"I had that under control," Ororo said. "And no. There isn't."

"You are still young, Ororo, untouched by the nightmares that turned me into a killer. I do not think killing should be your priority when I can still save your innocence."

Her hackles rose, ready to get into _that_ argument, but he didn't give her the chance to respond, heading back into the fray. Ororo didn't think his reason matched up to reality, but she went back to her job.

It was a long time before the fighting quieted, and she still had no visual on a second wave. She decided it was safe to look back. Really, with the numbers, it was a one-sided fight; even with the training and the superior weaponry, the Sentinels were no match for sheer volume. T'Challa and J'onn were standing beside Eleven's Prime; Martha Washington had already thrown down her weapon.

 _We are free,_ she thought, letting out a small sigh of relief.

She began to make her way over to T'Challa when she paused for a moment, remembering what Hill had told her as she boarded the carrier to head toward Eleven. " _The Capitol will come down on you like a bat out of hell, Storm. Don't relax, even if you think all is said and done. Remember: Sentinels have a job to do, and they're good at it. Remember: there are some teams waiting out there more ruthless than others."_

She decided to look back, just once more, to check the entrance she had been guarding.

" _INCOMING!_ " she cried out, catching hazy human shapes creeping through the tunnel toward her, her gaze darting from side to side to see who had heard her cry in Wakandan. " _INCOMING!"_ she called again and took a step back from the entrance to where her allies stood.

There was a moment of confusion when the soldiers emerged from the tunnel. They were not in Sentinel uniform; Ororo thought briefly they were undercover, or off-duty, and for some unknown reason had decided to come out and fight anyway.

"HYDRA!" The boy who spotted the symbol on the green sleeves was beside her, his striped, scarred face making him look more fearsome than she believed he actually was. Hunter stood next to him, Forge by his side. _Hydra. Some teams are more ruthless than others._

"We are here to free you," the frontman of the group announced.

"We are already free," Hunter answered, raising his gun and firing at the man from point blank range.

Gunshots from the green-clad soldiers rang throughout the mines, and Ororo quickly decided that they were just about as dead as she was. There was no time for T'Challa to come and put down the enemy for her; back-to-back with Forge, she flipped the bo for added length, knocking the wind out of her assailant and sweeping his legs from under him. Before the man could react, she was on top of him, going for his neck with her knife, since she didn't think she'd have the strength to do what T'Challa had done.

It wasn't like killing Thor, or Cletus. The blood was warm when it flecked onto her face, and she blinked it out of her eyes, stepping away from the man as he bled out, and turning back to Forge. He had frozen in the spot, his gaze darting from the dying man to her face and back. _New Ororo,_ she thought, her heart plummeting in her chest. _Just like I knew._ She didn't have time to speak to him, because she was already lashing out at the HYDRA soldier behind him, toppling the woman to the ground.

The scarred boy finished him off.

The blood was dry on her face when everything went quiet again.

There were no more green people standing.

Ororo looked around, adrenaline still stopping her from fully feeling the pain in her forearm, but she gritted her teeth. Less people than she thought were dying on the ground that belonged to Eleven; she was glad for that.

"Ororo." She gritted her teeth even more, her gaze settling on Forge. He stood a few feet from her, his hands clenched as fists.

"Hi."

"I… I thought you were dead."

"I was." The words hung awkwardly between them.

"I wished so hard for you to win the Games, Ororo," Forge said. "I prayed to the Great Spirit, and when he didn't seem to answer, I asked for help from all sorts of spirits. I wished for you to come back to me."

Ororo's heart fell all the way down into her boots at Forge's tone, something she hadn't thought possible, and she clenched her jaw, because she thought she could feel the backs of her eyes stinging with tears.

"You wished for Old Ororo, and instead you got me," she stated through gritted teeth. "Spirits have a twisted sense of humor." She met his gaze, because it seemed like the least she could do. "This person who electrocuted someone, and shot at people, and killed people in front of you and doesn't seem to care — but I do care, I swear, I swear, Forge; I do care that I killed people, all people, except Cletus. And I know I'm different, and I know I died, and I know that's usually a bad thing, because when the spirits come back they're never quite the same, but I'm not a bad different, I'm just diff—"

She hadn't noticed he had stepped closer to her while she poured out words, so she was unprepared for the bone-crushing hug that he enveloped her in. Forge picked her whole body up, and she could feel his tears against her neck and the blood on her arm as the pressure caused her wound to pulse. She couldn't move, and it wasn't just because he was holding her. _He's_ holding _me,_ she thought. Ghosts and spirits were not to be touched. Even when the people celebrated their dead and welcomed them to walk among the living, Ororo had learned very early that spirits were to be left alone. _He's not afraid of me._

It seemed like forever before he put her back down on the ground, releasing her from his grip.

"I don't know who listened, but I got you back," he whispered, giving her a small smile.

"SHIELD listened," she tried to supply helpfully. He was fiddling with something on his wrist, and he took it off to hold up the bracelet he had given her.

"Goliath and Chord brought that to me, when they sent your… your body home." Ororo felt a lurch in her heart that her adoptive brothers had thought of Forge. "Have it back. This time, don't die wearing it."

She tied it onto her wrist as they made their way to where T'Challa stood; Shuri was still on her feet, holding part of her sleeve up to her forehead to quell bleeding. Martha Washington was between J'onn and T'Challa, handing her gun back instead of flinging it to the ground as she had before.

"You understand why we are imprisoning you?" T'Challa asked her.

"Yes, sir," she said. It was almost comical to hear the title being given to someone much younger than the Prime Sentinel, but Ororo thought it appropriate. "I did my job, and I had my orders, and I would probably do it again. I am a good soldier." She eyed T'Challa squarely.

"You did not shoot us when I gave you your gun back," T'Challa said, holding the gun loosely by his side. "Did you think standing with us would help earn your freedom?"

Washington barked out a laugh at the words. "That is _not_ how the law works, sir, and I am a law-abiding citizen. Until now. In the eyes of the law, I've signed my own death warrant, taking up arms beside you."

"This is not a time for more bloodshed. You are not going to die at my hand, or by my ruling," T'Challa said. Ororo's heart beat a little faster at the words. They were words that tumbled around in her mind. _No more bloodshed. That would be nice._

"T'Chaka and I had a good relationship when he was alive," Washington commented, her surprise at T'Challa's words evident in her expression. "Maybe we can get to that place someday."

"How did Hydra know where we were?" J'onn asked after a moment, gripping onto the Prime's forearm, his gaze twitching toward Hunter. "Who could have told them?" Ororo felt her heart skip even faster, automatically reaching to hold her staff. _J'onnz may be a good leader,_ she thought, watching Hunter narrow his eyes. _But he hasn't proven that he is a good man yet._

Shuri raised an eyebrow, wincing at the movement. "That's a question for another day, J'onn. Today is a day of celebration."

"Shuri is right." T'Challa stepped up onto a higher section of rock. "People of Eleven," he called, his voice echoing quietly in the mines. "We are Eleven and _WE ARE FREE."_


	124. Chapter 123: Blood and Water

**(A/N): Happy Friday, everyone! It's Deep Week over here in this story, this time with Diana Prince! :)**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed. We're loving seeing this story come together too!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Three - Blood and Water**

 **Diana Prince of District Four**

 **Written by InDeepDarkWood**

* * *

" _Promise me you will not spend so much time treading water and trying to keep your head above the waves that you forget, truly forget, how much you have always loved to swim." ―_ Tyler Knott Gregson

* * *

"Do you have any items to clean my sword on the helicarrier?" Diana raised an eyebrow as she spoke, her hand clasping the hilt of her weapon. It pleased her a little to see the SHIELD officer didn't bat an eyelid and simply gestured absentmindedly toward a pile of containers down in the hold. _At least_ some _Capitolites are not meek,_ she thought, nodding thanks to the man who had already gone back to his work.

Based on what she had seen in the Capitol prior to the Games, Diana hadn't been filled with much hope that SHIELD could get by on much more than intimidation factor, but it would appear her opinion was changing in the few short hours she had spent in the company of a squad.

She rooted through the containers for a brief moment until she found a spray can of oil and a soft cloth, privately filing away the knowledge that nails, a wrench, and a spanner were also in the same box. Though Diana was in no way capable of fixing a helicarrier, a wrench was a pretty effective weapon when swinging it at an enemy's head.

She thought about staying down in the hold, where it was quiet save for the hum of the aircraft. In Four, she had cherished the moments of silence by the ocean, when Donna was screeching through the house with playmates or when the line of people waiting to speak with Hippolyta became a grumbling jet of irksome phrases along the veranda.

She hadn't been alone for very long in the Games. Diana's gaze wandered down to the edge of her blade, safely sheathed for the time being, disguising her friend's blood on its side. She let out a small sigh, fingering the handle lightly. "It is not wise to be alone right now, Diana," she said softly and then straightened up her shoulders to return upstairs.

The sound of voices grew louder as she reached the main area, though she barely gave her companions a nod as she entered. The action wasn't necessary, however; Helena and Kory were conversing in one corner, and the head of the Wayne household wasn't even looking in Diana's direction. Bruce's attention was on the two in the makeshift medical wing of the room, his hand resting on the radio beside him.

Diana's gaze flitted back to the other two members of the club she was now a part of, feeling a small wave of emotion wash over her; she had experienced it a few times already, when she had met them first in the arena. It was _not_ an emotion she was used to experiencing — or frankly ever desired to feel. _I wonder how big their alliance was,_ she thought, slipping into a seat, _that they had_ two _remain alive?_

She didn't like her thoughts, and yet, they still rose up like an angry sea serpent inside her. Even when she told herself that they had lost people too, good people, the little pit of jealousy that they had someone with them on the plane continued to stir within her.

 _Good people, Diana,_ she scolded herself internally. _A brother. A lover._

She thought they had bonded over Pamela, but she had never thought she was any good at making friends, so after that, she had struggled to figure out how to continue it. Acquaintances, yes. Someone she would go to battle with not a day after trying to kill each other? No.

So to pass the time to Twelve, she took her sword out and sprayed it with oil. She wondered if John Constantine's sister was still alive, and if she would get to talk to her. It seemed like the least she could do, in the face of what she had done. _It was the right thing to do,_ she told herself, moving the cloth along the blade's edge. _It was the best thing someone could do for someone they loved._ Diana rubbed the blade vigorously as she reached the bloodstains halfway down the shaft, trying to scrub away the evidence of those she had killed. _It was the right thing to do._

"Careful now, sweetheart; don'tcha know you've got to go slow with that motion?" Diana paused her cleaning and lifted her gaze up under her brows. Wade, despite being half-dead and attached to monitors, had managed to wiggle his arm up to cradle his head. She rolled her eyes as he waggled his eyebrows.

"Only if one's weapon is incapable of taking the heat," she replied coolly after a moment of reflection, returning her attention to cleaning.

"That's a pretty catty burn," Wade said, his voice lilting upward in surprise, although Diana couldn't tell if it was false or real. "You sure you're not from Eleven?"

"Your brain is seeing things, son of Wil. Our Eleven companion is currently sleeping. Do you also wish to sleep?" She ran the cloth down the sword once more. "I am not a medicine woman, but I'm sure I could push a few buttons and send you into a coma."

"That'd be nice," Wade answered, rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. "I'm waiting for my purple lady friend, though; she's much more likely to come when I'm not on pain meds — and just on pain."

Diana half-listened to him continue on, his words at least distracting her from her thoughts of a bloody weapon and friendly fire. Snippets of Helena and Kory's conversation drifted over every so often, and again, the little hint of jealousy sparked in her chest. She tried to remember Kory's background from the Reaping recaps. It seemed a lifetime ago when she sat on the train with a solemn Kaldur, a somber Odin, and a sober Octavius.

She thought Kory had a sibling around her same age, though she couldn't recall if it was a brother or sister. Helena, she had Dick, twin in age and looks if not birth. Was that the key to the arrangement currently happening? Donna was many years Diana's younger, and while she treasured her and held her close to her heart, it often felt like a maternal love more than anything else.

"I don't think Dick would have liked Twelve," Kory was saying as the radio crackled beside Bruce. "Too quiet for him. Too boring." She had a small frown on her face, of fresh grief etched into lines not yet fully formed.

Helena shook her head and laughed. "Nowhere Dick went was boring, Kory," she answered. "If it was boring when he walked in, it sure as hell wasn't boring when he left."

All three turned at the slight noise that came from Bruce at the words. Diana couldn't quite put a finger on what it sounded like.

"Nice to know _all_ the guys here have a sense of humor. Am I right, or am I right? Up here, Brucie." Wade let out an audible wince as his attempt to raise his arm in a high five sent a wave of pain.

"Hush," Diana said.

"I can't. It's against my nature and writing," Wade answered. "I was just born this way, born to do it. I can't help—"

"Hush," Diana said again, dropping the sword with a clatter. "Bruce, turn up the radio, please."

The radio had a pretty decent signal, even with the mayhem that Diana had no doubt was going on below them, and although it crackled and flickered out at times, the words were still pretty clear.

"That's our tech people for you," Helena said approvingly.

 _Cisco should have been one of those people,_ Diana thought, straining to hear the broadcast.

 **We are urging all civilians to proceed with caution, but there is no need for alarm,** the announcer said smoothly. **As we speak, our valiant troops are taking control from the violent rebels in District Eleven.**

"That doesn't sound very SHIELD like," Kory commented, her frown deepening.

Bruce nodded, continuing to fiddle with the radio dial. "It's not. That's _their_ tech people," Bruce said. "Our guys are still jumping frequencies to avoid being cut off completely like the video broadcasts were."

 **District Nine's fields are burn** — The feed crackled in and out.

"The food crop," Bruce said grimly.

"It's a good tactic," Diana noted, not missing the look from Helena. "I would not do the same in their situation, but starvation is an excellent motivator for surrender."

"That's awful," Kory breathed out, her mouth hardening into a thin, angry line. Even with the expression, she was still exceptionally beautiful, and Diana flicked her own hair in imitation of her enemy-turned-acquaintance.

"You learned your tactics from home, and I learned mine."

 **District Four's harbor has been decimated** — Diana snapped her attention back to the radio as her district's name was announced. **Heavy ...southern… Hydra in force.**

"Get it to stop fading," Diana ordered, her brow furrowed.

"It's a little difficult, Diana," Helena pointed out. "What with us moving at speed across a warzone and all."

"That is my district," she replied, catching the word **fire** in the speaker's voice — but without context, she was unable to say whether it was the natural product or ammunition rounds causing the declaration. "I have a duty of care to my peoples. I have responsibilities." She turned to Bruce. "You must set me down at Four. I cannot continue to Twelve with you."

"That is not something we can do right now," Bruce said after a few moments.

"If you are concerned about fuel consumption, then you need not land," Diana added. "I feel confident in my capabilities of operating a parachute."

"Are you insane?" Kory asked, her hair flicking to one side as she tilted her head. Behind her, Diana could hear a cheering noise erupt from Wade's bed, followed by a minor groan, and she briefly wondered if he was attempting to get up in enthusiasm.

"You're not getting a parachute either," Bruce said, his hands folded on themselves over the radio tuner. Diana frowned, her arms folded and her eyebrows raised.

"Why not? It is a simple matter of pulling a lever when the ground gets close enough. All someone has to do is show me where to pull."

"Right here—"

"Do not make the gesture you are going to make, son of Wil," Diana interrupted Wade's interjection without taking her eyes off Bruce.

"Yes, I agree," Bruce said, bringing his hand up to rub his temple.

Diana nodded once. "Excellent. What parachute can I use?"

Bruce met her gaze with a resolute one of his own. It was quite striking to see the resemblance between him and Helena, not just with the appearance and color but with the steely look of one who was not used to backing down. _That makes_ two _of us, Mr. Wayne,_ Diana thought, setting herself into a near fighting stance.

"You're not leaving this carrier until we reach Twelve, Diana."

"There are people I care about in Four," she growled. "Not just my close family but my people, and Odin's, and Kaldur's people. I have a _duty_."

"Do you think Four is the only one under attack, Diana? You heard it on the radio; they want to destroy the strengths of the districts."

"Back home in Twelve, we can come up with an actual plan," Kory said, her voice lilting with calming tones. It only served to ruffle Diana's feathers even more.

"Yes. Home. We're going to your home, Kory, returning to your family, who you will be able to protect and love."

"Hey, there's no reason to snap, Diana," Helena said defensively. "It wasn't Kory's idea to build a base there."

In the corner of her eye, Diana caught the steely glare from the second Wayne. "It does not matter to you, Helena, where we go, because your family is here on board. Your _home_ is moveable. Mine is not. Bruce—" She broke off, because she could feel the heat rising in her chest, the same anger that burned when she lost her allies. She did not want to feel that over the deaths of her family as well. "Bruce, you deny me the opportunity to defend my family. Surely at this moment, _right now,_ you would have given anything to defend _yours_ , like I want to. Like you—"

She broke off again before she could finish her sentence, the clearer part of her brain imploring her not to say the words out loud, because even in the brief hours she had spoken to Bruce, she thought those words might break him.

A long stretch of silence of all that was unsaid settled between them.

"What do you think of when your district comes to mind?" Bruce asked quietly.

Diana tensed her leg muscles, braced for a maelstrom. "The sea," she answered warily. "Salt. Honor."

"Defense. Stubbornness. Justice," Bruce continued to list.

"Family. Freedom. Weapons," Diana added more slowly, unsure where he was going. She had expected something to be thrown back at her. This was not what was supposed to happen.

"Weapons," Bruce repeated. "Warriors."

 _Warriors._

"Your people can fight, Diana. They can defend themselves and those too young or too old. Not every district is that lucky." Diana's fists clenched together as Bruce spoke. "What do you think makes more sense: sending a warrior to a place of warriors or sending her to a place that truly needs defending? What would Odin want you to do?"

Diana's jaw tightened, and she broke eye contact, spinning on her heel and stalking away from the others.

 _What would Odin want me to do?_ she asked herself, her brow furrowing. _Stop whining. Do what has to be done._ The All-Father would not have pulled any punches. He had survived the previous war; he knew what was at stake and what had to be done. _Bigger picture, Diana,_ she told herself, her arms folded, the uncomfortable needling sensation digging into her chest again.

"What would Kaldur have wanted?" she whispered aloud. He had wanted her to unite Four. "How can I unite a district when I'm not even there?"

"Bigger picture," Wade whispered beside her. "You'll probably get there in a few rounds."

"Please be quiet on your own terms, Wade," she growled, "as I have not had to remove a tongue from a creature in a long time." Wade's monitor beeped in the background. She thought about Kaldur at the interviews, foolishly throwing his life away on a higher goal. _Twelve is the higher goal right now._

She disliked the idea of Bruce being right, but she would yield with as much dignity as a Prince could muster.

Absentmindedly, she scratched at her chest where whatever was lodged there continued to prod her. Once more, she cursed whoever had decided to send them to a swampland. It took her a moment to realize that the corner that was irritating her was, in fact, a _corner_ , and not a pine needle of some sort. The beeping sparked her memory, and with it, Constantine's questioning face as he handed her the rest of their parachute's prize.

Immediately, she rummaged under her shirt to remove the piece of paper she had kept hidden and safe, shooting a warning look at Wade until she produced it in the open.

"Storytime?" Wade asked. "I just love the one where everyone gets wiped out of existence; it's such a thriller."

"Not for you," Diana replied, shaking her head and turning away.

"Alright, but if there's a giant beam of light at the end, I'm telling you now that I called it."

Odin's scrawl was nearly as difficult to decipher in the full light as it had been in the darkness of the arena, and it irked Diana that she was squinting in a pose unfit for her position. She straightened her spine and stepped away from the hospital wing, back toward the cargo hold, away from perceived prying eyes. She doubted Odin had wanted the Capitol to read his note even with the cameras trained on her and John, and she certainly didn't feel she was in a sharing mood with her acquaintances. Shared survival was one thing. Sharing secrets was quite another.

 _Diana,_ she read, her lips moving slowly with the words of a man who spoke so greatly but struggled with writing, _you are coping far better than could be imagined. Your ally is not the lamb I thought but a wolf in the darkness. That holds great power, Amazonian, that which can still be your downfall._ Diana snorted and rolled her eyes at the words. _Do what is necessary to return to our home, Daughter of A –_

Diana's mind froze at the writing in front of her.

She blinked, trying to focus on the word, to will it to change, because that word just _couldn't_ be true, but each time she read it, it stayed the same. _Daughter of Asgard._

Her hand trembled ever so slightly.

— _and lead Four into a future of prosperity._ Her mind was still fixed on the previous words. _Unite our district with others, Odinsdottir._

Diana spun on her heel and stuffed the note back into her bra, her boots clanking on the metal floor heavily as she walked back over to Bruce. He glanced up at her with a weary but determined look, ready to face a second round of arguing.

"Where are the victors?" Diana asked, her tone brusque.

"In Twelve," Bruce answered carefully, and she felt like the roles of wary converser had changed.

"Very well. I will join you in Twelve."

"Change of heart?" Helena asked, and Diana glanced over to her, her brow furrowed.

"I need to speak with Odin," she said.

 _Kory is not the only one with family in Twelve._


	125. Chapter 124: Still Waters

**(A/N): Happy Tuesday! We're back with another update, this time checking in on Kaldur and his soul ;)**

 **Thanks as always to the writers who reviewed for your amazing support. We're loving it!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Four - Still Waters**

 **The Day of the Revolution**

 **Kaldur Ahm, formerly of District Four**

 **Written by robbiepoo2341**

* * *

 _Ocean pulls me close  
And whispers in my ear  
The destiny I've chose  
All becoming clear  
The currents have their say  
The time is drawing near  
Washes me away  
Makes me disappear  
I descend from grace  
In arms of undertow  
I will take my place  
In the great below_

 _-Nine Inch Nails, "The Great Below"_

* * *

Even with an increasingly frantic pace set by SHIELD as many of the "resurrected" tributes worked to move equipment and personal belongings to a new location farther from Thanos' reach, there were snatched moments of quiet, a few minutes here and there given to the universal needs for sustenance and sleep.

It was in one of those moments that Kaldur found himself wandering with his sandwich and protein bar in the new facility, taking in the setup that looked so similar to what he had already seen, as if the Capitol had given up hope entirely of shying from a lifeless, mechanical facade. The hallways were the same, and even the pool — meant for training as well as physical recovery when necessary, judging by the bar set up on the side — looked exactly the same as the one that the Capitol had used to train tributes before the Games.

The Capitol was a factory, cutting out one facility and using the same mold to deposit another in its place. The change in districts meant nothing. This place had no soul.

Perhaps that was why it stole other souls for its cache.

Kaldur had finished his small lunch by the time he found himself at the edge of the pool, staring almost absently at his reflection. It was too familiar, too much like the pool where he had spent the days the Capitol set aside for them to train. He could almost hear Diana's voice telling him that he had washed away the sea in the Capitol's strange waters.

 _You were right, Diana. There is no trace of the sea on this new body. Would you even call me diver if you saw me this way?_

He stared down at his reflection. He looked the same, but he was like the pool. It looked like water but smelled of chemicals, and there was nothing to move it, no soul giving it life, no waves, no fish, nothing but a creation of the Capitol.

Still, it felt good to move again, to put this new body to use. He could feel the soreness in his new muscles from the heavy lifting — but that again was only a reminder that this body wasn't his. The body he knew, the one that his people had received in a coffin from the Capitol and had given a proper funeral — that body would not be so tired after a little exertion.

His hands, his arms, his legs — everything was strange to him.

"I thought I might find you here."

Kaldur looked up at the familiar voice and inclined his head in greeting when he saw Thor striding toward him, coming to a stop near enough that both of their reflections tricked the pool's surface into thinking that there were men there

"We should return; another transport is prepared to take us to the previous hideaway," Thor said, putting a hand on Kaldur's shoulder, but Kaldur shrugged it off and stared down at the water.

"They have brought us back to be slaves," Kaldur said softly. "This is not a life of honor. This is servitude, bondage, indignity."

"You have the misfortune of joining the cause when the most pressing concern is that of manual labor," Thor said.

"And when it is not?" Kaldur turned to Thor, something flashing behind his gaze that had Thor's frown deepening. "How long are we to endure this humiliation before we die? And what then?" He gestured to the water with one hand. "The drowned gods do not welcome submissive servants. They seek warriors with _honor_."

"Have I lost my honor, then?" Thor asked, one eyebrow raised and a challenge in his stance and his words. "Am I so fallen because I pledge myself to those that fight against the Capitol?"

Kaldur let out a noise of frustration. "This is no revolution. We are ants scurrying to carry out our tasks, and they will not weep if we are crushed underfoot."

"And what do you propose we do?" Thor asked. He allowed his gaze to drift to the water and turned so that he was nearly on the edge of the pool. "I may have been raised by Asgardian traditions, but even I know that the drowned gods would not welcome one who threw himself willingly into the embrace of the water. It must be _earned_."

Kaldur nearly took a step back, the words like cold water on his face — and a good reminder of his own beliefs. He found that he couldn't hold Thor's gaze when the Asgardian turned to face him, and he closed his eyes against the reflection that was now as much an accusation as it was a mirage.

"I will not stop you from choosing your own path," Thor said. "But surely you can endure a few days of hard work and see the revolution for yourself before you decide. It may be that there is honor still to be found."

"My honor died with me," Kaldur said in a breath of a whisper, still unable to raise his gaze.

"Then earn it back," Thor said, resting a second hand on Kaldur's shoulders. "I am surprised at you, Kaldur Ahm. You once stood against Diana Prince and forced her to reckon with truth — why do you turn from your task now?"

Kaldur finally raised his gaze and was surprised to see that there was none of the accusation that Odin or even Arthur Curry would have had in Thor's gaze. Instead, there was compassion and an expression much like Mera's there. And it was that expression that finally got Kaldur to nod his agreement.

"Forgive me," he said, as much to Thor as to the drowned gods. "I let my frustrations overcome what I know."

Thor shook his head, though he didn't take his hand off of Kaldur's shoulder. Instead, he steered Kaldur toward the door — not that Kaldur tried to dislodge his grip or redirect them. "There is nothing to apologize for," Thor said. "It is no easy thing to have your honor and your soul removed forcibly and to find yourself at the start of a lifelong journey like a newborn babe."

"How did you fare?" Kaldur asked, genuinely curious.

"I was not nearly so restrained as you were," Thor admitted "I was furious—"

"—rightly so," Kaldur said with a smirk.

Thor chuckled under his breath at that. "Perhaps my anger was justified, but my actions were not. I've since made amends to those that saw the consequences of my decision to lash out rather than to act with honor."

Kaldur nodded thoughtfully as they headed down the hall toward the hangar. "And now, you are an ally of SHIELD's."

"Yes," Thor said calmly. "They have proven themselves in the past year to be more honorable than you would expect."

"I think I will reserve judgement for myself. What I have seen thus far has not given me that impression."

Thor chuckled at that. "I cannot blame you," he agreed.

By that time, the two of them had arrived at the hangar, where most of the others had already gathered. Wade Wilson and his incessant ramblings were thankfully absent, though there were a few other notable absences.

Kaldur glanced around the transport. "We must be nearly done," he said, not commenting further on the matter, though he had a sneaking suspicion that the absences meant that more of the so-called Tahiti operatives were going off to fight.

And despite everything for which he railed against SHIELD, he found himself jealous of those that had been assigned to missions. He had promised he would fight for Marvel's liberation, after all — he had not agreed to be a trained pack mule. The least SHIELD could do after robbing him of his soul would be to give him purpose.

"This is the last run," the pilot, a pretty blonde named Carol, assured Kaldur with a winning smile. "So keep in mind — if things get hairy, call me first. I'll get you out."

"Are we expecting a fight?" Thor asked. He didn't keep his interest as contained as Kaldur did — but then, Kaldur had seen from the way others interacted with Thor that he was well-known for his willingness to take on any battle.

Carol nodded. "Probably. The chatter is that we're expecting to spring the revolution any day now. You two are on the crew to move the stuff that they had to leave until the last second. Kids still in the Genesis tubes, that kind of thing."

Kaldur frowned at that. So they would be returning to retrieve more of the Capitol's half-made people. He was not so sure he was the one they wanted for this task.

But he kept his comments to himself for the time being. Carol was another Tahiti operative and did not deserve his ire; he would save it for those who ran this program.

The flight back to the Capitol was almost companionably quiet, then, as each of the three Tahiti operatives steeled themselves in their own ways for the mission ahead. Kaldur in particular had made up his mind that he would take the opportunity handed to him to destroy the equipment rather than move it — and he was sure that Thor would support his decision.

Obviously, they would save any lives of those inside the equipment. Kaldur knew from experience that those in the program had not chosen their new station, and it would not be right to steal their chance to reclaim their honor before they could be awakened. As Thor had pointed out to him, they had work to do to undo the stain on their souls that SHIELD had so callously given them.

Of course, Kaldur said none of this aloud, not when SHIELD had its eyes on them at all times. The transport would be lined with microphones and cameras.

 _It's no different from what they did when we were tributes, no matter what they say to claim they are more enlightened._

When the transport arrived in the Capitol, Kaldur went with Thor to the science wing, where those who understood the equipment were trying to direct its removal to their specifications so that nothing was lost.

Thor and Kaldur shared looks at the repeated instructions — they had heard them the first time — before they focused instead on moving the equipment. The tributes still "in progress" would be moved last of all, and it was not something that Kaldur looked forward to.

Kaldur didn't sabotage any of the equipment on the first trip, because it was dedicated to monitoring life signs. But on the return trip, he did at last speak his mind to his partner, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop Thor in his tracks so they could speak.

"If we do as they ask, they will be able to steal more souls," Kaldur said.

"What do you propose?" Thor asked, one eyebrow raised, though the slight smirk at the corner of his expression told Kaldur that Thor had already guessed at his plan.

"Perhaps not all of the equipment will make it in working order," Kaldur said.

Thor grinned as he nodded. "Yes. There are so many instructions to keep straight, and we are not scientists, after all."

Kaldur had to laugh at that. "I will not hide my actions if they ask, but if you would prefer to remain anonymous in order to continue to operate with SHIELD's trust…"

"You take such pride in fighting them with every step," Thor laughed.

"Of course," Kaldur said, grinning outright despite himself. It was impossible not to be in a good mood when Thor was laughing; his mood was infectious. "I take pride in doing what I believe in."

"And doing it well," Thor chuckled.

Kaldur smirked as he gestured for Thor to lead the way back down the hall — though their good mood completely evaporated when, a moment later, there was an echoing explosion, and the power went out, with red lights clicking on in the event of an emergency and flooding the place with a glow like blood in the water.

"That cannot be good," Thor breathed out, and Kaldur simply nodded his agreement, unwilling to waste his breath on stating the obvious when the fight they both wanted was clearly upon them.

His first thought was to move back the way they had come, to help anyone who might have been injured in the blast. Whatever disdain Kaldur held for the work being done, he knew that the scientists chosen by SHIELD did not look entirely capable of defending themselves — if at all. And many of them were still young or had been tributes themselves; who knows what circumstances led to their own enslavement in SHIELD?

But Thor had been in SHIELD longer and had different instincts by then — and his first thought was to go to his comm to call for Carol, his brow furrowing in concern when there was no answer.

"They are likely blocking our communications," Thor said. "But I still fear for Carol's safety."

Both of them paused as they considered this new dilemma. There was no shortage of battles to fight; that much was clear. But if they went back for their pilot, who knew how to fight, what of the scientists who didn't?

Another echoing explosion made their decision for them when it knocked both of them to the ground. Thor was to his feet first — the advantage of a year getting used to his new body showing in the moment — and offered Kaldur a hand up before they turned in the direction of the explosion without a word spoken between them. They didn't need to speak, not when they both knew where to find the war.

The explosion had come from the direction of the hangar, so neither of them was entirely surprised to find the hangar doors had been blasted open — though they were surprised at the nature of the enemy. Rather than the white armor of the Sentinels or the yellow armor of the elite Nova Corps, these adversaries wore deep green, with patches sporting the image of the hydra of legend.

The transport Kaldur and Thor had been loading up was surrounded by these green-clad soldiers as they looted the equipment like pirates. And given what Kaldur knew that equipment was used for, he knew that these unknown soldiers _could not_ get their hands on it.

He reached automatically for the sword SHIELD had given him — in case of emergency — and drew it with an echoing sort of sound in the hangar. Thor had a battle hammer in his hand just as quickly, and with twin cries, they rushed forward to engage the green interlopers.

The first man to raise his weapon against Kaldur quickly learned his error as, with one swift movement, Kaldur plunged his blade into the man's side, under his arm, with an expert thrust that felled him quickly.

But for as practiced as his hand was, Kaldur found that he had to think through every motion. He had to consider his stance, his placement, his aim — as if he were learning how to hold a sword for the first time, watching his king demonstrate techniques for the eager warriors of Atlantis. Mera had wanted him to learn, even if his heart had always been in the waves, and those lessons now played across his mind's eye as he drew from them in a desperate attempt to survive the fight.

Without muscle memory to aid him, Kaldur found that he could not manage the fight quite as well as he would have liked, and he did not bother to hide his relief when Thor arrived to fell a soldier leveling his weapon at Kaldur while Kaldur was still tangled with another of the soldiers.

"Thank you," Kaldur said, panting to get his breath back. "SHIELD must be short-sighted to bring us back without all that we have trained in our muscles and memories."

"You should tell them as much when the battle is through," Thor said with a smile that had Kaldur chuckling as he followed Thor back into the fray, this time staying much closer to his ally so that he could not be overwhelmed and could access the backup he knew he needed.

When they were much closer to the transport, though, both of them paused when they heard what was unmistakably Carol's voice, laced with pain and labored breathing, though they couldn't hear the words just yet.

With only a shared glance, the two young men set to work, with Thor breaking into the cockpit to find the mortally wounded Carol on her hands and knees, looking like she had only just freed herself from her own seat belt. Her shirt was stained red, and her face was pale, but when she looked up at Kaldur and Thor, her gaze was determined.

"I heard their orders," she gasped, then closed her eyes in an obvious attempt to regain control of her own reactions.

Seeing her intense pain, there was no reaction Kaldur could justify for himself except to go to her side. He took her hand in his and frowned when she pushed him back with the flat of her palm and shook her head, her eyes closed.

"They're looking for the kids," she said, every word a struggle through her teeth. "Anyone in Tahiti, especially if they're not awake… easy pickings…" Her head started to droop, and this time, she didn't push Kaldur's hand back as he rested it on her shoulder. "You guys get clear," she said in a whisper. "I've got some energy grenades… least I can do is take as many of them with me… as I can."

Kaldur opened his mouth to argue but found that he couldn't form the words to do so. After all, he would do the same thing. It was an honorable death — one that would ensure her allies had fewer enemies to deal with in addition to punishing their attackers for their cowardice in attacking a woman sitting in a cockpit.

He glanced over to Thor and saw the same understanding reflected in Thor's expression. So, at last, Kaldur stepped back and bowed his head to Carol. "Go with the tides."

Carol gritted out a smirk his way. "I'll go in a ball of flames, but I appreciate the sentiment."

Kaldur almost laughed at her estimation of the situation before Thor put a hand on her shoulder. "We shall meet again," he said simply, and it was a mark of the fact that Carol had worked with Thor for as long as she had that she gave him no flippant response other than to rest her cheek against his hand for as long as he left it there.

It felt like an eternity and yet no time at all before Kaldur and Thor rushed out of the hangar, headed back toward the wing where tributes would wake up to their new lives.

They had hardly made it to the hallway before one more explosion rocked the area. Even though they had been expecting it, the explosion was enough to throw both Kaldur and Thor to the floor, their ears ringing.

As his hearing came back, slowly, Kaldur could hear the sounds of the struggle around them as if they were filtered down through the depths of water around him, and he closed his eyes for a moment. He missed the sea desperately, with every breath that he took, and it was a mark of how badly he craved that feeling of the waves against his skin when that sort of muffled sound could grip his heart that way.

He looked up to see the hand that Thor held out to help him to his feet and took it, taking in the expression on Thor's face as well. Thor had been in the Tahiti program longer than Kaldur had — long enough to make friends, long enough to grow close to the others. He said nothing, but the loss was clear in Thor's features.

Kaldur hardly thought about it before he reached out to clasp Thor's arm, in the same bracing gesture he had given Garth before he left for the Games. "We will not squander her death," he said. "There are other lives to be spared."

Thor raised his gaze to meet Kaldur's and then nodded once before the two of them turned once more back toward the battle, toward the new enemy that had so little honor that they would seek out unconscious children.

But these new monster were not prepared, Kaldur knew, for the fury of an Odinson in the depths of grief for a lost friend — nor were they prepared for an Atlantean who had too long been denied the chance to do anything but menial labor.

These would be the first to fall in what Kaldur knew would be a much larger war to come.


	126. Chapter 125: Wake-up Call

**(A/N): Happy Friday! We're back pretty much right where we left off, this time with BstnStrng13's amazing John Constantine!**

 **Thanks to our writers who reviewed as well as to SlimSummers2002. Things really are getting moving!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Five - Wake-Up Call**

 **Deep Below The Triskellion**

 **John Constantine, Formerly of District Twelve**

 **Written By BstnStrng13**

* * *

" _So much to do, there's plenty on the farm,_

 _I'll sleep when I'm dead._

 _Saturday night, I like to raise a little harm,_

 _I'll sleep when I'm dead."- Warren Zevon_

* * *

John Constantine opened his eyes and the light hit his brain like a wall of white pain — sharp and searing. He immediately closed them, but the fraction of a second they'd been open had been long enough to burn an image into his mind. It was of people fighting; dark, faceless silhouettes thrashing against each other in an unnatural, pulsing light.

And with the image came noise — so much noise. There were loud, staccato explosions and heavy thumps. There was the sound of glass smashing and the shouts of the silhouettes as they moved in their violent dance. He couldn't make out specific words, but they seemed urgent, almost frantic. It was chaos. He was surrounded by chaos, and it was creating chaos in his head. He couldn't think, and he couldn't move.

This had to be hell.

John knew that he was dead, although he wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd quietly bled out in the arena of the Avenger Games. It might have been days or it might have been years. He recalled that the process of dying itself had been peaceful. He had lain on the ground as the life flowed out of him and the darkness closed in. He hadn't been afraid of the dark — he'd been a miner, after all. Dark was familiar and safe, and there were far worse ways to spend eternity. But apparently, that wasn't going to be how he spent _his_ eternity.

It seemed he was going to pay for his sins by being trapped in the middle of a loud, harshly lit battle. If this was his punishment, he couldn't help but wonder what the other tributes were receiving. Because he remembered that there had been a few of them in the Games whose actions made him look like a saint.

"John Constantine."

The voice was low — so low John thought he might have imagined it. He lay still and waited. There really wasn't anything else he could do.

"John Constantine."

The voice was not disembodied. John's name was being called from a location somewhere in the vicinity of his left ear. He was surprised at how youthful the speaker sounded. Devil or god, he'd always figured that the head of the afterlife would be loud and sonorous — kind of like Thanos. But maybe this quiet speech was more effective when trying to be heard in the middle of combat.

He kept his eyes closed. He wasn't sure he was ready to face…whoever was there.

" _John Constantine,"_ the voice repeated again. It sounded more urgent this time, and something began shaking his shoulder — gently at first, but then pretty damn hard.

He cracked his eyes open and winced once more at the blinding light. He was lying on his back on some kind of bed, and there was a figure bending over him, his hand on John's shoulder. John's vision was blurry — mostly colors and shapes — but he could see enough to realize that the image of the battle was not something he had invented. It was happening right behind the figure. Three people in green uniforms were attacking a tall, powerfully-built youth who was doing his best to beat them back with a hammer — a very big hammer.

The figure shook John's shoulder again. "I realize this is disorienting, but you must rise, John. Now."

There was something about the figure that seemed familiar. John decided the profile looked very much like that of Kaldur Ahm.

 _Kaldur Ahm?_

He squinted, striving for better focus. His brain was fuzzy, but it was working well enough to recall that Kaldur had died in the Games when Diana had carried him into the water. She'd done it as a kindness; to give him relief from his wounds and allow him to join his drowned kings — or whatever happened to Fours in their next world. It seemed strange to John that he and Kaldur would end up in the same afterlife. Their beliefs were very different. Still…the harder he stared, the more the figure looked like Kaldur.

So… maybe this _wasn't_ the afterlife?

He tried his voice. "Kaldur?"

"Aye, John."

"Where am I?"

There was a loud crash as the guy with the hammer threw one of his green-uniformed attackers against the wall.

Kaldur reached down and picked up a sword. "I know you have many questions, and I swear I will explain all to you shortly, but for now, John, can you _please_ rise? As you can see, we are a bit…occupied." As if to emphasize his point, one of the green-clad soldiers rushed at them, and Kaldur spun to face him. The soldier swung a baton at Kaldur's head, but Kaldur dodged it and thrust his sword under the man's arm and into his torso. The man dropped to the floor.

John slid off the bed and onto his feet. The room spun for a few seconds and then steadied. He looked down at the body on the floor. "Can I at least ask who the good guys are in this fight?"

Kaldur gestured with his sword, now coated with blood. "The people in green uniforms are calling themselves Hydra," he said shortly. "They mean to steal children — innocents — some before they even awaken. We have stopped many of them, and already they have slain an ally of ours; yet they still swear to make us subject to a slavery as evil as anything we experienced in the Games." He narrowed his eyes. "This is the fate that awaits any children they steal, and we _will_ stop them."

Well, there wasn't anything ambiguous about that. John believed every kid in Marvel had the right to grow up free. And he knew enough about Fours and honor to take Kaldur at his word. He tried an experimental step and managed to stay upright. "How can I help?" After a short pause, he added, "Assuming I'm not as dead as I thought I was."

Kaldur pointed to another bed. "Caitlin Snow is over there. She's alive, and so are you, John. Awaken her and ready her to walk out of here. We will try to hold off Hydra." And without explaining further, he turned and joined the hammer-wielding youth in the fight.

John walked over to the bed. Caitlin appeared semi-conscious. Her eyes were closed, but she was moaning softly and making small movements with her hands and head. He bent over her, just as Kaldur had bent over him.

"Caitlin?"

Her eyelids fluttered open. She gave a short cry and closed them again. "The light — it hurts!"

"I know," John replied, trying to make his voice soothing in the middle of the cacophony. "I've just been through it myself. You need to keep your eyes open, though, to get them used to the light — then it will hurt less. And you need to get up."

Her brow furrowed, and she made no attempt to rise. "Cisco, is that you? Why is it so loud?"

John leaned closer to her. "No, it's John — John Constantine. From District Twelve. We've got to move, Caitlin."

Her eyes opened again and managed to remain open this time. She stared at him and then frowned. "Cisco, I forgot to do the lab work for Professor Stein's class. Did you and Barry do it?"

 _Oh crap, she's_ really _out of it._ John didn't know who Barry was, but Cisco Ramon had been her district partner in the Games. He had been killed on the first day. She seemed to have no recollection of that.

He grasped her forearm and squeezed. "Caitlin—"

There was a sharp blast that sounded very much like gunfire. John turned just in time to see Kaldur use his sword to knock a pistol out of one of the Hydra soldier's hands. The pistol skidded across the floor, coming to rest not far from where John was standing. He scrambled to retrieve it, the motion feeling awkward and unfamiliar. Then, he returned to Caitlin.

He put one arm under her shoulders and lifted her into a seated position. She swayed a bit but managed to stay upright. "I feel funny," she murmured.

"I know," John said. "Try to stand anyway." He looked over at Kaldur and saw that another two Hydra soldiers had joined the attack against him and Hammer-Guy. It was four against two, with Hydra holding the advantage. John raised the pistol and pointed it toward the fighters…and then lowered it. He'd never trained with guns, and coming back to life was making his hand especially unsteady. He knew he was just as likely to hit Kaldur or his ally as he was Hydra.

He searched for something he could use in hand-to-hand combat and settled on a metal stand that was holding a bag of intravenous fluid. He ripped the bag off the stand and held it as if it were a bo staff. It wasn't terribly heavy, but it was long, and he figured he could get momentum with it. Then, he ran over to the skirmish.

Without pausing, he swung the stand as hard as he could at the head of one of the soldiers. The soldier was focused on Kaldur and didn't see the blow coming, so the base of the stand connected solidly with the side of his head, causing him to stagger backward and drop to his knees. Kaldur raised his sword and stepped in quickly to finish the soldier off. Now it was three against three — if you counted John as a fighter.

With the numbers more even, they were able to subdue Hydra relatively quickly. In the end, three of the soldiers lay dead, and the fourth ran when he saw that the odds were no longer in his favor. John dropped the IV stand and bent forward to catch his breath. His legs felt wobbly.

"John?" Kaldur's voice sounded concerned.

He straightened. "I'm okay. Just very tired. Is it safe?" The alarms were still ringing.

Kaldur walked to the door and looked down the hallway. "For the moment," he replied, returning to John and Hammer-Guy, "although we should not remain long here. I am certain Hydra has not been vanquished entirely." He gestured toward his powerfully-built ally. "John, this is Thor — Thor Odinson. He is also from Four."

John reached out and shook the hand that Thor offered. Both the name and the face were familiar. "You died in last year's Games," he said.

Thor nodded. "Aye."

John frowned, trying to put the pieces together. Three tributes who had perished in the Games were now alive and talking with each other? "So someone is — what? Raising tributes from the dead?" he asked incredulously. "How? And who?"

Kaldur shook his head. "I do not know the foul sciences that they used," he said quietly. "But I can tell you who is responsible for our awakening: SHIELD has brought us back in a program they are calling Tahiti."

John narrowed his eyes and felt the bile rising in his throat. "SHIELD? Why? It wasn't enough to torture and kill us once in the Games? SHIELD wants to bring us back and do it a second time?"

Kaldur's eyes flashed for a moment as he nodded. "Yes, they wish to use us again," he said angrily, before a glance from Thor had him trying to temper his response. "Their aims... I agree with their aims, at the least. They mean to remove Thanos permanently from power, and we have been brought back as warriors in their revolution."

To John's hazy brain, that didn't make sense. SHIELD staged the Games every year specifically for the President's pleasure. He shook his head. "I have a hard time believing that," he said bitterly. "SHIELD has always been at Thanos' beck and call. And, anyway, the only way to _permanently_ remove Thanos would be to kill him. He's not going to step down." He caught Kaldur's expression as the diver looked once more at Thor. "Wait a minute — you're saying that's what SHIELD wants to do? Assassinate Thanos?"

Thor nodded. "Among other endeavors."

It sounded too good to be true. But Kaldur seemed convinced — and he had never struck John as gullible. "And what does SHIELD want to replace Thanos with?" he asked suspiciously. "Do they already have another sadistic dictator picked out?"

Kaldur seemed to draw himself up tighter. "They will replace him with no one. Fury _claims_ that he means for the districts to govern themselves and choose their own path, and I intend to hold him to his word." He narrowed his eyes. "And if he or SHIELD attempts to take the throne, they will not use us to do it. We will not stand for it, and they will fall as soon as they stretch out their hands to take power."

Thor put a hand on Kaldur's shoulder. "I have been with SHIELD for a year, and there is honor to be found in many of its agents," he said. "If there is corruption, we will root it out — but I believe their aim to be true."

John was dumbfounded. "Well, bloody hell," he said. "I'm all for freedom for the districts. I never in a million years would have thought that's what SHIELD wants also. And if they go back on their word, then I'll fight beside you to make them keep it." He shook his head. "Bloody hell," he repeated, "I may need to sit down after that news."

Kaldur placed his hand on John's arm. "Unfortunately, we do not have time for you to rest. We need to secure the safety of the children." When John grimaced, Kaldur added, "I'm sorry. The process of returning to life is not an easy one, and your awakening has been more abrupt than many."

John ran his hand through his hair. It was as thick and unruly as ever. "I just feel strange," he explained. "My body doesn't seem to know how to do things the way it used to. I have to make every action, even walking, a deliberate effort." He thought about the sleight of hand skills he had honed after years of practice and guessed that they were gone. It was going to take a lot of work to be able to make things disappear once more.

Thor looked at him sympathetically. "Your body feels unfamiliar because it is not yours — not your original one. You were given a new one as part of the revival process."

John looked down at himself. "Really?"

"Yes," Kaldur said. He sounded angry. "Our bodies — our true bodies — were returned to our districts for our funerals. They tore our souls and memories out of those bodies and trapped them in these…." He gestured at himself. "…foreign vessels. We are another hybrid creation of the Capitol. A mutt."

John didn't know how to respond. He couldn't help thinking that being alive and discussing his new body with Kaldur and Thor was kind of miraculous. And while he believed in souls as much as Kaldur, he wasn't certain that they had to remain with their original container. However, it was clear Kaldur deemed what had been done to him to be an abomination. "I'm sorry," he said.

Kaldur said nothing.

John looked down at his new body once more. It appeared very much like his old one — minus the scars from the Games — a little too thin; wiry but not powerful. It was not a body that would inspire fear in his enemies.

"So, let me get this straight," he said. "SHIELD somehow extracted our memories and souls from our deceased bodies and placed them into new ones that they…grew?"

Kaldur and Thor nodded.

John shook his head. "I never did understand SHIELD. If they were going to bring me back to fight in their revolution, then you'd think they could have at least given me a body like yours." He pointed at Thor, whose bicep appeared to be the size of John's leg. "Then I could _really_ be a warrior."

The Fours looked at each other and chuckled weakly. John was pleased to see some of the tension leave Kaldur's face.

Another thought occurred to him. "Why _did_ they bring me back?" he asked. "I mean, me, specifically. I didn't — _don't_ — have any particular skills for fighting. There are more capable tributes that died in the Games. "

Kaldur shrugged. "We do not know the reasons for SHIELD's choices, nor everyone they revived or may revive yet. However, I do believe a revolution requires more than combat skills. It requires stealth and intelligence and resourcefulness. You were one of five tributes still standing in the Games, John. You are resourceful — believe that."

Thor glanced at Kaldur and grinned. It made him look surprisingly boyish. "I consider John brave also. Any man who would tell Diana Prince that he loves her must have no small measure of courage."

Kaldur grinned back at Thor. "Aye," he said. "We have not seen much of the Games, but when we saw you on the Capitol's broadcasts as we moved equipment, both Thor and I felt you had earned a warrior's rest for your strength."

John groaned. "They showed that," he said weakly.

Thor nodded, his grin growing broader. "Of course they did. It made for wonderful entertainment. Not as heartwarming as the romance between Seven and Twelve, perhaps, but more surprising."

"And Di?" John asked weakly. "How is she? Is she—" He stopped, unable to say the words _still_ _alive_. It had been the first question on his mind when Kaldur had shaken him awake — but also the question he'd most feared to ask.

Kaldur glanced at Thor and shook his head. "I am afraid we are not fully informed about the remaining four tributes in the Games," he replied. "SHIELD had us occupied moving Tahiti to new headquarters, and then this attack from Hydra caught everyone unaware." He studied John's face, and his expression softened. "She is as strong a warrior as I have ever seen, John. I feel certain we shall meet her again."

There was the sound of an explosion not far away, reminding John that they were not safe themselves. "So, I take it Hydra isn't on board with SHIELD's plan. Do we know what they want?" He pointed at the green-clad bodies on the floor.

Kaldur shook his head. "We do not know their entire strategy, but we know it includes taking tributes — _children_ — in the Tahiti program." he said shortly. "That includes ones who are in the process of being returned to life. And we know that they are killing those they are unable to steal."

 _That could have been me_ , John thought, _if Kaldur and Thor hadn't come along_. _I could have been dead a second time; or else a slave to Hydra._

"The irony is," Kaldur added, "we had already begun to transfer the Tahiti program from this location to a new facility. The tributes are the last to be moved. If Hydra had not attacked for a few more days or even hours, then they would have come here and found nothing. As it is, many of the tributes are still in an unconscious state to be moved."

"So we need to get Caitlin on her feet and get out of here," John said.

"Yes," Thor confirmed. "And it appears she needs more help." He pointed to the bed.

Caitlin had gone from the seated position John had left her in back to lying down. Her eyes were closed.

The three of them walked to the bed, and John shook Caitlin gently by the shoulder. "Caitlin," he said sharply, "I know you're tired and don't feel well, but you need to get up. It's not safe here."

There was no response. Not even a quiver of her eyelids.

John looked at Kaldur and Thor. He shook Caitlin's shoulder more firmly. "Caitlin—"

Nothing.

Kaldur leaned forward and placed two fingers at the pulse-point in Caitlin's neck. After a few seconds, he shook his head. "She's gone," he said quietly.

"What?" John asked. "She can't be."

Thor looked down at Caitlin. "The process is a harsh one," he said quietly. "Not every tribute survives coming back." His sorrow was evident in his words.

John looked at the girl lying on the bed. It seemed so unfair to get this close to having life again, only to lose it once more. Still, she looked serene. And who was to say this new life in SHIELD's army was going to be any kinder than life in the Games?

He noticed that the sounds of gunfire were coming less frequently. He hoped that meant that Hydra was beating a retreat.

"We must do what we can to return her soul to its resting place," Kaldur said.

John and Thor nodded They straightened Caitlin's body on the bed, crossing her arms over her chest. Then, they neatly pulled a blanket up and folded it over.

"May you find peace, our sister in battle," Kaldur said softly. "Your fight is over before it could begin. May you be reunited with your cherished ones and forever rest in the comfort of their love."

They were the perfect words. Under his breath, John softly murmured, "Amen."

* * *

The SHIELD facility was a labyrinth of underground hallways that led to rooms in unexpected places and dead-ended in others, which John found oddly comforting. He realized, as Thor led them under the Capitol, that his body might feel foreign, but his miner's instincts had come back largely intact. Walking in a maze of tunnels was as natural as breathing, and he made a game of memorizing turns and stairwells, forming a picture of the facility in his mind. The exercise was probably pointless, since Kaldur had told him that this SHIELD location was being abandoned, but it kept him from lingering too long on the strange fact that he had once been dead — and was now back among the living.

That he had awoken to the Fours was a stroke of luck. He didn't know who SHIELD might have on their revival list, but the thought of opening his eyes to someone like Dent or Crane was terrifying. He and Kaldur may have been raised differently, but he could tell that they shared many of the same values: freedom from tyranny, respect for others, a desire for fairness and honor. And in the short conversation they'd had together, John had a sense that Thor held similar beliefs.

He just hoped that he could keep up with the two of them. Every step he took was a monumental effort, and he badly wanted to lie down. The SHIELD hallways seemed to go on forever.

"The large transport will have been destroyed," Thor was explaining as they made yet another turn, "but there may still be some smaller transports that can deliver us to the new base. If we can travel there, John, you can take a well-deserved rest."

John nodded and crossed his fingers for a smaller transport to appear shortly. Instead, they rounded a corner to find a boy and a girl sitting in the hallway with distraught expressions on their faces. It looked like the boy was trying to comfort the girl, who was quietly crying.

"Banner?" Thor asked the boy, who looked a year or two older than John.

The young man looked up. He was wearing a lab coat that may have once been white but now was covered with grey dust. His dark, curly hair was similarly coated, and there were smears of blood on his cheek and sleeve. "Thor," he said tiredly. "They got Tony."

Thor frowned. "Stark?"

"Yes," the boy said impatiently, "Stark. Hydra got him."

Thor turned to Kaldur and John. "This is Bruce Banner. He also competed in last year's Games."

John nodded. _District Six_ , he remembered.

"What happened?" Thor asked Bruce.

Banner shook his head. "There were too many of them — Hydra. They stormed the place, and Tony and I fought back, but we got separated when Hydra went for Cassie." He gestured at the girl sitting next to him. John guessed that she couldn't be more than fourteen or fifteen. "Tony was able to divert Hydra so that Cassie could make a run for it, but then Hydra knocked him out and grabbed him." He stared grimly at the floor, then suddenly slammed his fist down on it. "And I couldn't get to him in time to stop it."

Cassie placed her hand over Bruce's. "There were at least six of them," she said gently, obviously trying to be positive despite the tears in her eyes. "You did everything you could."

His expression remained angry. "Which clearly wasn't enough."

Thor crouched down. "Are you wounded?" he asked Bruce, studying the blood on the young man's face and sleeve.

Bruce shook his head. "A few cuts and gashes. I'll live."

Thor nodded and glanced at the debris surrounding them. "I regret having to ask this, but did Hydra get anything else? Any equipment? Any other tributes?"

Bruce shook his head once more. "No. Cassie and I managed to get Raven Roth out of one of the tubes, and then we blew up the Tahiti equipment with some explosives Tony made. Raven is over there." He pointed to a body lying on the floor, wrapped from chin to toe in blankets. John saw that it was indeed Raven and felt a spark of warmth in his heart. He recalled the good friend she'd been to Thea during the Games and the twinkle of mischief in her eyes when she teased him as he'd sharpened his axe. He was happy she was one of the revived tributes, although at the moment, she didn't appear terribly _revived_. She lay very still, and her eyes were closed.

"Is she—" Kaldur began.

"She's okay," Bruce said. "Breathing is good, and her vitals are normal. I think she'll wake up just fine."

Thor gestured toward John. "John has just come back also. He was well enough to join Kaldur and I in combat against Hydra's soldiers." His brow furrowed. "Although he appears to be on the verge of collapse now."

Bruce looked bleakly up at John. "The improvements we've been making to the process must be working if you were able to fight shortly after regaining consciousness," he said dully. It was clear his mind was still on Stark.

"Then it is just as well you were able to destroy the equipment before Hydra could lay hands on it," Kaldur said. "I fear seeing such technology within their grasp."

Bruce exhaled heavily. "I suppose it's good we blew it up. Unfortunately, Tony has a lot of knowledge about the process in his head — and Hydra managed to get _him_."

No one said anything. It was clear Bruce was beating himself up over the loss of Stark, and agreeing with him was only going to make him feel worse.

John's legs, already tired, began trembling. "Should we find a transport?" he asked abruptly. He was tempted to join Bruce and Cassie on the floor — but he was afraid that if he sat he wouldn't be able to get up again.

Kaldur nodded. "Aye. We must leave this place. Let us all go together."

* * *

It took another fifteen minutes wandering under the Capitol to find a transport. John concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and occasionally risked a glance at Raven — being carried easily by Thor — to assure himself she was still breathing. He didn't think he could bear to see her fade away like Caitlin.

As Thor had predicted, the transport was small. So small that the pilot insisted it could carry only three passengers.

There was little debate or discussion. Raven was still unconscious, and everyone knew that Bruce was the person who could best help her with any complications in her awakening. Thor placed Raven gently into the transport, and Bruce and Cassie climbed in after her.

"Safe journey," Kaldur said to them. "We shall join you at the new base."

Bruce frowned. "I don't like leaving you here." He glanced at John. "Especially with a tribute who's just woken up."

Thor shrugged. "We will find a way." He turned to Kaldur and John. "Will we not?" he asked briskly.

John nodded. He was exhausted, but Thor and Kaldur gave him confidence.

"We will," he agreed.


	127. Chapter 126: Who Do You Want Me to Kill?

**(A/N): Happy Tuesday! We're back with another peek into how the revolution is going, this time with some tributes trapped with Hydra!**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed the last chapter, and thanks to Slim Summers2002 for sticking with us!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Six - Who Do You Want Me to Kill?**

 **Jason Todd, formerly of District Six**

 **Written by Savy160**

* * *

 _"The only guarantee we have in life is that nothing good lasts forever… We mourn and move on"_ — _Jason Todd in_ Red Hood and the Outlaws

 _"We all make choices, but in the end, our choices make us"_ — _Andrew Ryan from_ Bioshock

* * *

 _"The thing is: we're all capable of murder, Bird Brain. Even you. Some of us are just too afraid. The ones who aren't have the power to control life itself. This is how you separate the strong from the weak, and I'm going to show you exactly how that works."_

 _The rope biting into his flesh._

 _"Jack, stop! Please! You're killing him!"_

 _The sickening sound of bones shattering._

 _"Well, that's not a tattoo at all. It's a brand. You know, where I come from, that's the mark of a slave. Who owns you?"_

 _Blood everywhere._ _The cackle. The unending pain. The humiliation. Death._

Jason's eyes flew open, ending the nightmare, only to bring him back to the reality of Hell. He shivered violently as he felt the beads of sweat sliding down his naked body and splattering against the silk sheets beneath him. Pushing himself up by his elbows, he looked over to where Talia slept soundly. Her bare back was turned to him. Jason's eyes lingered on her tanned complexion as the feeling of shame slowly replaced the feeling of fear.

Hell, he was sixteen, and she was old enough to be his mother. Not that it'd mattered at the time. She'd promised to have her father's personal physician tend to Tim, who'd been hurt by that burnt bastard. That was all that mattered. Keeping the two of them alive. Jason didn't care if he had to lie, steal, kill, or even sleep with someone if it meant keeping the two of them alive.

Jason slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed and immediately began searching for his clothes lying on the oriental rug. He quickly pulled his jeans on before roughly pulling the shirt over his head. Even his clothes smelled like her. Or maybe it was all the incense she had burning in here. It was seriously like a fire hazard.

"What is it with me and older women?" Jason huffed before reaching for his socks and boots.

"I heard no complaints from you last night, beloved," Talia said, turning to face him before patting the empty space in the bed.

It took every bit of Jason's self-control not to cringe. "Yeah. It was… great. I was just wanting to check on my brother… I just have to make sure he's okay."

Jason finally looked up to see Talia watching him with absolutely no emotion. Her dark eyes practically bored into his soul. She sighed. "Jason, you don't need to worry about Timothy. My father and I are going to make sure he receives the proper care he needs. As of now, you both belong to Hydra. You need to remember where your loyalty should lie. I can assure you he's fine. You need to only worry about your own affairs."

"Right… Bye," Jason replied before quickly leaving her room.

Maybe running out on her like that wasn't his smartest move. Running out of a door only to bump straight into an armed guard wasn't his best move either.

"Red Skull has been looking for you," the guard stated, shifting his weapon in his hands.

"What a coincidence. I was trying to avoid him," Jason replied.

The man gestured down the hallway with his weapon. "Start walking."

Jason groaned as he was marched down the hallway. _Damn_. His lower back practically began throbbing from what was about to happen. _Red Skull was pissed about not being able brand his signature on my skin last night. He's going to be even harder to deal with now._

Sure enough, the red-skinned demon was drinking his anger away. Jason swallowed the lump in his throat as he was prodded towards the desk. If looks could kill, Jason would be dead from the piercing glare of the skeleton before him.

Schmidt pushed back from his metal chair and slid a file across the metal desk. He then took a large swallow from his glass of brandy. Jason kept his focus on the branding iron resting in the coals of the fire behind the monster.

Schmidt followed Jason's gaze and quietly stoked the fire. "Obadiah Stane, one of the victors from Three, is your assignment."

"What do you want me to do with him?" Jason asked with uncertainty.

"He has technology that has the power to alter everything. But he refuses to make a deal and to join us. Therefore, he's no longer useful to Hydra. You will infiltrate his home, retrieve the technology I require, and eliminate the traitor."

"You want me to kill him?" Jason asked as he picked up the file.

"That is the very definition of elimination, boy. And I want it done quietly. No explosions, no gunfire, no alarms going off. You're a ghost. You will not do anything you would normally do back in the district. I cannot have this reflected on Hydra. Do you understand me?"

"Yeah. How do I find the tech?"

Red Skull slid a flash drive across the desk. He then instructed Jason to plug it into his mainframe before giving him instructions on how to download the files. Jason nodded as a small black pill also slid across the desk.

"What's this?"

"If for some reason you decide to fail me again and are caught, that simple solution causes death in seconds — and it will leave you completely unrecognizable."

"How am I going to get them to swallow it?"

Schmidt was clearly not amused as he pushed back his chair and set his empty glass down. "I will finish the debriefing at dusk. You will arrive in the Capitol around eleven. You have until dawn to finish the objective."

Red Skull ended the conversation as he signaled for two of his guards lurking around the corner. Jason grit his teeth together as he was slammed down onto the cold metal desk. Shards of glass from the broken bottle of brandy sank into his arm. Schmidt pulled a silk handkerchief from his coat pocket and balled it up.

Holding it in front of the boy's mouth, Red Skull ordered, "Open."

Jason glared at the man as the command was repeated in a sharper tone. Jason relented as the spawn of Satan placed it between his teeth and visibly tensed as Red Skull removed the iron from the fire. One of the guards yanked his shirt up slightly as Red Skull moved behind Jason.

Jason bit down hard on the fabric in his mouth as the scorching iron came into contact with his lower back. He could hear the sizzling as flesh melted to form the shape of a skull. Red Skull pulled back after several seconds. Jason spat the cloth out as a hand gently ran through his hair.

"Good boy," Red Skull praised before tightening his grip on his hair. "Get some rest. I need you in top shape in a few hours."

Jason was hauled to his feet and practically dragged back to his somewhat decent prison. The door locked behind him as he was shoved inside. Tim was soundly sleeping. Bandages covered his back. Jason stared at his baby brother for a few seconds before he moved into the bathroom. Softly shutting the door behind him, Jason turned the water on.

He sighed as he looked in the mirror. That damn scar on his cheek would always be there to remind him of his failure. Pulling his shirt off, Jason groaned at the claw marks Talia had so graciously left on his back. They were at least better than the hickey on his neck. Jason exhaled slowly as he retrieved a pair of tweezers and immediately went to work on pulling the shards of glass out of his arm.

His focus switched to the door as Tim slowly padded in. At the moment, Jason wasn't sure who looked worse. Tim took the tweezers from Jason and began removing the glass instead. A handful of bloodied shards gradually began piling up on the bathroom counter.

"You okay, Little Red?"

Tim nodded as his gaze landed on the mark on his brother's neck. Jason looked away and quickly retracted his arm before he moved over to the tub. Tim frowned at the brand on the lower portion of Jason's back.

"Thanks," Jason mumbled.

Tim nodded. "Jay, you okay?"

"Just peachy… Go on and get back in bed. You need to sleep… and put on a shirt before you die of pneumonia."

Jason peeled the rest of his clothes off as Tim left the bathroom. Easing down into the water, Jason bit down hard on his lip as the water lapped at his fresh brand. A few seconds later, Tim came back wearing a shirt and carrying fresh clothes. He set them down on the counter before turning to Jason.

"Who was it?" Tim asked.

"Who was what?"

"I'm not stupid, Jay. I know what those marks are."

Jason groaned before running a hand over his face. "Don't worry about it, Timmers. Everything's fine."

"Don't patronize me. I'm twelve, not two. What happened? Did they hurt you? Who was it? Ra's might be able to help—"

"Just drop it!"

Completely unfazed by Jason's outburst, Tim asked, "Did you at least find out where Artemis is?"

Jason froze. He could barely even swallow the lump in his throat. "Look Timbo, I got somethin' to tell you… Artemis is gone."

"Gone? What do you mean gone? Where did she go?"

"She's dead, Tim."

Jason could see the tears beginning to form. Tim quickly hurried out of the room. Jason climbed out of the tub and quickly pulled the fresh clothes on before stepping through the bedroom. Jason found Tim lying face down on the cot.

Dropping down beside Tim on the tiny cot, Jason laid his hand on Tim's shoulder, silent for a long time. "Look, I miss her and Bizarro too. But they're gone. They're not coming back. We gotta move on. There's nothing either of us can do. I promise I'm gonna get us outta here, okay?"

Tim didn't bother to respond, but Jason kept talking. "There's something else. I have to do something for Hydra tonight. So, I'll be back in the morning. It's nothing to worry about."

Tim finally peeked out before muttering, "I'm not asking you to do these things for me. You don't have to do this."

Completely ignoring what Tim had just said, Jason replied, "I'm gonna get us out of here."

Tim nodded before sitting up and wrapping his skinny arms around Jason's waist. Jason gently returned the hug.

"Just come back, alright?" Tim mumbled.

"You act like I died or something."

"You do realize you're not funny, right?"

* * *

An hour later, Red Skull was there to retrieve Jason. He gave his little brother a small smile before following the vile man. They ended up in the armory, where Jason quickly changed into his new Kevlar armor. He was given an array of throwing knives, daggers, smoke bonds, flash bangs, and a grappling hook.

"Pay attention," Schmidt said. "Your target is Obadiah Stane. He should be in his laboratory. There will be armed guards in the vicinity. Take them if they get in the way. Retrieve the information and eliminate the target. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

Jason was then given blueprints and a detailed layout. Once again, he was reminded not to get caught — or else. Twenty minutes later, Red Skull escorted Jason over to the hovercraft. He was also reminded not to fail again.

"Don't disappoint me again," Red Skull was sure to tell him before he left.

The doors slid shut behind him. Jason took a seat and immediately began organizing his thoughts. He could imagine Artemis sitting there, chastising for him for selling out. Then again, that's exactly what she had done in the end.

After what seemed like forever, the hovercraft slowly began descending. Jason looked out the window to see them in a clearing. The pilot soon appeared and gestured towards the bike that waited for them.

"You'll have to go on that from here," the pilot explained. "If you aren't back here at the time of extraction, we'll assume you've failed and will return without you. Understood?"

Jason nodded as he climbed on the motorcycle. He'd already memorized the route. Feeling the powerful machine roaring to life beneath him, Jason couldn't help but smile. It was his only perk for the night.

It took exactly forty-two minutes to reach his destination. It took an additional ten minutes just pick a lock, bypass the security codes, and finally slip inside undetected.

"Freeze!"

 _Oh shit. Already? It's been like two seconds. Red Skull is gonna be pissed if he finds out,_ Jason thought as he slowly turned to see an armed guard behind him.

"Throw down your weapons, or I'll terminate you with extreme prejudice."

"I was going to give you the same warning," Jason quipped before whipping a knife at the guard.

The knife struck right through the man's right eye and went straight into his brain. Jason winced sympathetically before pulling his knife back out. Wiping the blood and bits of brain matter on the carpet, Jason mumbled a slight apology at the corpse beside him before he proceeded down the darkened hallway towards the main laboratory.

Peering around the corner, Jason caught sight of two guards stationed outside of the main entrance to the lab. A few well-placed knives felled them easily enough.

Creeping out of his hiding place, Jason moved toward the door. As he stepped over the bodies, a sickening thought crept into his mind. How many of them had families waiting for them to come back home? Jason shook his head and tried to remove the image of brain matter and blood seeping through their nameless faces.

Finally picking the lock, he stepped inside the darkened lab. A monstrous machine was set in the dead center of the room. _That's got to be what Red Skull wants._ _How much more conceited can you be?_

Jason plugged the device Red Skull had given him into the machine and crossed his arms as he waited for the information to download. Too focused on the screen, Jason failed to notice the door opening slowly. The next second, a cord wrapped around his neck. Electricity flew from the cord, bringing Jason down to his knees in agony. The next second, his helmet was violently removed.

"Tell me who sent you before I turn your brains into mush."

"I've got a little brother who'll insist you're too late, Baldy," Jason spat out, looking up to see none other than Obadiah Stane standing there with the contraption in his hands.

When Stane saw Jason's face for himself, he sneered. "Of course. I should have realized SHIELD would send one of their little clone slaves to come after me." He paused. "Or are you one of Hydra's? Not that it makes much of a difference."

Jason glared up at him, even though his heart was racing. _Clone?_ Hydra hadn't told him how he came back, but if that was the case...

"Shame all of their good work will be wasted when I kill you," Stane said.

Rather than let Stane brag any longer, Jason twisted enough to get his hands on a knife, driving it down the line of Stane's arm. Stane cried out, releasing Jason, who quickly threw off the cord around his neck before kicking Stane's feet out from under him.

Seizing the man's shirt collar, Jason hoisted him off the floor and growled, "What _clones_ are you talking about?"

Obadiah sneered, "So many questions. They tell you nothing, do they? No? Then why should I tell you?"

Jason didn't have an answer. He likely wasn't going to get one either. He exhaled slowly just as he heard the sound of a lot of footsteps running in his direction. _Oh shit._

"Those would be the guards I requested," Stane smirked.

"You're not going to tell me anything, are you?"

"What do you think, you pathetic little prick?"

Jason exhaled slowly before he grabbed the nearest heavy object at the glass window closest to the two of them. Stane's smirk instantly changed as Jason shoved Stane in the direction of the window before kicking him right through it. Glass shattered just as the door to the lab was kicked in.

Grabbing the flash drive, Jason followed after Stane. Rolling when he hit the ground, Jason paused to slit Stane's throat, making doubly sure he was dead, before running to where he'd kept his bike hidden. And for good measure, he tossed his grenades into Stane's operation.

When he hit the rendezvous point, Jason was met by an irritating pilot. The man immediately pointed to the flames off in the distance.

"Hydra won't be happy about the mess you've made," he threatened.

Jason shrugged. "Stealth isn't my style."

* * *

 **Jack Hamill, Formerly of District Eight**

 **Written by abrokencastiel**

* * *

" _Life's full of tricky snakes and ladders." -Morrissey_

* * *

He woke with a laugh. His eyes snapped open, and his teeth parted in a feral chuckle that made the two women sitting nearby tense. Joker's sharp gaze quickly took in his surroundings. A hospital room of sorts with white bedding and walls. It screamed "Capitol," and the two victors staring at him confirmed his suspicions.

His gaze landed on Jessica Drew where she stood by the door. "Hiya, toots. Ya miss me?" He dissolved back into laughter, pulling at the restraints that held his arms to the bed.

The other woman, Two's snake-like victor, began to say something, but Jessica stopped her with a shake of her head. They waited until Joker's laughter had calmed to quiet chuckles.

"Welcome back, Jack," Jessica said, looking incredibly unhappy.

"It seems we need to be reintroduced, my dear. I seem to recall Jack dying. The name's Joker. I'd shake your hand, but I seem to be a little tied up." He pulled at his restraints.

"It's for your own protection," Viper said in a tone that sounded far more amused than concerned. She was sitting in one of two chairs next to the bed as if it were a throne.

"Oh, I doubt that." Joker leaned as far toward them as he could. "Are you scared I'm going to kill you both? How sad. I thought victors would have more confidence. What if I pinky promise to be a good little boy? Will you let me out then?"

"Others have hurt themselves while trying to. . . come to grips with their new station," Viper calmly replied. "But if you think you're ready to do more than make idle promises..." She stood and rested her hand on his wrist for a moment, holding his gaze before she undid Joker's restraints — much to Jessica's obvious dismay.

Joker caught her hand before she could move away, holding it in a vice-like grip. "What's your name? I don't think we've been properly introduced."

"You may call me Viper," she said smoothly.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I was a big fan of your work in the Games." He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, and she smirked crookedly in response. As he released his grip, he took a moment to examine his own skin. It was no longer the purple, scarred mess it once was. "How interesting." He ran a finger along his cheek, only marginally surprised when it was free from any scar. "Very interesting."

"We have some things to discuss," Jessica said. "We don't have time for any long, drawn-out explanation, so here's the short and sweet."

"I usually prefer the long and rough, but I understand the pressure of time."

Jessica glared as she continued. "You've been brought back from the dead for a second chance. Your body is your own, but newly free of all injuries it acquired. Congratulations. This doesn't mean you're immortal. You can still die, and there's no guarantee that Lady Hydra will allow you to come back after this."

"I'm assuming you didn't do this out of the goodness of your heart." Joker raised an eyebrow.

"Don't be ridiculous," Viper said, her amusement plain to see. Her voice was silky smooth. "We are at war. And you've just been drafted into Hydra. We're introducing Marvel to a new order." She paused and let her hand rest at his collarbone, her fingers almost dancing over to his arm. "I greatly admired your work in the Games. I could use someone with your special set of skills."

"You flatter me."

Viper arched an eyebrow. "You will be removing those that oppose Hydra. You will work directly under Jessica and me."

"You will report to us," Jessica said. She flicked her dark hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms. "Do you understand?"

"Hmm." Joker slid his legs over the side of the bed and stood. Jessica tensed, but he waved her away. "Just stretching my legs. Or am I not allowed to walk unless you give the okay?" He walked the length of the room, re-learning how to use his legs. "How long have I been out, exactly?"

"A matter of hours," Viper replied in that same dangerously silky tone.

Joker grabbed a water bottle near his bed and popped the seal. "Explains why I'm so thirsty." He took a long sip. "Refreshing." He jumped onto the free chair, sitting on the backrest with his feet on the seat.

"I want your answer," Viper pressed, reorienting herself so she could keep an eye on him.

"And what if I say no?"

"Then we have no use for you. I will personally send you back to whatever Hell you're destined for, and we will continue to take care of business on our own. Someone, definitely not me, thought you were useful. Personally, I think you're more trouble than your worth," Jessica said.

Joker chuckled. "Your speeches are just so inspiring. I was worried I'd never be able to hear them again."

Jessica pushed off from the wall and pulled a gun from behind her back. "I told you he wouldn't play along. This was a waste of time, like I told you. Let's just kill him and move on."

"Hold on now; I never said no. I just need a little more clarification. This seems like a fairly binding contract, and I like to know all my options. What exactly will the job entail? Murder and killing are fun and all, but is that it? I need a little more pizzazz in my life."

"The only requirement is that you kill who you are told to kill and follow the rules laid out by me or my lovely friend. How you accomplish your missions is of no consequence to me," Viper said with a wave. "The more gruesome, the better to strike fear into those who would oppose us."

"Very good." Joker tapped his chin with a finger. There wasn't much of a choice to make. If he refused, he would die. Yes, he could try to fight his way out, but without knowing where he was, that was a poor choice. Besides, causing a little chaos always brought him enjoyment.

"Before you answer, you should know that there will be no leeway in your actions. The moment you step out of line, I will not hesitate to take you down and bend you to my will," Viper added, her eyes sparkling with malice.

Joker gave Viper a quick scan. "No offense, sweetheart, but I don't think you'd be much of a match for me."

"Then you've already made the same mistake as hundreds of men before you," Viper replied as her pleasant smile turned to one of sadistic amusement.

Joker's smile switched to a confused frown when he felt the twinge in his abdomen. The twinge quickly grew until it was a stabbing pain that radiated throughout his torso. His arms wrapped around his middle, and he toppled from his perch, crashing into the ground. It felt like he was being eaten from the inside out. Like rats were scratching to escape his stomach.

Viper placed a hand on her shoulder as she crouched beside him. "You shouldn't underestimate what I'm capable of. Jessica and I are venomous creatures, unafraid to bite. Do not tempt us."

A gurgle escaped Joker. He could feel sweat breaking out on his forehead as his face twisted.

"Shall we give him the antidote?" Jessica asked her companion, a smirk in her voice. "It would be no great loss if we just …"

"Let him think about his response," Viper replied diplomatically. " It'd do him good to gain a little respect."

Joker gurgled again, but it transformed into a halting laugh. Each gasp was accented by a raucous laugh. He was finally pulled upright and a needle stuck in his arm. It took a few more minutes before the pain subsided. "Phew," he said once he could speak again. "That was exciting." He grinned broadly at the pair. "It seems you've convinced me. When do we start?"

"We already have." Jessica lifted a bag from the ground and deposited it on the bed. "Get changed. We'll be waiting outside. You have five minutes. Don't do anything stupid."

The pair of victors left the room, and Joker eased himself into a standing position, using the wall for support. The pain in his abdomen had eased, but it was still dully throbbing as he moved. "Fiesty girls," he said with a smile.

The plain black outfit made Joker cluck his tongue in disappointment. He'd have to invest in something more festive soon. Maybe if he played along with the spider and the snake, he'd be allowed to make a few additions to his outfit. He felt naked without his paints.

He finished dressing and pushed back his hair as he left the room. True to her word, Jessica was waiting just outside the door. She did a quick once over of him before nodding at Viper, who gave them a small smile before leading the way from the room. Joker followed with Jessica close behind.

No one gave the trio a second glance other than to simply snap to attention as they passed. No doubt Joker was unrecognizable to most without his customary skin, hair, and scars. It was a strange feeling, being able to walk around without people giving him terrified glances. His first instinct was to remedy the situation by slicing a nearby throat, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized he could use this to his advantage. If people didn't recognize him, he could get close. They wouldn't see him coming until it was too late. It would be especially helpful in dealing with people he'd met before.

"Jessie, could you tell me something?"

"Depends, _Jackie_."

"Point taken. Would you be so kind as to tell me who else has been brought back, _Jessica_?"

"Classified."

Joker turned and walked backward so he could face his mentor. "Oh, come now. I'm pretty sure I'm classified myself; that should give me some pull."

"Do this mission and maybe I'll give you a hint."

Joker sighed dramatically. "Could you at least tell me if either of the bird boys came back? I'd love to have a go at a round two."

"Eyes front." Jessica motioned forward, and he reluctantly turned.

The trio entered a hangar and quickly entered a jet. Viper took a seat at the controls and closed the ramp as Jessica and Joker strapped themselves in.

"Do I at least get to know where we're going?" Joker asked as the engines whirled to life.

"District Six," Viper informed him. "Your new home sweet home."


	128. Chapter 127: Danvers Unite

**(A/N): Here we are with our Friday update! This time, let's check in with some wickedly awesome fighting ladies, written as always by Ophelia Claire.**

 **Thanks to our writers who reviewed the last chapter; we're loving seeing everyone get psyched!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Twenty Seven- Danvers Unite**

 **Kara Danvers, Formerly of District Five**

 **Written By Ophelia Claire**

* * *

" _All blood does is make you related. But loyalty? It's loyalty that makes you Family." - Chris Diaz_

* * *

Red lights pulsed at every hallway junction. Kara clasped Alex's hand as she and her sister raced through the maze of hallways that Kara hadn't yet had time to memorize — and now wouldn't have the need to. Alex took turns at lightning speed, forcing Kara to be light on the feet she was still getting used to or risk crashing to the ground. At least she had regular clothes on now and not a hospital gown.

They ran past bodies that had littered the hallways. SHIELD and green-uniformed soldiers alike lay sprawled in pools of blood. Alex pressed on without slowing, though Kara could see the tightness around her sister's eyes and lips that betrayed the emotions she was suppressing.

Eventually, Kara began to recognize the hallways that led to the hangar. The floor shook — another explosion, somewhere nearby. Dust rained from the ceiling. It was impossible to tell where it had come from, and it could have been anywhere. Both sides had explosives that they were using liberally.

As they neared the hangar, two young men raced past them. Kara caught a glimpse of the long blonde hair of Thor and the dark skin of Kaldur as they ran. She glanced back; she'd known Kaldur had been resurrected but she hadn't had a chance to talk with him in the few days she'd been awake. She'd spent a lot of her time tucked away in a room with Alex, who helped her with various physical therapy exercises to start to get her body back to the shape it had been in.

Kara got the feeling that most tributes didn't have that luxury, but Alex had a little bit of pull that she was using to spend more time with her sister. (And she cared not one iota.)

Kaldur met her gaze as the pairs raced away from one another. His expression was… sympathetic? Sympathetic with a hint of sorrow. Kara had no idea why.

No idea why, that is, until they rounded another corner and were slapped in the face by a burst of heat that radiated through the hangar doorway, which was blown wide open. A jet blazed in the middle of the room. Flames licked at the sides, but the serial number stamped along the fuselage was still painfully clear.

Carol's jet.

" _No,"_ Kara whimpered as a miniature explosion, probably from the fire reaching an engine component, flipped the jet onto its side, a wing crumpled with a _screech_ of metal. Alex was still moving, pulling Kara along. Kara dropped her gaze to the ground, where more green-suited soldiers lay, felled by stab wounds in their sides and caved-in body parts from the blows of a hammer.

"Kara, we have to go," she said softly but firmly. "There's nothing we can do." Alex pulled Kara to a waiting jet at the far end of the room. A pilot was waiting at the top of the ramp and saluted as the sisters drew near.

"Agent Danvers," she said. She nodded at Kara, and as soon as the sisters had cleared the base of the ramp, she slammed her hand on a button that began closing it. Alex and Kara took seats in the hold as the plane began to lift off and strapped themselves in. Alex donned a headset hanging nearby. Her face flashed through several emotions as she listened.

"There are reports coming in from… every district… they're all under attack," she relayed to Kara. "Hydra is in just about every one. The rebellion is underway everywhere. Sentinels are trying to shut it down. Everyone is fighting every other group." She shook her head. "It's a mess." She listened for a few moments more.

Kara snagged a second headset and slipped it on just in time to hear a woman's stoic voice come through. "...Amazons are holding back Hydra, but a new fighter has joined their ranks." The speech patterns and cadence reminded Kara strongly of Diana. "If I did not see him myself, I would not have believed the reports, but it is a tribute who fell during the Games. I do not know how or why Kent has joined their side—" Kara's head snapped, and she found Alex looking at her.

"Alex—"

"Kara, it's too dangerous. We need to get to the new safe location."

"But Alex, it's _Clark_. We can get him _back_!" Kara pleaded. "I lost him once before I even had him and again once I'd finally gotten him back. I can't let him go a third time when I can _save_ him!"

Alex chewed her lip, and Kara pounced, playing her trump card. "If I was the one down there, wouldn't you drop everything to try and save me?"

Alex scowled. "That was _low_." She glanced up towards the cockpit, then back. She hadn't stopped scowling, but the expression had lessened in severity. "I'm impressed."

Alex unbuckled her harness and made her way up to the cockpit. "Change of plans," she said to the pilot. "We're going to Four."

* * *

Had it not been for the thick black plumes of smoke rising from the city, it would have been picturesque. Kara could see the turquoise strip in the distance that could only be the ocean. She'd never seen the ocean before, just pictures that never could capture just how the sunlight danced off the waves and dazzled her eyes or the fresh, salty smell that permeated the jet's hold.

The plane touched down just outside of town, away from the fighting.

"If you're able to help secure the city, someone can come get you," the pilot said. "Otherwise, you're on your own."

Alex nodded. "Understood." She was busy slipping a gun into every holster available on her body. Kara suddenly felt very naked, even with the body armor she'd strapped on, as they'd begun their descent. Alex caught her glance and grinned. "Don't worry; I've got you covered." She reached up to open a locker. "I know you're not fully up to par yet, but no place like a fight to get there, right?" She pulled down a long, thin object and tossed it to Kara. "Couldn't snag you a shield, unfortunately, but this might be a start."

Kara caught the object, which turned out to be a sheathed sword. It had a leaf-shaped blade, just like the one she'd had in the arena. Kara unsheathed the sword and dropped the leather case onto the bench.

"This is going to be a hard fight," Alex warned.

"I died once already this week," Kara said. "Can't be any worse than that." Then, she jumped off the lowering ramp and landed on the ground.

"I can't tell if this is just gallows humor or if we accidentally gave you someone else's personality," Alex joked as she jumped down after Kara. "Either way, I like Sassy Kara."

The sisters hurried through the woods, weapons at the ready. It was strange, Kara mused as they ran, to be fighting alongside Alex. To see Alex in this position at all, really — it was still hard to overwrite years of knowledge and juxtapose Secret Agent Alex with Big Sister Alex.

Still, Kara loved every minute of it. She and Alex crept through the woods as one unit, watching each others' backs as they went.

The sounds of fighting reached their ears as they got within the city limits. Gunfire _crack_ ed and echoed over to them, and various screams, shrieks, and yells blended into one wretched sound that made Kara's ears ache.

"Where do we start?" Alex asked.

"What did the radio say? Amazons were holding Hydra, but Clark was tipping the scales in Hydra's favor? Let's find him," Kara said.

Kara wasn't sure what to expect. At all. Localized skirmishes, maybe, or a big battle in the town square, perhaps?

What she found was something of a mix of the two. The streets seemed to be their own battlegrounds. She could see the green uniforms of HYDRA soldiers battling an army made entirely of young women. They wore leather armor and fought with swords, spears, and bows. Mixed in were tanned and darker-skinned men and women wielding tridents, without the armor that the other women wore.

"They must be the Amazons," Alex said. "Hippolyta's girls."

"I want in," Kara said immediately as green flashed in the corner of her eyes. She pushed Alex to the side and thrust her sword into the gut of the Hydra soldier who'd been sneaking up behind Alex.

"Thanks," Alex said — and with that, the sisters dove into the fray.

It was a blur of sweat, blood, and sound. Kara hacked and slashed, carving through Hydra soldiers left and right. She was annoyed that her limbs didn't quite yet respond the way she wanted, but she managed all right for the most part. Many times, she found herself fighting at the side of one of the Amazons, earning a slight glance of shock a couple times, but the women had a laser focus on the battle at hand and quickly adapted their fighting style to pick up what Kara hadn't quite remastered yet.

Once, Kara took a rough step and found herself tumbling to the ground, Before she could even push herself to her feet, there was a hand on her arm helping her up.

"Rise, sister," a woman said. She was older than the other Amazons, and more scars decorated the skin visible under the armor, but her eyes were kind. "We are not done yet." The voice, Kara realized, was the same one she'd heard on the radio. And then she was gone, back into the fray with a warrior's cry tearing itself from her lips.

Green-suited soldier after soldier fell to Kara's blade. Blood stained her jumpsuit, matted her hair, soured her tongue, but she kept going. She hadn't yet seen Clark yet — but she knew he was here, and she had to get to him.

Finally, the tide of Hydra began to lessen. Amazons and fishermen both began to converge on the main square, where it seemed they'd been herding the majority of the soldiers. There was still fighting in the square, but the Amazons seemed to be taking up sentry positions at all the entrances to the square instead of engaging. Kara shimmied between two warrior women to see a couple final Hydra soldiers being swiftly dispatched — and all of a sudden, there was Clark, circling with another older woman in the middle of the square.

Both of them looked a little worse for wear. Cuts and bruises littered Clark's body, and he walked with a slight limp as he circled with the woman. The woman's golden hair had been pulled into a braid, but strands had come loose and floated around her ears and neck. She had her fair share of minor injuries as well, in addition to a dent in the bronze breastplate she wore. Kara's gaze darted to Clark's fist, and sure enough, the knuckles were bruised and oozing blood. That wasn't the worst of it, though.

Clark's gaze was like nothing Kara had ever seen. His eyes were red, and his mouth was contorted in a snarl that was almost animalistic. His breathing, becoming audible now that the other skirmishes had finished, was ragged and heavy.

Kara could head Alex coming up behind her but didn't wait. She charged into the square and screamed " _Clark!"_

Clark swung around like a bull in an arena spotting a rodeo clown. He growled — actually _growled_ — and charged her, leaving the woman who had been fighting him looking slightly taken aback. Kara ran headlong at Clark, and Clark did the same.

A memory flashed into Kara's mind of the training center, and as she neared Clark, she dropped, skidding across the ground on her hip and hamstring like she'd watched Diana do and had been unable to avoid. She curled as she passed Clark, who swiped — far too slowly — at her, and hooked her leg around his. Clark crashed to the ground, his momentum keeping him skidding and rolling for another ten feet. He tumbled to a stop and lay still, his eyes closed and a new bruise blooming on his temple. Kara sat, panting, waiting to see if Clark would awaken and climb to his feet, but he lay still, his rising chest the only movement.

She heard footsteps behind her, and a hand fell gently on her shoulder. "It is not easy to take up arms against one's family, child. But you have done well."

Kara looked up into the eyes of the older woman. She was not the one who'd helped her to her feet in the middle of the fight, but there was a resemblance. Sisters, perhaps.

"I am Hippolyta. And it is a great pleasure to meet you, Kara Danvers. Especially as it is widely believed that you are dead."

"The rumors are greatly exaggerated," Kara mumbled tiredly. She took the hand that Hippolyta now offered and climbed to her feet.

"You have the heart of an Amazon, child." It was remarkably similar to what Diana had told her while they'd sparred in the Arena.

"Diana...Diana said something like that," Kara replied. "I'm… I'm sorry. I don't know what happened to her, or where she is."

Hippolyta wrapped her in a brief hug. "Thank you, child. Diana lived and fought with honor. That is all I could ask of her. And she is likely still doing the same now."

"She made us all better for knowing her," Kara said. "She was one of the best people I've ever met."

"Hippolyta!" someone called. Kara and Hippolyta both turned to find the other older woman Kara had met briefly jogging across the square. Now that they were together, the family resemblance was clear. Same eyes, same proud nose, same strong jawline.

"Antiope," Hippolyta replied. "What is the report?"

"Our losses are few, though we grieve deeply for each one." Antiope gave Kara a brief, kind smile. "Many of our sisters are wounded, though none fatally, and treatment has already begun. Curry's forces have suffered losses as well, but I have already conveyed our gratitude and grieving for their fallen. Odin's Asgardians took over on the far side of the district center. I know not how they fared."

"And what of the invaders?" Hippolyta asked.

"All within the city have been dispatched," Antiope replied. "Our border forces are scouting for any fleeing remnants. Rest assured that they will be taken care of swiftly."

Hippolyta nodded. "Good."

A little bit of movement at one of the entrances to the square made them all turn once more to find Alex pushing through the Amazon sentries.

"Kara, are you okay?" she called as she jogged over.

"I'm fine," Kara said. "Tired."

"Yeah, that was way more than we ever expected… you guys… to be doing this soon," Alex said, her gaze darting briefly to Hippolyta and Antiope as she chose her words carefully.

A tiny groan from Clark made then all glance over, but Clark still didn't move.

"Will you be taking him with you?" Hippolyta asked, a hint of a smile on her lips. "As lovely as he was during the Games, he's caused a bit of chaos."

"Yes, we definitely will," Kara said immediately.

Hippolyta offered her hand once more. When Kara stretched out her hand in return, Hippolyta clasped her wrist and Kara did the same. "Thank you for your assistance and your honor. You are always welcome in Four, Kara Danvers. When… this…" Hippolyta lifted a hand. "...is over, I would be happy to host you in my house. While there are certainly better circumstances in which we could have met, I am glad we did."

"The feeling is mutual," Kara replied. "And the honor of visiting would be mine." Kara kind of enjoyed the way her speech was gently slipping into the Four cadence.

Alex was busy pulling a pair of cuffs from her jumpsuit and rolling Clark onto his front. "Kara, we should get ready to go," she said. "We need to get to the base."

"All right. Is that necessary?" Kara said, nodding at the handcuffs.

"If he's in the same state when he wakes up, yes."

"Fair enough."

"Farewell, Kara Danvers, and good fortune," said Hippolyta as Alex and Kara each took hold of one of Clark's arms. "Until our paths cross again."


	129. Chapter 128: At First Sight

**(A/N): Happy Tuesday! Here's our latest update, checking in with Kate and the Hydra Ladies (it sounds like a girl band!)**

 **Thanks as always to our writers who reviewed, and thanks to Slim Summers2002 for sticking with us and telling you what you loved!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Eight - At First Sight**

 **The Day of the Revolution**

 **Kate Bishop, formerly of District Twelve**

 **Written by robbiepoo2341**

* * *

" _It scares me how hard it is to remember life before you. I can't even make the comparisons anymore, because my memories of that time have all the depth of a photograph. It seems foolish to play games of better and worse. It's simply a matter of is and is no longer."_ — _David Levithan,_ The Lover's Dictionary

* * *

Kate couldn't help but grin to herself as she ran her hands over her bow. For the first time in what felt like ages, Hydra was letting her and her team do what they'd been trained to do — and she was loving every second of it.

That purpose that they'd filled her with, the drive that permeated her every movement, was out in full force, propelling her forward, reminding her _why_ she was here. Hydra had brought her back to be their good little weapon, and she was almost quivering with anticipation for this latest mission.

She and her team had already proven themselves once with Amanda Waller, and they were still riding the high of that success as they headed to the location Hydra had given them for Nick Fury.

 _Nick Fury_. The director of SHIELD. The man who had sent Kate into the Games in the first place. He was the reason behind so much of the pain that Kate felt, and she knew it. He had to suffer, the way he'd made other kids suffer. He had to die, the way he'd killed _children_ in an insane sacrifice, bending to the whims of a despot.

With him out of the way, Hydra would step out of the shadows and into power, and Kate would be rewarded. Hydra rewarded compliance. They were so much better than the Capitol, than SHIELD.

As Kate put her bow together, she glanced over to her two teammates and couldn't help but shoot them a sort of manic grin. They'd already proven their worth taking down Amanda Waller, and, Kate knew, this mission was personal for Sin — a way to prove herself to Hydra's leadership as the leader of their team.

And as much as Kate wanted to prove herself to Hydra, she also wanted to help Sin. Because even if she wasn't supposed to have any loyalties but her loyalty to Hydra, she was sure that Sin and Natasha were her friends. They'd never said it out loud, but Kate knew it was true — they didn't need words to confirm it.

And beyond that, confirming it aloud could get them in trouble. Better to have an understanding and be safe than to go for dramatics and lose that friendship.

"They'll give you a seat at the table when they see we've killed Fury," Kate told Sin with an encouraging sort of smile. "Sinthea Schmidt: leader of Hydra. I doubt anyone could stand in your way."

Sin smirked Kate's way. "Let's just make sure we kill Fury first before we make too many plans."

"Right." Kate nodded once. "Can't get too far ahead of ourselves."

"Not that you aren't already," Natasha said, shaking her head with a smirk tugging at her own expression as well and betraying the fact that she was, in fact, entertained. Natasha was a lot better at keeping her emotions in check and not giving anything away — but Kate had known her long enough to know what she was really thinking.

Kate grinned Natasha's way. "Hey, I can't help it. We're finally going to do what they trained us for! All of that work, and it's finally here, and we get to give SHIELD and the Capitol a black eye in one fell swoop."

"She's already writing our victory speech," Natasha chuckled to Sin, who smirked.

"Yes, yes I am," Kate shot back and stuck her tongue out at Natasha.

The truth was that this was the best she'd felt in ages. Maybe it was the freedom to get out there and really do something worthwhile, something high priority. Maybe it was being around her friends. But whatever the case, Kate was riding a high, and she didn't think she'd come back down anytime soon.

The three girls crept their way through the Capitol, the sounds of the revolution already echoing all around them. Capitolites who hadn't seen it coming were in shock, scrambling to salvage their pretty little lives and to get away from the fighting deeper in the Capitol itself, where SHIELD was concentrating its forces. SHIELD soldiers and Sentinels clashed in the streets… it was chaotic.

Kate kept to the rooftops, her bow clutched in her hand and her eyes peeled. She knew that Sin trusted Viper, at least enough to believe that her intelligence was good and that it would point them toward Fury himself. And that was all she needed to know to be Hydra's good little weapon, even if she couldn't help but wonder _why_ Viper would help their team when Natasha had told Kate that she knew Viper from Two and knew that she didn't do anything that didn't benefit herself.

Still, that wasn't for Kate to unravel. Her role was to get her bow and to shoot down the enemies of Hydra, end of story.

Finally, Kate found her vantage point, close to the location Viper had given the team, and settled in to wait, her bow at the ready. Viper herself had given Sin the coordinates where Fury would be, and the great Lady Hydra was never wrong…

Sure enough, Fury appeared at a run, shouting instructions into a comm in his hands. It looked like he'd already tangled with some Sentinels, or possibly even Nova Corps, judging by the fact that he was singed at the edges and sporting more than a few bloodstains.

But that didn't matter at all to Kate once she saw him. As soon as she spotted the director, all of her training, everything that Whitehall and Kilgrave had given her, flooded her. Nothing else was important — she _had_ to kill Fury.

She nocked an arrow and drew back the string, her fingers brushing the edge of her jaw, her string against her nose, her gaze locked onto her target, before she let the arrow fly.

It was shots like these that made her training with Deadshot so important. He knew the weaknesses in the SHIELD armor. He knew where to aim. And in an instant, Nick Fury was struggling to breathe, an arrow lodged in his ribs.

She nocked two arrows at once and let them fly, taking him out at the joints of his shoulders before a third went into his throat. Yes, Kate could kill much cleaner than this, and she could have taken the head shot, but this was the man who had sanctioned death and torture in the Games. This was the man who had sent her into an arena to _die_ only to bring her back as a slave—

No, as an agent of Hydra.

She shook off that errant thought and pushed it aside. She knew better than that. She was one of Hydra's finest weapons, and she should be proud of that fact. She _was_ proud of that fact.

She gritted her teeth and fitted another arrow, this time at last meaning to finish off the director… but she paused when she heard a shout further down the street and saw a large group rushing toward Fury.

"SHIELD reinforcements," she reported to her team over the comms.

"Not for long," Natasha replied smoothly, and Kate didn't even look for her, knowing that her friend would be impossible to find unless she _wanted_ to be seen — until it was time to spring herself on the unsuspecting SHIELD agents.

Kate couldn't help but smirk, going back to her shot at Fury. She had it all lined up…

And then one of the SHIELD personnel caught her attention, and everything changed.

"Logan," she breathed out, her hands clenching unconsciously. She couldn't shoot like that — it would pull her shot to the left — and so she forced herself to relax her hands, though she hadn't relaxed the concentrated glare Logan's way.

All at once, her actual mission objective seemed _frivolous_. There was something in the back of her mind, somewhere, that told her to shoot Fury, to get it done, or Hydra wouldn't be happy with her or her team when they heard that Fury had escaped. But… Logan was _right there_.

She might never get another opportunity like this. Logan was surrounded by people from SHIELD, and he was a victor… not to mention Kate knew that she wasn't the only one who wanted him dead, not if Hydra was so willing to foster that hatred in her heart. If she didn't move now, someone else might kill him instead of her — or worse, he might even _escape._

She took only a moment to make her decision before she shifted her sights — away from Fury and to Logan instead. His head and neck were exposed. He was wearing SHIELD armor. She knew exactly where to hit him.

Everything was exactly as she had imagined it: the smooth bow in her hands, the string taut against the end of her nose. He hadn't even seen her yet, though he _had_ to know that it was her. He had to. The arrows, the placement, the fact that she'd made an impossible shot when Fury had been angling to shield himself against snipers… it was a trickshot.

 _Trickshot_.

The word echoed in her memories like a curse. It rang with his voice. She hated that the word seemed to belong to him when it was _hers_. It was hers, not his, and she would kill him and reclaim it and get the memory of him out of her head and—

She gasped, her train of thought completely derailed, when she saw the boy behind Logan. It was such a shock that her shot went wide, hitting Logan in the chest rather than the head shot she had been going for. She nearly dropped her bow in shock.

She _knew_ that boy.

She knew the concerned expression he was wearing as he rushed toward Logan. She knew the set of his jaw…

 _He's taller than I remember._

Her breath caught in her throat, somewhere around the base of her neck, like something she had tried to swallow down for far too long that was too big to be ignored. She was choking on it, on the image of the boy only yards away from her.

It was _him._ The boy with curly, dark hair. The one that she'd lost.

She didn't even remember his name, but she remembered that feeling, that knowledge somewhere in the pit of her stomach that as long as she was with him, she was going to be okay, even in the middle of the Games. It was the last time she'd truly felt _safe_. Hydra wasn't safety, even if it was belonging; she knew that she would sacrifice herself for them if it came down to it. They were bigger than she was; their goals bigger than hers.

But _he_ was more than that.

More than Hydra.

The thought terrified her, and she felt like she was choking all over again. Nothing was supposed to come before her loyalties to Hydra. No one person was more important than their aims. She was a weapon. Her only thought should have been how to better Hydra's aims, how to efficiently kill the ones they sent her for.

She turned her gaze momentarily back to Fury. To her _objective_. He was bleeding badly, but he could still be saved. She had to finish her mission. She had to kill him. Fury couldn't slip through her fingers.

Kate raised her bow again, her arrow pointed at Fury — but her gaze was still pointed elsewhere. She couldn't take her eyes off of that boy.

What was his _name_?

Almost in answer, Kate could hear her own voice in her memory, almost like it was singing to her from a different life entirely: " _Hiya, Kurt. What's a guy like you doing in a place like this?"_

Kate let her arrow fly and didn't even look at it. She didn't know if she was even close to her target. She felt numb. She was shaking.

She was vaguely aware of someone calling out over the comm in her ear, trying to get a response from her, but she couldn't think. Her head felt like it was splitting open.

She needed to get back. She needed Kilgrave. She needed Hydra. She needed them to tell her what to do, who she was, because this was nothing they'd prepared her for. She was lost. She needed _direction_.

A mission.

Right. Her mission. She was supposed to kill Fury.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to force her attention back to the task at hand, though when she opened her eyes again, she wasn't doing much better. Her ears were still ringing, and she could hear Sin and Natasha over the comms getting more concerned when she hadn't killed anyone and wasn't responding.

"Hawkeye? Kate, come on, status report," Sin said over the comms.

"That last shot was wide," Natasha said. "Something's wrong."

"I'll get to her — you cover the reinforcements."

"I'll make sure we finish the job," Natasha corrected her.

Kate frowned at that. No, she was the one who had shot Fury. This was _her_ job. She'd done all the work, and she needed to finish what she was doing.

"I… I've got it," Kate said slowly, gripping her bow for a moment before she let her shoulders drop with a breath through barely parted lips. "I'm alright."

"What's going on?" Sin asked.

"I'm alright," she said again, because she didn't exactly have the words to explain what was going on. She didn't know _how_ to tell them that something — someone — had suddenly become her focus instead of her mission. She didn't want them to tell Hydra that this boy was a distraction, because she didn't want them to take that away from her.

She finally leveled her sights on Fury and Logan. They were close enough together, talking to each other, but turned so that she couldn't see what was being said. Logan still had her arrow sticking out of him, and the curly-haired boy — _Kurt_ — was close beside him, clearly trying to deal with the arrow situation, trying to help.

Kate's grip on her bow tightened again for a moment, and she quickly lowered her bow. She didn't want to risk her aim being off when Kurt was that close to Logan. She needed to get a hold of herself, or she'd do worse than let Hydra down.

She didn't understand why Kurt was helping Logan. She _knew_ that she'd lost him because of Logan. Something had to be wrong with Kurt. Logan must have done something.

That thought was enough to get her to focus at last, raising her bow to fire quickly, while her hands were still steady and while she still had the nerve, to strike Logan once more in the chest, at a weak point in the armor, and once again further up, where the armor should have given her access but the penetration was all wrong for basic armor.

 _Upgraded stuff. Got it. Fury's pet. Figures,_ Kate thought to herself, a bit disjointed as she struggled to get her feet underneath her mentally after the shock of seeing Kurt.

She watched as Kurt jerked back as the arrows sprouted from Logan's armor inches from his face. He clasped a hand over one of the deeper entry points as his gaze landed on the purple fletching. He sat stock-still for a heartbeat, maybe two. Then, he glanced up toward the rooftops. He hadn't seen her yet — he couldn't have —

" _Kate?!"_ he cried out, his voice breaking slightly as her name left his lips.

She positively froze at the sound, her eyes wide as she met his gaze. It was the first time she'd actually heard his voice, and all she could think was that he'd never sounded like _that_ before.

And all at once, she simply couldn't lift her bow anymore. She didn't want to see what he'd think of her if she pointed it in his direction, Logan or not. Instead, she started to scramble backward, ignoring her comm until she could see Sin rushing toward her. And then she just _left_.

She was ignoring her mission, ignoring her team; she was going to be in so much trouble.

She'd barely gotten a few yards away from her position, though, before it felt like someone had kicked her square in the back, and she went down hard, scraping her hands on the rooftop and barely catching herself from scraping up her face as well. It didn't register that she'd been shot until she tried to move to pick herself up, and then it was clear that even if her armor had caught the bullet, the bruising when she took off her vest was going to match the color of her fletchings, judging by how badly she was hurting.

She was gasping by the time Sin did catch up to her and immediately tried to get them both somewhere safer, her shoulder underneath Kate's arm as she hissed out, "What happened?"

Kate shook her head hard. With the pounding headache that she'd had ever since she saw Kurt… and the knot in her stomach… and the bruising from being shot… she didn't know where to start.

"We need to… don't let Natasha … tell her to make sure not to kill Kurt," Kate panted out.

"What are you talking about?" Sin asked, shaking her head at Kate.

"That boy back there ... I knew him," she tried to explain. "Don't … don't let her hurt him. Don't let Hydra know…" Her head was spinning and pounding somehow at the same time, and it was doing absolutely nothing for her ability to form a cohesive sentence.

Sin frowned at Kate before she readjusted the way she was holding her up. "We need to get you out of here. We'll talk about this later," she said.

"Don't tell Hydra," Kate whispered, her eyes closed and her head drooping. "I couldn't kill Fury… they can't know about Kurt."

Sin frowned but didn't press Kate when it was obvious she wasn't doing well. "Later," she said finally. "We'll talk about it later."

Kate was sure that was the best option she had, so she simply nodded and let Sin lead the way from there, Kurt's voice still ringing in her head along with, for some reason, the memory of spiderweb silk on her skin.


	130. Chapter 129: Enemy of the State

**(A/N): Happy Friday! Carrying right on from the last update, let's see how Logan's doing, shall we?**

 **Thanks to the writers who reviewed and to Slim Summers2002 for continuing to be our favorite cheerleader!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Nine - "Enemy of the State"**

 **Day One of the Revolution**

 **Logan Howlett, 24th Victor**

 **Written by Canucklehead Cowgirl**

* * *

 _Warriors are not the ones who always win, but the ones who always fight. -unknown_

* * *

By the time Logan's mixed group of SHIELD operatives, ex-tributes, and TAHITI operatives were properly outfitted with body armor, weaponry, and had fought their way out of TAHITI and to the heart of the action, the entire Capitol was in a pure panic. The armor was holding up well — by the look of the SHIELD agents dropping around them, better than most. Logan had quit counting how many rounds that his had deflected after the first five or six — even if it didn't help matters in the least when even then every hit hurt the wound that he'd gotten sublevel.

His shoulder was aching, stiff, and still oozing blood — but he couldn't think about it if he wanted to get the people around him out of the fire fight that seemed to be coming from every direction.

They were hunkered down for the moment while droves of Capitolites that hadn't managed to escape the initial gunfire were in absolute terror, clutching to each other and shaking, flinching at every fired round. Logan had just peeked out around the corner — and narrowly missed getting shot in the head — when one of the terrified Capitolites started to call his name.

At first he ignored it — already far too used to people calling for him that he didn't know — but when he saw the expression on Skye's face, he turned to find Selene, pale and in a panic. "You have to get me out of here!" Selene spat out in a demanding tone. "You _owe_ me, Logan!"

"What is she talking about?" Dick asked, and Logan barely glanced his way as he let out a frustrated grumble.

"She's talking about the deal he made to get you and your sister your sponsorships," Skye said angrily.

"Wait, this is because of us?" Dick said, frowning deeper as he looked over at Selene. "I thought you were talking people into pledging."

"And you think he could _talk_ someone into doing what he wants?" Peter couldn't help but say.

"I know Bruce would have covered it," Dick said, staring at Logan. "You didn't stop him did you? Did _they_?"

"Not talkin' about this right now," Logan said, as Dick unconsciously pushed Gar back against the wall more firmly.

"No, we're not, because she is _not_ getting on a SHIELD transport," Skye said in the most stern tone that any of them had heard from her.

"Abso- _lutely_ not," Koenig agreed, shaking his head in spite of his own flinches at the gunfire. "She's not cleared — she's actually the _opposite_ of cleared. She's one of them!"

"I know," Logan said through his teeth as Selene shouted his name again.

"Logan! You gave me your word!" Selene screeched, though she was losing her demanding tone and was sounding more desperate.

Logan turned her way and watched through slightly narrowed eyes as she hyperventilated — clearly in fear for her life. And that was what did it. His gaze hardened, and he tipped his head, listening for a moment, waiting for the gunman that was shooting at them to reload — and as soon as he did, Logan darted away from the others, right for Selene.

He did his best to block out the angry shouts from his friends and bodyguard, but it was hard to miss that they were all more or less on the same page — and frustrated with his choice to even talk to Selene further.

The gunfire started up almost as soon as Logan stuck his head out — and it was obvious that the others both wanted to get to him and were in pure disbelief at what he'd done. "How are you going to get me out of this?" Selene demanded as she clutched to his arm.

But as soon as he had a little breathing room, Logan spun and stuck a finger in her face as he snarled back at her. "If I get you out of this — _if_ — that's it. I've held up my end of the deal."

She stared at him wide-eyed for a moment. "No! You owe me a favor!" she shot back.

"What the hell do you think this is?" Logan snarled out, glaring flatly at her for a moment before he shoved her hand off of him. "If that's the way you wanna play it, get out your damn self."

"Wait!" Selene nearly gasped, grasping for him — only to have him violently shrug her off again.

"You can't have it both ways, lady!" Logan barked at her loud enough that the rest of his group could easily hear it. "Your call. If you think you can get out of this on your own to collect later, I invite you to try, but if you can't—"

A rapid fire burst of gunfire had her ducking down further as Logan stubbornly refused to move. "Alright!" Selene shouted, her hands covering her ears. "Alright! Get me out of here, and we're even!"

Logan smirked as he watched her flinch and then glanced over at his little team. He looked past Selene and took stock of their surroundings until he found a mostly clear shot to a transport. "Here's what's gonna happen," Logan said as he checked the positions of the soldiers on both sides around them. "I'll keep 'em from shooting at you, and you run your bony overbearing ass right down to that transport. Got it?"

"What?" She looked flustered at the idea. "I need you to guarantee my safety!"

Logan let out a bark of a laugh in spite of their current situation. "This is a warzone, sweetheart. No one's guaranteed _nothin'_." She looked panicked … and she clearly didn't like her options at all. "That's your only shot," Logan said. "When I say so — _run_." He pointed toward the transport in question and double-checked the ammunition for the gun in his hand. "Three …"

"You have to get me there!" Selene hissed frantically, though she was gathering up her skirt and her hair was falling out of the elegant updo she was wearing.

"... Two …"

"That's _not ..._! I need an _escort_!"

"Not my problem," Logan said in an even tone, watching her for a moment with a neutral expression as she tore her heels off and took up a sprinter's stance. " _Run!_ " As soon as he shouted the order at her, he popped up and started shooting back at the soldiers that had been pinning them down, and like he'd hoped, the rest of the group that had run with him followed suit, picking off soldiers or just throwing enough lead to keep them from sticking their noses out. Logan only paid attention long enough to be sure that Selene had taken off running before he focused solely on the task at hand — and after a few moments, the group broke from where they were at and moved forward, picking off Hydra soldiers as they went.

By all the reports they'd heard, there were more SHIELD higher ups, victors, and other sympathetic people pinned down and being rounded up at the podium that Thanos always used for his speeches, and that was _precisely_ where they were headed to help, if they could.

The group was finally making headway clearing out a path when they heard the unmistakable shout of someone that had been shot — which wasn't necessarily out of place... but the voice was, particularly with the almost trademarked " _Motherfu-_ " that was cut off by more gunfire.

Logan turned, searching for the source of the sound, and swore outright when he saw the second and third arrow hit Fury at the shoulders — followed quickly by another that hit him in the neck and dropped him to his knees. Logan's eyes widened, and he broke into a run, swearing under his breath and barely noting that the rest of his group was sticking with him as he rushed toward Fury.

"We need back up! Foxtrot has been hit! Foxtrot is _down!_ " Koenig shouted frantically into his comm, the barrel of his gun shaking once again as he took aim at the nearest green-suited soldiers with a determined sort of scowl.

As Logan made his way ahead of the group, he was positively thrashing anyone in his way, using the gun as a bludgeoning tool once he was out of ammunition, but when he got up to Fury, the director was trying to wave him off and shaking his head.

"You can't be here," Fury almost hissed as Logan gave him a glare and simply started trying to assess what, if anything, he could do.

"Shut up, Nick. We gotta get you out of here," Logan countered. "You got a revolution to run, remember?"

"You're _exposed,_ " Fury argued, looking outright angry, but without the power to back up the fire in his tone. "I can't afford for you to ... "

 _Twang!_

Logan was knocked back hard enough that he barely had the wherewithal to put his arm out behind himself to stop from toppling over backward when the arrow lodged itself in the armor covering his chest. It was hard enough of a hit that it knocked his breath out.

" _That! That is what I'm talking about!_ " Fury half shouted — at least, as much as he was able to.

Logan blinked at him for a moment as Kurt rushed up and immediately started to assess _Logan_. "This doesn't look good, _mein Freund_ ," Kurt muttered as he tried to check him over, but Logan reached up and took a hold of his wrist before he could get bent too far out of shape.

"I'm fine, Elf," Logan said. "Armor caught it."

"You're bleeding—"

"From the bullet earlier," Logan argued, but Fury cut into the argument.

"If you two could maybe take this somewhere else _later …_ " Fury said before he coughed hard, spewing up a clot of blood and wincing at the pain he was in. The little group stilled for a moment, then Logan moved closer to Fury, once again trying to help and flat out ignoring the fact that the arrow's strike had the bullet wound in his shoulder bleeding more. "I've put too much into you …to have you _die_ here … with me."

"Who the hell said you die here? You're getting out," Logan argued, frowning deeper as he tried to staunch the bleeding on the director. "You got a revolution to run, you giant pain in my ass."

Fury shook his head before he began to reply with real heat to his tone, "You are one stubborn son of a—" he cut himself off with a hiss as Logan pressed harder on the worst injury and met his gaze, then instead of trying to stop Logan, he seemed to be trying to steel himself.

Logan heard a twang as he spotted the archer out of the corner of his eye — and an instant later, he'd caught the arrow, though if it was meant for him, it wasn't a very good shot.

"Nicholas, I gotta bone to pick with you," Logan said as he searched the ground around them for something that could be used to halt the bleeding on the director. "So you dyin' on me before answerin' my questions ain't gonna work."

"I'll bet you do," Fury said with a smirk. "But we don't have time for that. At least I don't."

"Come on, Nicky. After what you've put all these kids through, you can't make it through one little bang up?" Logan tried to tease as he batted Fury's hand away from trying to stop him. He wasn't expecting Fury to pull out a small, graphite-colored cube from his long, black leather trench coat. Logan watched as Fury carefully and painfully placed his fingers on the cube and then pressed — causing blue lines to light up around the device.

"Director override: Fury, Nicholas J," Fury managed in his usual tone and meter, but at that point, Kurt had finally abandoned trying to tend to Logan's injury and was watching alongside him instead. "Transfer of alpha and omega security clearance to victor twenty-four, James 'Logan' Howlett."

"Nick," Logan said, looking entirely shellshocked. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Put your thumb on the glowing blue spot," Fury said as he pressed the cube into Logan's hands, and a moment later, lights emerged and scanned his face, then the blue on the cube flashed twice.

 **Confirmed** _ **,**_ the cube announced quietly and then simply went back to a graphite color.

"It's a little sooner than I planned," Fury said. "But it looks like you're giving the orders now. Don't lose that cube, Director. It has the answers to all of your questions."

"Damnit, Nick," Logan growled out as Peter rushed over to help get the injuries under control. As Peter put pressure on a different arrow wound, Logan stuck the cube into a pocket at his hip and again tried to put pressure around the arrow that was in Fury's chest. "You're not gettin' outta this that easy." But Logan had to admit, the way that the arrow was rhythmically pulsing wasn't very encouraging. Nor was the fact that the pulse seemed to be weaker and more erratic as he and Peter tried to stop the bleeding.

"The usual methods that SHIELD operates on won't win this war," Fury said quietly. "We need someone more focused, more ruthless, and more determined that failure simply isn't an option. And a born leader like you … it's a no brainer." Fury was clearly not doing well, though he seemed perfectly content with that — and his eyes drifted shut in spite of the good work Logan and Peter were doing while the others provided cover. And since he was so wildly distracted, Logan wasn't paying close enough attention when he heard an echoing, heavy twang an instant before two arrows buried themselves in his chest, knocking him back hard — though this time it was clear that the archer had found the edge of his armor, and one of the arrows sunk in, deflecting high between a set of ribs. He could tell by how hard it was to take a breath on that side that it had clipped the top of his lung.

"Shoot! Crap." Peter frantically looked between his hands pressing on Fury and Logan's injury. "No no no no no."

Logan let out an involuntary sound of pain as Kurt dove into action, wrecking his chance to say it didn't hurt as Kurt covered the wound as best he was able and pushed Logan back the rest of the way even as his attention was torn. Kurt was panicking far more than he should have been as far as Logan was concerned. " _Mein Gott,"_ he whispered, but whatever else he was about to say fell to the wayside. Kurt had gone completely still and then … he twisted, searching their surroundings, his hand still over Logan's wound.

"Damnit, keep your head down, Elf," Logan said, and then coughed, staining his lips with blood … just as Kurt shouted Kate's name.

But that snapped Logan out of it fast, and he had only managed to focus on the purple fletchings sticking out of his chest when over his shoulder, someone in their group fired two rounds in easy succession.

"What are you doing?" Kurt hissed, though he still hadn't taken his hand off of Logan's injury.

"Stopping a threat," Skye snapped back at him.

Kurt looked flabbergasted. "That was _Kate!_ " He threw one arm up in exasperation. "She doesn't know what she's doing!"

"She shot Fury _and_ Logan!" Skye shouted back at him. "Sure as hell looks like she knows what she's doing — and I have a _job_ to do!"

"Yes," Kurt snapped, gesturing to Logan on the ground before he put his hand on Logan's opposite shoulder to keep him down. "And you're doing so well."

"Guys," Logan said, closing his eyes for a moment. "Focus!"

Kurt glanced down at Logan then pressed harder. "I am focusing just fine," Kurt said before he pulled Dick over. "Please, be so kind as to keep my best friend alive for me."

"On it," Dick said, seamlessly taking Kurt's spot in holding Logan down and putting pressure on the wound.

"Oh, this is not good," Peter said quietly from next to Fury, but Logan barely gave him a glance.

"Get off me, Grayson," Logan grumbled, pushing back at Dick while he kept him down flat and pressed a little fabric around the arrow that was bleeding. But of course, there wasn't even a pause from Dick as he pushed harder to keep him flat and Logan started to push back. "Damnit, I'm _fine._ "

Dick didn't even pause in what he was doing, though he did smirk. "No, you're not, and stop calling me Dammit."

Logan gave him a dry look. "For as often as I have to say it, I'm not surprised you're answerin' to it. Learn to live with it, Dammit." He tried to push him back again, even though Dick batted his hand away and kept on task, going so far as to pin Logan's hand under his knee.

"I … can't get this to stop," Peter said looking for some help. "The blood isn't stopping, guys!" Peter sounded more panicked the less Fury moved.

"Just keep pressure on," Koenig said as he fired at a few approaching Hydra soldiers.

""I'm telling you, Grayson, I'm fine," Logan said, still trying to push Dick away. "I've had a lot worse. So just … stop."

"Yeah, we're not comparing injuries right now. I've had lethal ones. So shut up; I'm helping you."

That did, however get Logan to pause for just a moment. "That's not what's going on and you know it. This isn't that bad."

"I didn't realize that you were a doctor," Dick said with a glare.

"I know when I'm done, and I ain't done yet," Logan growled out as Skye and Kurt continued to argue over her taking a shot at Kate. "We gotta get them to stop so we can get the hell outta here."

"I can help you _and_ stop them," Dick defended — and to prove it, he picked his head up and shouted toward Kurt and Skye, "Hey! Knock it off and let's get the hell out of here." Which really only got both of them to look his way with matching expressions that said how much they wanted him to stay out of it.

"Damnit, Grayson, no," Logan said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Um … guys," Peter said, looking up toward the two of them as he sat back on his heels. "Fury's dead."

That put a quick end to the back and forth not just between Logan and Dick but between Kurt and Skye — especially when the young SHIELD agent almost immediately switched into disbelief as she half scooted Fury's way with wide eyes.

Logan finally managed to get Dick to back off a little when it at least looked like he wasn't bleeding as much. But instead of pushing to move, he took a moment to liberate Fury's side arm. "Time to go. Unless my best friend and my bodyguard still wanna duke it out a little more? I'm sure the war'll wait for the two of ya, but there's nothin' we can do for Fury now."

"That's not necessarily true," Koenig argued as he moved closer to Fury's prone body with a determined look on his face, already pulling out a small device from his inner coat pocket. "There's an ampule in his arm that we can use—" He scanned Fury's arm, then frowned and tried again … then tried on the other arm too for good measure. "It should _be here_ …" Koenig looked ready to panic as he tried again and again to find the missing ampule.

"Let it go," Logan said as he held up a hand, cutting Koenig off at the pass. "Doesn't matter. That's not happening anymore. Tahiti was made to build a secret army. Word's out. War's on."

"But it's the same process that brought back your friends, and we need Fury to—"

"No," Logan half growled out. "I can _guess_ at why Fury chose not to have the backup, but if you wanna know why it's wrong, maybe ask Kaldur Ahm."

"What's Kaldur Ahm got to do with—"

"You're slow, twitchy. I'll explain later," Logan said, shaking his head as he looked for a route out and then turned to Dick. "You can cover from behind, can't you?"

"Got your back," Dick promised with a crooked smile.

Logan nodded and watched the action to find the cleanest route out. At least one that wasn't saturated with snipers. "Alright. I know the layout of this place probably better'n the rest of you," Logan said. "I'll take point on this one. Kurt, Grayson's got the cover. You can keep the rest of 'em in the middle, right?"

But Kurt didn't respond immediately, and when Logan turned to look his way, it was to find Kurt starting at Skye and trying to help her. She was shaking and had her hands pressed to her stomach trying to stop the bleeding there, her weapon forgotten and on the ground. None of them had even heard a shot — and there was no arrow this time.

Logan swore under his breath and made his way over to take over since Kurt seemed stunned and Peter was still freaking out. But he wasn't alone as Dick moved to help Skye too, and the two young men from Seven seemed to fall into pace together almost seamlessly. As Dick applied pressure, Logan did his best to try and get her comfortable. Kurt handed Dick a few pieces of fabric torn off of his shirt to help put pressure on the wound for her as Logan tried to keep her from looking at her injury. "You're not allowed to die, got it?" Logan said, holding her gaze until she nodded and let out a quiet 'okay'. "Hard to be a bodyguard if you kick it."

Skye was nodding her head, though as soon as she'd moved, tears began to flow, and it was clear how much pain she was in.

Logan locked his jaw and let out a breath. "Hey. Crackerjack. Your job right now is to hang in there," he told her in a much gentler tone than he'd been using. "We'll take care of the rest."

She blinked a few times and nodded, though it was clear she was still scared out of her mind as Dick kept pressure on the wound and Logan took stock of their options again. "Alright ... new plan. We need quickest route." He tipped his head toward the path he _hadn't_ wanted to use initially. "I'll run point. Maybe I can draw fire if nothing else." He popped a claw and cut the arrow shafts next to his shirt that were sticking out of his armor — since they honestly weren't coming out and he didn't want to draw more fire by advertising that someone hadn't finished the job. He left the one that _had_ gotten through, though. "Grayson, you strong enough to carry her out?"

"I'm strong enough to carry _you_ out … she'll be no trouble," Dick said, going for a little false confidence and optimism when it was clear they were all in dire straits as they rigged up a way to keep pressure on Skye's wound. As soon as Dick had managed to get her more or less settled, Logan sat back on his heels and closed his eyes, slightly dizzy — though he wasn't about to admit it.

"Here ... we can help too," Gar said quickly, darting in to try and help Logan to his feet, with Peter on Logan's other side looking on almost approvingly of the kid.

"I only had one arrow that even scratched me," Logan said, trying to get both of them to let go. "I'm fine. Take care of yourselves."

"Judging by how pale you are?" Dick said. "Fat chance"

"Oh shut up, Dammit," Logan said. "I'm always pale."

"That's not my name, and you're not that pale," Dick replied before he turned to Peter. "Clearly, I've got the bodyguard. You and Gar want to take over on my mentor?"

"Listen, Dammit: I'm _fine_. Don't worry about me; I'll get out. Worry about coverin' her," Logan barked out.

"Yeah, I've got her, and I'm _going_ to be shooting back too!" Dick replied. "Nothing wrong with my aim, as far as I know. Now shut up, stop giving orders, and let your friends get us _out_ before we have another casualty."

"That's what I'm _trying_ to do." Logan glared at him for a moment. "I can get around fine. If I pass out, you can take over, but not until then."

"We're not putting it to a vote," Dick replied.

"No, we're not," Logan barked back, though his chest pulled at the force of his own shout. This wasn't going to be easy at all.

"What's wrong, Logan? You're not injured more than you let on, right?" Dick said as he adjusted how he was carrying Skye. "Less talking, Wolverine. What, did they replace your brain in the same body? Reverse of what they did with me?"

Logan couldn't help but laugh at that, wincing slightly as he did so. "Yeah, that would have made their job easier," he said as the group prepped to head out.

"You're injured. Dammit has the SHIELD-approved bodyguard. I've got the cover fire with Kurt," Peter said, earning a bark of a laugh from Dick at the nickname getting passed around. "Gar and Koenig can cover from behind."

"Fine," Logan grumbled, pulling back the slide on his side arm and then letting it slam shut. His hand rested over the cube in his pocket before he nodded to himself. "Alright. Stick close and give 'em hell," Logan said in a no-nonsense tone. He gave them a little look before he pushed forward, shooting soldiers that were standing in their way — both Hydra and Nova Corps alike — as he heard Peter calling for medical help and relaying both Logan and Skye's injuries and statuses. They were halfway across the courtyard when Logan darted a little further ahead of the crowd, trying to make the final push to the transport.

 _Twang!_

Another hollow-sounding _thwack_ hit Logan in the back and he stumbled forward a step, nearly losing his balance, though before he could even search for the source, there were two more twangs — and another pair of arrows hit from opposite sides. He was left without cover and trying to find the source. He growled out to himself as he looked up to the vantage points around him and even tried to catch one arrow before it hit him lower than the ones Kate had shot and punched the breath out of him. "Take cover!" he shouted over his shoulder — which was enough to let his group see at least one of the archers as she took aim and sent an arrow into Logan's upper arm, forcing him to drop his gun.

The group behind him opened fire on the archer's position, even though Kurt was telling them to wait. "It might be Kate!" Kurt called out.

"The fletchings are different!" Peter shouted, trying to snap Kurt out of it. "They're green and black — not purple! It's not Kate."

It wasn't until the second archer took a similar shot as the first that ended up slipping past the vest — low again — that Logan realized that they weren't going for a kill. But he didn't have time to say as much as more arrows flew his way. He gritted his teeth. "Find them!" Logan called back as the group opened fire on the second archer's position as well.

He still hadn't found cover, but with the archers unable to stick their noses out and take a shot, Logan paused to catch a breath, not quite behind cover. He watched as Peter practically rebounded off of the walls of the building to get closer, wondering if he was seeing things the way he was flipping around. Peter disappeared for just a moment, only to come rushing back to Logan shortly after.

"Why aren't you taking cover?" Peter asked, almost shouting before he grabbed a hold of Logan and hauled him bodily into a safer spot.

"You're gettin' strong, Petey," Logan said, though he didn't hide the look of pain when one of the arrows jostled.

"And you're not even trying to hide that it hurts," Peter said, looking beyond stressed out. "Do _not_ die on me, Wolvie. Don't do it."

"Not tryin' to," Logan replied, though with Peter, he didn't try to hide how _much_ he was hurting. Logan winced and tipped his head back, his eyes shut tightly as he tried to work around the pain — and the fact that he really was losing more blood than he wanted to at this point. "Not goin' anywhere, Petey."

"Yeah, well … you say that now while you're bleeding all over … you look like a pincushion, Wolverine," Peter said. "And you really are pale."

"We're almost to the transport," Logan said. "Just gotta make it that far."

"Logan, I think you're wildly underestimating how long it will take to get to the new base," Peter said.

Logan let out a low chuckle that turned into a cough and had blood trickling out of his nose as Peter tried to keep him still and the others slipped over to their hiding spot, but Logan simply didn't have the air to keep arguing with him on it.


	131. Chapter 130: Red and Green

**(A/N): Welcome back to our Tuesday update! This time, we take you back to our dear deluded Poison Ivy, written as always by Abby Well.**

 **As a note, we're getting pretty close to the end here, with just a handful of chapters left. Look for the last installment in the trilogy, "Death is Not the End," in mid-September after we take a short (but necessary) sanity break in the posting schedule. :)**

 **Anyway, thanks as always to our writers who reviewed, and thanks to SlimSummers2002 for being our star reviewer!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Thirty - Red and Green**

 **SHIELD Base**

 **Pamela Isley, formerly of District Eleven**

 **Written by Abby Well**

* * *

 _"I tried to express through red and green the terrible passions of humanity."_

 _\- Vincent Van Gogh_

* * *

The light was wrong.

It was stark, artificial, nothing like the sun or the warmth of greenhouse lamps, or even the shine of a cold, gray, clouded sky. It blazed through her eyelids, burned like ice against her bare skin. She shifted and felt something soft beneath her, something tight around her wrists. The air was cool rather than damp and smelled faintly antiseptic instead of fresh and green, and on the back of her tongue was the tang of metal and chemicals. She knew enough to recognize the fog that permeated her mind and made every tiny movement feel momentous — she'd been drugged.

Fighting a sudden burst of rage, she opened her eyes.

The room she was in was white and austere, and she immediately hated it. She took a long breath, ignoring the horrible artificial flavor of the air, and forced herself to take it all in slowly, her green-eyed gaze sweeping over everything she could see.

Thick black straps were buckled around her arms, joined by a long piece which appeared to run underneath the mattress. She lifted her right arm, tugging experimentally, and found her left being pulled against the bed. Though it was frustrating, a tiny part of her felt some semblance of pride. _They think you're dangerous. They're afraid of you._ She smirked, then continued her examination of the room.

There was a square window of shatterproof glass in the door, through which she could just make out a slice of monochromatic corridor, the edge of another fluorescent strip light on the ceiling. If there was anyone standing guard, she couldn't see them there. Her bed was small, flanked by white metal railings, with a little table beside it and a chair beside that. Nothing gave the impression that this room had been designed with any sort of comfort in mind.

As she turned her head to look the other way, her vision blurred, the shades of the world swimming and shifting together, and she had to pause. Whatever they'd done to get her out of the swamp without her fighting back, saturating her brain in a cocktail of chemicals deep as Barda's floral-scented bathtub, she assumed it would be a good long while before she completely stopped feeling the effects.

God, she was thirsty.

She screwed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth. Now that she was awake, the dull throb of a headache was beginning to bloom from the base of her skull, pain creeping slowly like the delicate fingers of roots through earth. There was a low hum just on the periphery of her hearing, though she couldn't be sure if it was real.

Her drug-addled brain suddenly realized something, and her eyes flew open again in shock. She glared down at her body, pulling futilely on her restraints as she took it all in. She was clean. They'd _washed_ her, brushed her hair, dressed her in new clothes. Every scrap and stain from the swamp was gone. How _dare_ they? How many strangers' hands had touched her body without her remembering? They kept taking from her, taking away everything she cared about, taking her from the only place she now wanted to call home. Disgusted, she scowled and bared her teeth at the world.

A light knock sounded at the door, drawing her attention. She watched suspiciously as the door swept open without a sound and a woman walked into the room. She was tall, and thin, with cropped silvery hair and grayish eyes. Her features may have once been angular but had softened with age, though that did nothing to hide the core of steel visible in her posture and the way she strode confidently towards Ivy's bed. In one hand, she clutched a clipboard tucked under her arm, in the other, a plastic cup of water, which she offered to Ivy. "Good morning, Pamela. I'm Dr Thompkins, I'll be helping you with your rehabilitation. It's good to see you're awake."

Wordlessly, Ivy looked from the cup to her restraints and back again, an expression of deep derision on her freshly-washed face.

"Ah." With a carefully sculpted smile, Thompkins leaned down and unbuckled the restraints. When at first, Ivy didn't move, the doctor offered her the water again. Ivy took it silently but didn't drink, instead glancing into its clear depths. _They've already drugged you once._

"It's just water," Thompkins said reassuringly. She took it upon herself to draw the chair closer to the bed and sit down, resting her clipboard across her knees. "The sedation was only used so we could remove you from the arena safely — and to keep you from interacting with the other surviving tributes. Some of them...didn't take kindly to us bringing you along. We've no need for it now."

Frowning, Ivy took a sip. Cool, clear, long-awaited ambrosia. She fought to keep her pleasure from showing on her face.

"I suppose you're wondering where you are," the doctor continued briskly. "This is our secure facility, designed to have everything we need in place for the coming fight—"

"Don't dance around it," Ivy interjected softly. "Call it what it is: revolution. You're SHIELD, aren't you?" She delicately raised one eyebrow and took another sip of her water.

Dr Thompkins cleared her throat hurriedly before continuing. "We are. Plans have been in place from well before the Quarter Quell, with several notable—"

Ivy interrupted her again. "Get to the point. What do you want with me? Why not just save the other three? They're much more suited to fighting the good fight."

"SHIELD believes you can be rehabilitated to further the cause." Thompkins smiled encouragingly. "That's where I come in. We're going to run a series of tests, to ascertain which areas we need to focus on to help you most." Her gaze turned sympathetic. "You were under a tremendous amount of stress in the arena, the results of which subjected you to severe psychological trauma. Granted, I've never seen anything like the response you gave to these events, but I believe if I work with you, and you cooperate with me, we can get to the bottom of it all and help you turn yourself around."

"And if I don't cooperate?" Ivy asked coolly.

"Well, Pamela—"

" _Don't call me that,_ " Ivy snapped suddenly, crushing the plastic cup in her hand as the sharp words flew from her mouth. Water spewed from between her clenched fingers, soaking the bedsheets. She threw the cup away and gripped the rail instead, leaning forward, her green eyes narrowed and full of strange fire. "That is _not_ my name."

Thompkins was clearly disturbed by the sudden change in her patient's behaviour, but she rallied impressively; the subtle shifting of her chair back across the floor almost went unnoticed. She murmured something under her breath, then visibly relaxed. "My apologies. Of course, through our work together, I'd hope that you'd reach a point where you once again feel comfortable using that name…"

Ivy let out a laugh entirely devoid of humour. "Why would I? It's not mine. I don't want it; I didn't ask for it. I didn't ask for any of this." She peered at the doctor, watching closely as once again Thompkins muttered something she couldn't hear. "Who are you talking to, hmm? Is it them? Are the good ones watching us?" She glared around the room, searching for cameras and finding none — but that didn't mean they weren't there. The arena had taught her that. "Watching, always watching," she murmured, then raised her voice to address the room. "Leave me alone, you hear me? Why couldn't you just leave me alone?!"

Dr Thompkins reached out a hand — to placate or reassure, she didn't know. "I know this must be very disorienting for you, but you have to—"

"No! Stop telling me what to do!" Ivy lurched forward, but she couldn't reach anything useful. She tried to get up; her legs wouldn't work, her body still recovering from the sedation. She let out a cry of frustration. It never ended — there was always something in her way, stopping her from doing what she wanted, even if that something was her own stupid body. To go from her beautiful swamp to this horrible white room, from the freedom of the green to blank and faceless control, with no memory of the transition… her mind was struggling.

She had no power here.

Enraged, saddened, she rounded on Thompkins, the only face she could give to the new people controlling her. "You should have left me there," she growled. "I was everything I was ever meant to be, and now you're going to try and take that away. Everyone's always taking from me. The green is the only thing that gives, and now I don't even have that."

She retreated back to the mattress, lying down and closing her eyes. She heard Thompkins leave quietly, heard someone else come in, felt the restraints fastened around her wrists once more. Then, she was alone.

* * *

There was no clock in that room, but she thought maybe an hour or two of lying perfectly still on the bed had passed before the door opened again. Some nondescript SHIELD agent in bland professional garb entered, bearing a tray with food but no utensils. They were still treating her like a threat, not allowing her even the tiniest glimpse of anything that could be used as a weapon.

Slowly, Ivy sat up as far as she could, fixing the agent with a languid lioness stare. Her green eyes were unblinking as he slowly made his way towards her and set the tray down on the table beside her bed. When he reached over and began to slowly take off the restraints, she smiled up at him; he kept his gaze on the straps around her arms, refusing to look her in the eye.

She hummed in amusement. He was afraid of her. He was trying to hide it behind a mask of professionalism, but he couldn't disguise the way his fingers were trembling, the tight clench of his jaw, how he wasn't even blinking in his efforts to keep his eyes from trailing over her body — because there was attraction there, too.

This poor agent could only have been a few years older than her at most, and it seemed he hadn't quite trained his body to the appropriate level of cold indifference. He was hapless, this one — barely capable of delivering her meal without wanting to...well. It was obvious that he wouldn't be able to cope with their proximity, and she couldn't help but wonder ... if she'd noticed, SHIELD would have known too. They probably knew exactly what they were doing by placing him in Ivy's room. Perhaps they wanted to see what she would do, to get an idea of what she was capable of if they wanted to use her in their revolution.

The idea that this was in fact a test, that they were just trying to control her one more time, rubbed her up the wrong way. She knew they were watching her every move, that they might be recording it all and strategizing, working out the best way to use her… and she found that right then she didn't care. She wanted a taste of power again, some control of her own.

 _Let them see what control_ really _looks like_.

A slow smile grew across her face, ivy creeping over a wall.

As soon as her hands were free, she reached out quick as lightning and wrapped her fingers around the agent's wrists. Caught off guard, he was unable to resist, and she pulled him closer. She used him to climb onto her knees, pressing her left hand against his chest and digging her nails into the fabric of his uniform while she wove the fingers of her other hand between his. His heart was thudding hard in his chest, and she smiled again.

"You're not… you're not supposed to…" The agent swallowed hard, trying and failing to regain his composure. Finally, he looked at her properly, and it was with great satisfaction that she watched his pupils dilate and his tongue wet his lips nervously.

"Oh, darling," she purred, "I'm sorry. Nobody told me that. Nobody's told me anything since I was put in here… all alone…" She shifted her left hand upward and circled the back of his neck, stroking the bare skin with her fingertips, and he shivered under her touch. "I haven't had anyone to talk to," she murmured, leaning forward so her body was pressing against him. "And after everything that's happened, I think I need a little bit of comfort…" She caught her lower lip between her teeth and looked up at him from under her lashes, waiting. Did he have any idea what she could really do? How had he even got this far within SHIELD if he couldn't tell when he was being played?

"Maybe you could help me," she continued, and he nodded before she'd even said what she wanted from him. _Easy_. She pressed her body against him slowly and locked both hands behind his neck. Her lips were inches from his, and she noticed him glancing at her mouth. The lipstick was long gone, she knew, but he still looked nervous, and she wondered how much he knew about the fate of the last person she'd kissed. "I think…" Her voice was soft and breathy. "...If I'm going to be in here for a while, I don't want to be alone. You don't want me to be alone, do you?"

 _How long are they going to let me get away with this?_ She smirked.

"What do you want?" the agent asked, his voice pitched at a level to match hers. "I can't… I mean, I don't think I can do that much…"

"That's alright, love," Ivy reassured him gently. "All I want is a flower. Just a little one, to keep me company. Will you do that for me? Be my knight in shining armour; fetch a flower for your lady, and save me from loneliness." She released his neck and trailed her fingertips down his chest, stopping to flatten one hand over his thumping heart.

The agent's reply stuck in his throat before he coughed and tried again. "Nothing dangerous? Just a flower?"

"Just a little flower. Something that could live in here with me." Ivy nodded encouragingly. "Besides, what would I do with anything deadly? I have nothing." She gestured around the white room with a seemingly insouciant wave of her free hand, though her words had more sharp edges than they had only a minute before. If she was going to be stuck in this plastic hellhole, scrubbed to within an inch of its artificial life, then she would make damn sure she had something to call her own. "Please?"

A cough, a nervous swallow, dry lips licked with an eager tongue. "Okay."

"Thank you, dear." Ivy raised herself further up on her knees and dropped a tiny kiss on his cheek, letting her lips linger for just a moment against his skin before she broke away. "And thank you for bringing me some food; I was getting _so hungry_."

"You're… erm… no problem." The agent attempted to pull himself together, stepping away from the edge of the bed and gesturing to the tray of food. "Eat this. Someone will be in to see you later this afternoon, get you briefed."

"I can't wait." Ivy retreated and curled up on top of the bed, keeping a smile on her face, watching him back away from her. She deliberately crossed her arms to hug one of her knees, pushing her breasts together under the plain shirt she'd been made to wear, and took her bottom lip in her teeth again as she gazed up at him. He coughed again and quickly fumbled for the door handle, vanishing through the doorway.

She shook her head. It was just so _easy_ — a few choice poses and a breathy tone of voice and she had him eating out of the palm of his hand. Glancing around, still unable to to work out where the cameras were, she nonetheless waved her hand in a circle like royalty. Let them see her; let them watch how she wrapped their people around her little finger like blades of grass. Let them see her snap them like twigs if they tried to make her do something she didn't want.

Uncurling her body, Ivy swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up for the first time since her arrival, grateful that her body was now doing what she told it to. She leaned closer to the tray on the table, inspecting the food it offered. It was nothing fancy; not that she'd expected a return to the rich extravagance of the Capitol. If they wanted her to work for them, they would want her to be strong and healthy, to regain the weight she'd lost in the arena, to be sharp and quick. There would be no stodgy foods to make her sluggish.

She sniffed experimentally, but nothing seemed off — and as the scent reached her nostrils, her stomach grumbled. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten. Suddenly ravenous, she snatched up half of a sandwich and took a large bite.

The door behind her closed with a soft click, and Ivy froze. Tilting her head ever so slightly, she listened.

There were careful footsteps coming towards the bed — not the regimental boots of a SHIELD agent or the clicking of Dr Thompkins' heels. Someone else. Someone who didn't want her to know they were there.

Maybe someone who wasn't supposed to be in there at all.

Ivy swallowed her mouthful of bread, then took a stab in the dark. "Hello, Kory."

The smooth and musical voice had a sharper edge than she was used to. "I had heard you were awake. I did not want to believe it."

"Did you think they would kill me? Or are you glad that they didn't steal that chance from you?" Ivy turned around slowly with a smile on her face once more, placing her sandwich back down on the tray. Her gaze met Kory's, and for a tiny moment, it was almost like looking in a mirror, but her reflection wasn't smiling at all. The Twelve girl's beautiful face was contorted in fury, her green eyes blazing. She was standing about five feet from the end of the bed, ever poised and graceful, even in her quiet rage. "I hope you're not holding your breath waiting for an apology. You know who I am — and what I am."

Kory continued to scowl at her. She was breathing heavily, and Ivy could see tightness in her jaw. "I have many words to describe what you are," she growled.

"Each more colorful than the last, I can only assume." Placid, languid, Ivy returned to the bed and folded her legs underneath her, sitting casually on top of the sheets. Her fingers played with a twist of her long red hair, braiding it absently as she stared Kory down. A moment of silence passed before Ivy gestured to the chair. "Sit, won't you?"

"Never." Kory shook her head abruptly.

"Suit yourself. I take it this isn't a social call, then? I suppose we'll have to save another day for talking about boys." She watched Kory flinch as the meaning of her words sunk in.

Kory took a step forward, then another, squaring her shoulders as she stood before Ivy's cool gaze. "I am not here to gossip. I am here to fulfill a promise I made you."

Ivy smirked. "It was very clever of you, to get in here so quietly. Did you wait until someone opened the door again so you could slip inside? Have you been taking tips from a mutual friend of ours?"

"She is no friend of yours, and neither am I." Kory folded her arms across her ample chest, stiffer and colder than Ivy had ever seen her.

 _She must mean business._ "Shame," Ivy said blithely, still braiding her hair. "We have a lot in common. So much to talk about, you and I."

"I am nothing like you!" Kory snapped.

"I beg to differ, princess." Ivy rose up onto her knees once more, shifting forward across the bed until she knelt almost on the edge, equal in height to Kory now. Her voice dropped lower, like she was sharing a secret with a friend. "We both have power over men. We don't like being told what to do. We're stronger than people expect. We've _kissed the same boy_. And that's before you get to the physical ... of course, if that weren't the case, my plan wouldn't have worked."

Kory narrowed her eyes. "How long did you plan to kill him?"

"I wanted him dead for a long time — but that's not the point of all this, is it? You don't need me to tell you what you already know." Ivy's smiled widened, and she spread her arms, opening herself up to the world. "I killed Dick Grayson. The last face he saw was mine. Now, are you just going to stand there, or are you going to return the favor?" When Kory still hesitated, Ivy sighed. "You have the high ground. You're a strong, beautiful, rich girl from Twelve, and I'm just a lowly gardener from Eleven. You've always had it better than me. You want to kill me, right here, right now? Kill me. I don't even want to be here. I wish they'd left me behind." Slowly, she turned her hand and beckoned with her fingers, once, twice. "Come on, princess. You know you want to."

All of a sudden, Kory lunged forward, and Ivy laughed as their bodies collided and they fell back onto the bed. Bouncing, she quickly found herself pinned, Kory's strong legs on either side of her waist, pressing her down, eerily reminiscent of their previous encounter back in the swamp. She lay back with her arms over her head, grinning, her hair splayed across the sheets beneath her like a crown of autumn leaves.

"I wonder…" she purred, "did you ever make him feel like this?"

"Do not talk about him!" Kory shrieked. With a lightning-fast move, she grabbed each of the loose restraints, twisting them upward. "You will pay for what you did," she hissed, leaning over Ivy so her hair swung down in a red curtain, shielding the room from view.

Ivy stared up at her, the smile never leaving her face. Her heart was thumping hard in her chest — but she wasn't afraid, not at all. She didn't even resist when Kory lifted her hands and wrapped the black restraints around her throat, pulling them tighter until they burned.

The air became thicker, harder to breathe, warm like the swamp. Like _her_ swamp. She gasped and began to choke on the taste of the plastic world around her as her body started to move unbidden. Her hands instinctively reached up to grip the restraints, fingers scrabbling; her legs began to flail and kick against the mattress, but her mind was elsewhere already. The room was starting to blur again, the sound muffled as if something was plugging her ears, and the only thing she could focus on was the vengeful green of Kory's eyes… the green…

If this was how she would return to the green, so be it. She would welcome it.

She closed her eyes.

But then, the moment was gone, and Kory was gone. She blinked, breathed, her lungs taking in grateful gulps of the stagnant air as she pushed herself upright and watched Kory being pulled away from her, reaching for her with hands curved into claws. More SHIELD agents held her arms in a vice grip and were dragging her from the room.

Ivy started to laugh. "Do you see?!" she called out, scrambling off the bed and running to the door. It slammed in her face, but she could still see through the window. "Do you see how it feels, to have the one you love taken from you?" She coughed horribly, air ripping its way up her damaged throat, but she kept going. "You'd do anything to get revenge, wouldn't you? And you… you can't touch me. In here, you can't touch me!" She slammed her hands against the glass, laughing hoarsely as her would-be killer was pulled out of sight down the corridor.

"How does it feel, Kory?" She laughed again, a long drawn-out cackle that contorted into a series of hacking coughs, echoing down the empty hall. "How does it feel?!"


	132. Chapter 131: I Thought You Were Dead

**(A/N): Hey, it's Friday! We're pleased to bring you more Dick Grayson, written as always by robbiepoo2341.**

 **Thanks to all the writers who reviewed this and previous chapters. Our writers have poured so much work into every single one of these chapters, and we love to see them get love. Thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for being an awesome reviewer!**

* * *

 **Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-One - I Thought You Were Dead**

 **New SHIELD Base in District Twelve**

 **Richard "Dick" Grayson, formerly of District Seven**

 **Written by robbiepoo2341**

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" _Every parting gives a foretaste of death, every reunion a hint of the resurrection." -Arthur Schopenhauer_

* * *

Dick was sure his pride was hurt as much as his ankle.

All things considered, he had gotten off relatively easily, considering how badly Logan and Skye had been hurt. But even knowing that, he couldn't help but be frustrated. The boot he'd gotten from the medical wing of this new base only accentuated Dick's frustration with his new body and its lack of all the muscle memory he had built up over the years with every dull _thunk_.

How was he supposed to do anything useful when he felt like he was operating in a body that wasn't even his? It was going to take him _ages_ to get back to the way things used to be. Climbing, balancing, stretching, somersaulting… he was going to have to learn it all again.

He hated that feeling, hated knowing that everything he had that tied him to the circus, to his _childhood_ , could be yanked away like that. It felt like a large chunk of him was missing, replaced by the unflatteringly large boot.

But after Dr. Temple had given him his oh-so-stealthy new accessory, she had also been good enough to let him know where the gym was relative to the medical wing, and it was the best suggestion Dick had heard since he'd arrived in this new base. It was something he could _do_ , something to feel less like a clumsy idiot stumbling around in this new body.

Still, the one nice thing about the boot was that people could hear him coming from a mile away. Well, okay, that was actually annoying, but… it meant that the almost-collision as he turned the corner on some people coming the other direction was averted.

Dick had just opened his mouth to apologize — but froze before he could even form the word when he saw who it was that he'd almost elephant-trampled.

Bruce was faster to blink out of his surprise and switch to something like relief, but Helena made a sound he hadn't heard her make in _years_. The usually-composed Miss Helena Wayne squeaked out a cry, too startled to find words.

Dick didn't wait for either of them to say anything before he took the few quick steps to where Helena was to clutch her to him in a tight hug, the relief at seeing her alive and _okay_ suddenly taking his breath away. While she was never one to cry openly, he felt her chest spasm against him several times, which only made him hold her more tightly. It took him a moment to realize she was holding on just as firmly as he was.

He felt her take a deep breath, steadying herself, before her chin moved on his shoulder, and she whispered. "I missed you." She pulled her head back a few inches to look into his eyes. "So much."

Dick had to blink a few times to see her properly, her face swimming in saltwater until he scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "Hey, you can't get rid of me that easy," he said, because he had never seen his sister cry like that, and he _had_ to get a smile out of her.

And she did smile, just a bit. "I know it was both or neither," she said, her jaw firm. "But let's not ever do that again." She held up a pinky finger, and he laughed, linking his with hers.

"Deal."

Her expression quickly became serious as she tried to look him over objectively. "Are you alright? How are you feeling? I mean—" She stopped, shook her head, and hugged him again, and he was more than happy to hug her tight and not get into _that_ can of worms just yet. "Never mind. I'm just glad you're here."

"Right back at you," he whispered back, and for a long time, he simply hugged his sister until the feeling in the back of his throat, the worry that someone might tear _this_ away from him too went away.

When he finally stepped back from Helena, he was surprised to see that Bruce looked honestly emotional — which was just not something that he _did_.

Then again, Dick had never gone and died on him before.

"Hey, Bruce," Dick said simply.

"It's good to see you, Dick," Bruce said.

Dick almost had to laugh — this was just like Bruce. He'd only gone to all the trouble of coming back from the dead, and here Bruce was still barely able to string a few words together. It was like being ten and coming back to the manor after running away and hiding all over again. He could see that Bruce was relieved, but could he _say_ so? No. Of course not.

But hey, he'd never been dead before, and he wasn't about to let Bruce pass this opportunity by the way he had on Reaping Day.

In two steps, he had trapped Bruce in a hug before Bruce could get out of it. And to his surprise, after the expected tensed, sort of surprised reaction, Bruce put a hand on Dick's back and then took it a step further to clutch Dick tighter than he had in a long while. Probably since the last time Dick had gotten hurt messing around in the trees and being too much of a daredevil.

Dick wasn't about to let up, either, so he let Bruce decide when the hug was over. It was probably sooner than it had to be, if he was honest, but he could see Bruce making an honest effort to hide how relieved he was to see Dick, so Dick didn't say anything as he stepped back, instead giving Bruce an out with a subject change: "Where's Alfred?"

Bruce nodded, clearly seizing on the opportunity to talk about something that wasn't the reunion that had just happened. "He's still in Seven," he said. "We've had a few things come up there."

"Yeah, I'm sure there's 'a few things' coming up pretty much everywhere right now," Dick pointed out with a crooked smile. "But come on, Bruce. It's not a family reunion without _Alfred_."

"Believe me, Dick: if I could have brought him here with me, I would have, but right now he, Jim Gordon, and Mac Hudson are working on finding a safe place for several children that Hydra had earmarked for experimentation."

Dick couldn't stop the full-on double take. "The— what?"

"It's a long story," Bruce said with a wry smile. "And I'm sure Alfred could tell it better."

"Well, that's a given, because it's Alfred," Dick said. "But come on! You can't leave me hanging. Who can I help you hit that thought it was okay to do that to _kids_?"

"You're a bit behind," Bruce said, the wry smile turning a little more troublemaking.

"Typical," Dick said, gesturing to Bruce with one hand as he turned to Helena. "We leave him alone for a few minutes, and he decides to take up his own brand of justice."

Helena couldn't quite stop the smile as she watched Dick, not that she was trying hard when the pure relief of a reunion was more overwhelming than anything else. "Like you can talk," she said, gesturing with her chin to indicate the boot he was wearing. "What happened to you?" With a bit of twinkle in her eye, she added, "And how does the other guy look?"

"Well, I did shoot a few would-be kidnappers, but…" Dick looked down at the monstrosity on his foot and pulled a spectacular face. "Yeah, so, the thing is… they grew me a new body, and this one doesn't have all the muscle memory I've built up, so…" He let out his breath and allowed his frustration to show across his face, glad that at least Helena and Bruce would understand just how much a part of him that grace and balance was. To have it taken away in a heartbeat… it _still_ bothered him, even if he knew that it was probably better than dying.

"You went straight from waking up to fighting," Bruce said, his eyes narrowed.

Dick nodded and picked up his foot to show off the boot. "Landed badly on a flip. It wasn't even anything _complicated_ ," he added, throwing both hands in the air.

"You'll get it back," Helena said. "It's part of you. Just give it some time."

"Yeah," Dick said in a breath, running one hand through his hair. "There's a gym in this place, so I _was_ headed to go see what kind of toys they had. If they have a set of bars and a mat, that's a good start, anyway."

"If they don't, they will," Bruce said in the kind of tone that meant no one was allowed to argue with him or stand in his way.

Dick grinned Bruce's way. "Yeah, love you too, Bruce."

Bruce shook his head at that, but Dick could see the quiet smile at the corner of his mouth anyway. "Helena and I were going to go find our quarters," he said.

"Oh, hey, that's actually not a bad idea," Dick said with a nod. "Should probably know where I'm going to crash when I'm done with the workout, right?"

"Some of us actually plan ahead," Helena said, "And we know how much you need your own mirror." Her tone was teasing and ringing with affection at the same time, in a way that had Dick a step away from hugging her all over again. Even though it felt like he'd just seen her, he'd been dying at the time — and before that, he'd spent days holding his breath and hoping that she wouldn't die on him on the other side of an arena while they were separated from each other.

 _Yeah, screw it. This isn't the time for Wayne Family Control. I'm a Grayson anyway,_ he thought to himself before he ran with the impulse and pulled Helena into another hug that didn't last quite as long but didn't entirely end, either, extending from grasping shoulders to grasping hands, the familiar tap at the wrists proof that he wasn't dreaming.

"Oh, hey, I almost forgot," Dick said, holding up one hand before he grasped the light necklace and pulled it out of his shirt to slip over his head and hand it back to Helena. "One of the doctors grabbed it from my old body. Would have gone to Bruce if this was a normal Games and they were handing back personal effects and tokens, but since there was a revolution in the way, I guess I was the closest family member to myself, weirdly enough…"

Helena inhaled a gasp as he placed the necklace in her hand. She stared at it for a long moment, silent, until he nudged her with a warm smile. "I thought you'd want it back, I mean—"

He stopped as her gaze lifted to his, an incredulous look in the deep blue. Her lips moved several times before a sound actually came out. It took him a moment to realize that she had flashed back to the day before… back to the moment in the asylum in the arena, the moment when he died.

"I thought… Damn it, Dick, I thought I'd lost you. Like Mom. Like I've lost … so much…" She ground to a halt, and her gaze darted toward her father, although she didn't focus on him for long. The necklace held her attention as if her life depended on it. "You know, I really thought you might see her. Do you think you… I mean, I know she would have loved…" She stopped, shook her head, and held the necklace to her heart as she inhaled deeply.

He reached out for a moment to rest his hand on her arm, instinctively, because he had never seen her this emotional. "I don't really remember," he admitted. "But…" He trailed off and decided not to mention what he _thought_ he remembered, that he had seen _his_ mom. He still wasn't sure how much of that was real and how much was wishful thinking and dreams while he was asleep, not dead. "Yeah," he breathed out at last. "Maybe."

"Thank you. I… It's good to… I mean…" She stopped and looked more helpless than Dick had ever seen her. It made him uneasy.

Gently, he took the necklace again and fastened it around her neck. "There. Back where it belongs, right? Everything's back to, well, right. Right?"

She stared at him, her eyes wet with tears, and nodded. "Yes. Thank you. Thank you for…" She took a deep breath and exhaled quickly. "Thank you." Her hand found his, and they grasped each other tightly.

He threw an arm over her shoulders. "C'mon, Hel," he said and kissed her cheek. "I'll tell you about the fight I had while you were with Bruce; you wouldn't believe the _drama_ that comes with being undead," he said, grinning at her until she gave him a soft smile as they walked down the hall toward their assigned quarters, with their father following quietly behind.

* * *

Once Dick and his family had tracked down where they had been assigned to stay at the base — at least for the time being — Dick wasn't surprised at all when Bruce suggested that they find food next. He wasn't sure how much time had passed from when he died to when Helena had gotten out of the arena — he hadn't really had time to get the full rundown before everything went into overdrive — but he knew that she was still wearing her tribute clothes and could probably use a good meal.

Come to think of it, he was pretty hungry, too, but _this_ body hadn't been running on fumes in the arena like Helena's had, so… he was pretty sure he and Bruce were on the same page for taking care of Helena in this endeavor.

"Soon as we've got a bite to eat, you're gonna need a shower," he couldn't help but tease his sister, who seemed to have calmed down once more. "You smell like Hel."

She blinked once or twice before she did her very best to rally. "Really, Grayson?"

"I'm just saying," Dick said, grinning as he ducked the playful smack that would have come his way. "Alfred would be _shocked_ to see you in this state."

"I think he'll be more relieved to see that you're not dead than worried about my wardrobe," Helena said, shaking her head at him.

"You doubt Alfred? The man can multitask, Hel!"

This time, Helena managed to swat him upside the head. "Really? And he wouldn't be worried about how _you_ look right now? Have you seen this 'new hair' of yours?"

He grinned at her, rubbing the back of his head in an exaggerated fashion and unable to stop the laugh. "Hey, no fair taking advantage of my slower reflexes in this new body. Give me some time to get back up to snuff!"

"Oh, sure, make excuses," Helena said, though he did notice that she had paused at the mention of his 'new body'. That was going to take some getting used to for all of them.

"Face it, Hel — you can only keep up when I'm impaired!" he all but sang out to her, just to rile her enough to push him in the shoulder so he could get a good laugh — and remind her that he was totally fine to shove around a little like they always did.

"Oh, sure. Like I need you to be _impaired_ —"

"Dick?"

Dick paused in mid-laugh when he heard the familiar voice and barely turned in time to see Kory running toward him. She flung her arms around his neck and nearly knocked him over. He barely caught her with his arms around her waist before she started to kiss him harder than she'd done even in the Games, almost fevered and clinging to him so tightly that it was slightly more difficult to breathe than normal.

If they were anywhere else, Dick would have responded just as passionately, pulling her tight to him until he forgot where he ended and she began. But … as much as he wanted to... it was next to impossible to get that lost in her when Bruce was literally standing a few feet away.

Not that he didn't kiss her back. There were just levels to this kind of thing, and he was _not_ going to cross some lines in front of Bruce. Or Helena, for that matter. Clearly, she was good with his relationship with Kory, but he knew this kind of display was just asking to be teased by her. Mercilessly.

But Kory… Kory had thought he was dead, and she clearly didn't care as much as he did about an audience, judging by the fact that she had moved one hand slowly down his chest to rest right around his hip and was standing so close that he didn't think it was physically possible for her to take another step without toppling him with her.

And he wasn't going to _stop_ her, even if he wasn't going to push for more. Not when he was so glad to see her, not when he'd been wishing for the chance to hold her _properly_ ever since he broke his arm. So it wasn't until Bruce cleared his throat that Kory even thought about backing off — and even then, it was barely half a step away from Dick, both arms still around him as she turned to face Bruce.

"Yes?" she said, innocently, sweetly, and Dick couldn't stop himself from laughing at not only her innocent routine but Bruce's reaction — like Bruce was caught somewhere between indignant and a desire to interrogate the girl assaulting his son in front of him.

Before Bruce could get any more worked up, though, Dick tried to break the ice a little. "Bruce, this is Kory."

"I'm aware," Bruce said flatly. "We've met."

Dick's smile dropped a bit, though he managed to catch it before it could go too far sideways and shook his head at Bruce. "Of course you have. What was I thinking? You never leave anything halfway done, and even with me being dead, you had to meet the girlfriend."

"That's not exactly accurate," Helena said, and Dick recognized the diplomatic tone that she always pulled out when she tried to mediate between Dick and Bruce. "We'd teamed up when Dad came to get us in the arena." Her eyes were telegraphing to her brother, and he did his best to keep up.

"Even better," Dick said, his smile a bit wider than he meant it to be because Kory had chosen that exact moment to slide her hand just that little bit further so that her thumb was resting on the top of his pants and her fingers were trailing over his bare skin under his shirt. And judging by the looks he was getting in stereo from Helena and Bruce, they had noticed. He cleared his throat and shook his head. "I mean, my two favorite girls teaming up was probably the most terrifyingly unstoppable force the Games have ever seen, right?"

Helena smirked. "Nice save."

"No, that was the original joke; I just got distracted," Dick defended.

"You poor thing," she said, her eyes sparkling just a bit more brightly.

Dick shook his head at his sister. "Come on. Cut me a little slack here. I don't get a proper back-from-the-dead greeting?"

"That's what I was _trying_ to do," Kory teased him gently over his shoulder in a tone that had him turning red all the way up to the tips of his ears.

He could see that Helena had stopped even trying to control the look of amusement — which, he supposed, was better than if she disapproved and was glaring at him every time Kory flirted with him — and was grateful when she took Bruce's arm and flashed a wink his way. "I'm sure you two want to catch up on everything that's happened in the past, oh, few hours," she said. "I don't know how you've survived being apart this long."

It was kind of impressive how she could back him up while also totally teasing him. Little sisters were like that, though.

He grinned Helena's way. "Yeah, thanks, Hel. I'll catch up with you later, okay?"

"I'm sure," she said.

"You know where our quarters are," Bruce added, and Dick could have sworn that it was almost a warning. Sort of an "And I expect you to be there tonight, or else" kind of thing.

It was good to know that hadn't changed, at least.

As they got farther away, he saw Helena lean slightly toward her father and heard her ask most innocently, "So... how old were you and Mom when you met?"

But at that, he simply started to laugh even more. "Nice, Hel," he said, shaking his head to himself.

His attention was on his family as they turned the corner, so he hadn't quite been expecting it when Kory seized both of his arms and pulled him hard around the nearest bend so that at least they weren't standing in the middle of a busy hallway. He let out a small cry of surprise at the sudden movement but absolutely wasn't going to fight her once he caught up to what was going on — which was probably right around when she had him backed up to the wall in a passionate kiss.

Without the awkwardness of knowing that his family was watching, Dick didn't hesitate to return the favor, pulling Kory as tightly as he wanted to and letting one hand get tangled in her hair while the other was just below her shoulder blades in the center of her back, pulling her closer.

The only break was the occasional pause for breath as they both quickly got reacquainted, and it was the first time that Dick hadn't felt awkward in his new body. Even without the familiarity of muscle memory, he and Kory just… worked. She still felt the same pressed against him as she had before, and every light touch of her hair, her hands — it was the same as before.

And yet it wasn't at the same time. It was softer, somehow, less desperate and more comforting, even if it had started out frenetic, like they just needed the reassurance that they were both there and still the same and still in love.

He had long since stopped anything like logical thought as he got lost in having Kory back in his arms when she finally paused long enough to breathe out a soft, "I thought you were dead," in his ear.

He could hear the break in her voice that had his heart in his throat as he turned to kiss her temple. "I'm sorry," he said.

Kory shook her head lightly. She had shifted so that her hands were on his shoulders, her head resting next to his in the long embrace. "I should apologize, not you," she said. "I should have been with you."

Dick found himself smoothing down her hair without even realizing it. "Forget about it," he said quietly, and she picked her head up to look at him at last. He could see the honest hurt shining in her eyes and leaned forward to steal a soft kiss that he hoped showed her just how much he didn't blame her in the least. "That was the Games, and we're out now. I say we don't give them any more power over us. They brought us together, and the rest doesn't matter, okay?"

"It matters to me," she said quietly.

Dick let out a breath and then gently rested his hand on her cheek to cup her face. "Not to me, though. I get a second chance to be with you. So can we maybe not waste it with so many apologies and get back to that kissing thing we were doing earlier?" he teased lightly.

That got Kory to break into a laugh before she gave him a much more intimate sort of look, peering up at him with her lips slightly parted and eyes lidded. "Oh, is that where your focus is?"

He grinned outright despite how red his face felt. "Yep," he said. "Can't help it."

Kory just laughed at that before she took his hand in both of hers and started to pull him along again. "Well, in that case… this base _is_ in my home district. I'm sure I know a private hideaway or two."


	133. Epilogue: Shots Fired

**(A/N): Can you believe it? This is the end! It's been quite the ride over more than a year, but we're super excited to bring you this epilogue. And look out for the third book in this trilogy, "Death is Not the End," two weeks from now after we take a short sanity break ;)**

 **Thank you to all of the writers who reviewed and for your boundless enthusiasm. You guys are what it's all about :D And thank you to Slim Summers2002 for being awesome as always.**

 **Without any further ado... TA DA!**

* * *

 **Epilogue: Shots Fired**

 **Written by Canucklehead Cowgirl and robbiepoo2341**

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 **Ophelia Sarkissian, 20th Victor of the Avenger Games**

 **The Princess Bar, The Capitol**

 **The Dawn After the Revolution Began**

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 _You can draw any kind of picture you want on a clean slate and indulge your every whim in the wilderness in laying out a New Delhi, Canberra, or Brasilia, but when you operate in an overbuilt metropolis, you have to hack your way with a meat ax._ — _Robert Moses_

* * *

Viper smiled as she almost lazily traced the rim of her martini glass with one finger, watching as what was left of the cabal found their way to their seats in Viper's private balcony at the Princess Bar in the seediest part of the Capitol. The empty chairs were taken by a few newcomers — powerful allies and victors — but the absences were still notable.

Lorelai hadn't made it out of the Capitol, and for that, Viper was pleased. For as much as she appreciated another woman's voice in the sea of men too pleased with themselves, Lorelai had an infatuation with herself and delusions of grandeur that set themselves against Viper's own plans for glory. And that, of course, would never have been allowed to stand. The only drawback was that Viper would have _enjoyed_ killing the girl herself had she survived the initial onslaught of the revolution.

And Alexander Pierce was dead. It was clear Nick Fury had somehow caught on to Hydra's plans, and Pierce had paid the price for his own sloppiness. But considering his inability to keep SHIELD from stepping up their timetable with no warning _and_ his disappointing lack of insight into the full extent of the Tahiti program… it was no real loss.

Not like Nathaniel Essex's absence. That one was, in fact, an issue for Hydra. He had been sent ahead to what was supposed to be a hidden-away base of operations in Seven, to begin setting up a lab for himself and the other scientists in Hydra's control. Seven, with the dangers of logging, had a high number of orphans, perfect for testing Hydra's theories of immortality, of the limits of blood memory, of the effects of other methods of reincarnation, especially on brainwashing. Something perhaps more elegant than Whitehall had used.

Schmidt hadn't been happy about what had happened in Seven, and Viper was sure that he would find recompense as soon as he had consolidated his power here. She knew the Skull well; he wanted immortality, eternal power. Those that stood in his way or challenged that power were crushed.

And on occasions like this, she often administered death on his behalf. It was, after all, the reason she was drawn to him. Where else could she find such a like mind — and opportunities to experiment with her own measures?

But for now, she simply watched as the rest of their cabal dragged themselves into the meeting. Ra's seemed almost unfocused as he sat at the head of the table — a place that would not be his for long. Only one daughter, Talia, stood behind him. The other was dead on the streets of the Capitol, victim to the brats in Tahiti that were still enough to outclass the so-called Demon Head's own children.

Not that Nyssa was Hydra's only casualty. Viper had been waiting and watching for the three girls that she had working in tandem to report back to her, but so far, there had been no sign of them. It was disappointing, especially because Viper knew it would likely lead Schmidt to lean even further on the boy from Six that he had trained.

To Viper's irritation, however, both Lex Luthor and Vandal Savage had survived the initial onslaught in the Capitol, despite the fact that it was earlier than expected. She _had_ hoped that they would be felled by SHIELD or even by Nova Corps, but instead, it seemed they had survived.

Pity.

Selene and Zazzala both seemed worse for the wear, though Zazzala was far more pleased with herself, considering the death of Amanda Waller. Not that they were the only ones who had only just escaped with their lives. The eggheaded scientists, particularly Strange and Octavius, were lucky to have escaped at all. And the spoiled pseudo-prince Victor Von Doom had a long and jagged scar down his face, still pink and healing.

Unsurprisingly, there were a few unbothered faces around the room. Shaw and Shishido gave no indication that this was any different than another day. Tony Masters seemed to be perfectly at home, having sided with Hydra in the end, though his loyalty was still, to Viper's mind, in serious question. And, of course, the Skull himself looked pleased looking over the group. Even with the loss of Essex and his research, he knew what Viper knew — that this meeting would end in their favor.

"I'd like to know where we stand with our asset acquisitions," Ra's said, watching the table carefully.

Cornelius tipped his head slightly. "Unfortunately, it seems the children Fury resurrected chose to destroy the equipment that gave them life. But—" He looked around the room, making it clear that there was at least some good news before anyone could criticize him. "—we were able to bring a few Tahiti operatives into our program, including Anthony Stark, who worked on much of the equipment himself. Knowledge is, after all, power."

"A bit of good news then," Ra's replied. "How much persuasion will you need to use on him, or is he smart enough to be reasonable?"

"It may be too early to tell," Strange said, a small smile tugging at his expression. "He is still a bit defiant now. He's being dealt with, but he may also still harbor the hope of a quick rescue."

"Let him see how hopeless that idea is and he may be reasonable," Savage agreed. "Hopelessness is itself an excellent convincing method."

Ra's nodded his agreement. "Did we kill any of Fury's chosen ones?"

It was Jessica Drew, at Viper's side, who spoke up at that. "Unfortunately, Thanos was the only one with a kill count in the group of victors. He killed Drax in combat."

"Has the gauntlet been found yet?" Ra's asked. "That would help with convincing the public."

"Not yet," Jessica said. "It wasn't in the palace, according to my contacts. It's possible one of his children took it — Gamora was seen with Peter Quill."

"Which brings me to another point," Ra's said, turning toward Selene. "You'll need to stake your claim and collect on the debt. Sooner rather than later."

Selene fell short of glaring back at him, her chin tipped up, but she didn't speak up, prompting Jessica to lean forward with a gleam in her eye. "Go on, Selene. Tell us how you let Logan slip through your fingers during the initial battle. Or did you think no one saw him protecting you?"

"It doesn't matter," Selene said with a wave. "I can do Hydra more good alive than dead. I'll get him eventually."

"Yes, and owe him another life debt, no doubt," Savage sneered.

"I owe him _nothing,_ " she hissed back. "But I will bring him to Hydra one way or another." She turned toward Ra's. "Unless Hydra doesn't appreciate my good work. Then I'll do as I please."

Ra's met her gaze for a long moment before he looked around the table. "There have been many missteps at the start of our path to ruling. Rectify them — and do not repeat them."

Selene didn't reply, but she was sure to turn and glare at Jessica and Viper accusingly. Viper smirked at the display before she tipped her head to Schmidt and finally picked up her glass to toast him. "And to those of us who did not misstep… we will continue to hold up the rest," she said, not breaking eye contact with Selene as she took a drink.

"Yes, I'm sure it was _trying_ hiding behind your personal guards," Selene replied, though she did not touch her glass.

"It must be difficult not having such loyalty in your own men," Viper replied easily.

Selene smirked and glanded to Schmidt. "It's not only the men that need to show loyalty."

Viper narrowed her eyes as Tony Masters chuckled outright. "Got you there, Sarkissian."

"I would take care, Masters," Viper said in a venomous tone, "not to involve yourself in a discussion of loyalty when yours is still so tenuous."

"Well, I sure won't show it the way you do, sweetheart."

"Apparently, _Ophelia_ isn't as charming as she thought," Selene said, smirking wider.

As Masters opened his mouth to confirm it, Ra's cut him off. "Enough," he said sharply. "This is a war, not a petty rivalry. Keep your squabbles away from more important considerations."

"We need to find the gauntlet," Schmidt said, not looking at either woman and certainly furious.

"We need to consolidate our power throughout the districts," Luthor argued. "Symbols are powerful, but actual might is more important."

"Six is in our control," Schmidt said. "We should move to secure the rest of the Capitol and the inner districts _first._ " He met Ra's gaze and rose to his feet. "I want any victors that have chosen not to side with us to be handled publicly. Make an example of them and show the districts what happens to those that stand against Hydra."

"Agreed," Savage said — which was a surprise to much of the cabal, when the two men rarely agreed on anything. "The victors carry power. If the gauntlet is so important, so is _their_ symbolism."

Ra's nodded. "Then we will make our power clear. It would be prudent to see what victors we can persuade to our side as well before their execution. A converted symbol holds power too."

"It would be wise to see what trouble they bring for us first," Schmidt said. "If they are backing SHIELD too loudly, they should not be given the opportunity."

"We will see," Ra's said simply and in a tone that said he thought this was the end of the argument.

Viper smirked and leaned back, sipping her own drink as she watched the others around the table. The poison she had laced the rims of some of the glasses with would take a few moments to take effect, so there would be no immediate tip off, no reason for the rest of the people there to suspect any foul play or to think their own drinks were unsafe.

It was no surprise that Otto Octavius was the first to feel the effects — the man was notorious for his drinking habit in Four. He kept running a finger over his lips, clearly feeling the numbing effect of the toxin, but a drunkard wouldn't think too terribly much of that.

It was Savage, whose sudden shortness of breath tipped him off, that realized what had happened first, and he got to his feet, chest heaving with his breath, his eyes narrowed toward Schmidt. "You laced the wine," he said. It wasn't an accusation, more a statement of fact with the full force of his anger behind it.

"Don't be foolish," Viper purred out. "If that was the case, then everyone would be having trouble."

At that, Cornelius leaned forward. He wasn't feeling the effects, but it was clear he was intrigued by those he noticed were showing them. "The glasses, then," he mused aloud.

"A lady never tells," Viper said with a self-satisfied grin, her focus shifting subtly to Ra's.

At that, Talia stepped forward from where she had been standing behind her father — sadly not taking any food or drink for herself — and rested a hand on her father's shoulder. But he seemed hardly to acknowledge her concerned motion, instead keeping his gaze fixed on Schmidt as he got to his feet.

"Traitor," he all but breathed out as he did so.

"That would imply that there was loyalty to begin with," Schmidt replied coolly.

Ra's narrowed his eyes as Talia put her hand on his arm. "Come, Father; we need to get you—"

"By all means, try," Viper said with a wave. "But there is no antidote to my mixes. Even if you were to get lucky and isolate one — the others would make you wish it had killed you sooner."

The sound of a blade being unsheathed brought their attention to Masters, whose chest was also heaving. "You brought us all here to kill us?" he asked in disbelief.

"Only those that show no loyalty to Hydra," Schmidt replied. "Do not pretend that you were ever here for any reason other than to avoid SHIELD."

By that time, Octavius was by far the furthest along in his progression, clearly unable to catch a breath right and in obvious distress. Selene beside him was getting to her feet as Shaw, on the other side of her, started to gasp as well.

Selene's drink was untouched. Though, Viper supposed, two out of three wasn't bad.

"Such a pity," Viper said. "So close to all three in a row."

Selene simply met Viper's gaze, but she knew that the tides had turned against her, and she quickly left the room, leaving the five men who had been poisoned to their fates, with Octavius first to fall where he still sat. Savage was not far behind, his larger frame depressing his breathing as well.

"I could still hit her with a dart," Viper chuckled. "But I'd rather watch her flee. No allies? No influence? Beautiful."

Luthor shook his head, clearly shaken but slowly realizing that, for the moment, he was still alive — even as Talia ushered her father toward desperate help and Victor Von Doom easily disarmed Masters before he could make use of his blade in his own bid for revenge. "Isn't it a bit premature to kill allies before we've consolidated our power?" Luthor held up one hand. "I understand it, of course. I'd do the same if I had more power of my own. But they had their own followers."

"If they cannot pledge themselves to Hydra, then they too, will fall," Schmidt replied. "Perhaps Miss Sarkissian should have been a bit more liberal in her applications."

Luthor laughed lightly and shook his head. "You know Hydra has my loyalty. It was only a question, Schmidt. Learn to deal with them without extremes or you will kill all your true friends with any intelligence."

"Don't sound so nervous," Viper said, smiling still as she once again lifted her glass to her lips. "If your loyalty was in question, you wouldn't be breathing."

"It is a fascinating question," Strange said, leaning forward, eyes bright behind his glasses. "The determination of loyalty… and even more interesting is the reaction of the disloyal when they are uncovered." His gaze was on Shaw as he slipped from his seat. "To know what is coming…"

"Do not mistake," Schmidt said. "Your usefulness was also factored in to this equation."

"That much was obvious when you spared your science division," Zola said. "But then, with Essex dead, we have ground to cover."

"Essex had his own agenda," Viper said. "It's no great loss."

"He understood the Tahiti process better than any of us," Strange said. "Let's be honest about the losses we've suffered so that we can be realistic about what lies ahead."

"Yes, yes," she said. "But as it was stated: we have the brains to continue the process. Perhaps even improve it further."

Cornelius smiled at that and toasted her with his own drink. "Then here is to a new era — and Hydra's impending rule."

* * *

 **Alfred Pennyworth**

 **Wayne Manor, District Seven**

 **Dawn After the Revolution**

* * *

" _Older men declare war. But it is the youth that must fight and die." -Herbert Hoover_

* * *

Alfred had his hands full with the children in his care.

Since Bruce had returned to the Capitol, Alfred had endured a deluge of questions concerning his whereabouts, but now, that was well and truly answered, with Bruce and Helena reunited briefly before the Capitol cut the feed of the Games footage.

There had been only enough time for Alfred and the others watching to hear the two Waynes agreeing to turn against the Capitol. But Nicholas Fury's pre-recorded call to arms across the district was far more direct and left nothing to doubt. This was a revolution, not a quest for vengeance.

And for many of the older children sheltering in the manor, the prospect of a fight was exciting. Alfred could hear several young voices shouting to each other that they were going to fight more Sentinels, even take on Thanos himself.

It was the unbridled enthusiasm of children too young to fight, but Alfred found himself more concerned with those who were more likely to find themselves in danger. He had, for example, heard absolutely nothing from Bruce or Helena since the broadcast, and they had made such targets of themselves that it was unlikely they would be able to hide from the consequences.

"We'd know if they'd been captured," Barbara said softly, and Alfred looked up from working up something for the kids to eat to see her standing in the doorway with her arms crossed. She had been rather quiet since the broadcast of Dick's murder, but she had also been immensely helpful since the announcement went out. There hadn't been time to mourn, and Alfred was grateful for how busy he had been.

After all, many of the Sentinels in Seven had befriended the citizens. The Hudsons, the Gordons — both families were now among the many taking refuge in the manor. It was getting crowded.

Alfred smiled lightly at Barbara and nodded. "Yes, I believe we would," he said.

Barbara tucked her hair behind her ear. "Can I help?" she asked. "I don't have anything to do…"

Alfred somehow doubted that was the case. More than likely, she meant that she had nothing to occupy her mind from worry, grief, or any of the other warring emotions he was also struggling with. "Wash your hands first," he said with a nod.

Barbara smiled gratefully before she went to the sink to do just that, though they had only just gotten dinner in the oven when the doorbell rang, and Alfred let out a sigh as he wiped his hands on the towel hanging from the oven door. There was no telling who might be at the door lately — Sentinels, people wishing the family well after their loss, one of the children playing outside ringing the bell just because it was fun…

But of the several possibilities, Alfred was surprised to find instead a motley group on the doorstep, led by two tall Black men in SHIELD uniforms.

"Sorry; we would have called ahead if our tech hadn't been fried," said one of the agents. "I'm Tripp; this is Mac."

"It's good to meet you," Alfred said. "I'm afraid if you are looking for Master Bruce—"

"No, no," Tripp said, shaking his head with an easy smile. He gestured to the group behind him — none of whom could have been older than nineteen at most. They were all teenagers, and they all smelled like smoke. "We were actually hoping to find a place to regroup."

"We _were_ fighting Sentinels and the Capitol," said one of the girls in the group, a girl with dark brown hair and similarly brown skin and a smudge of black soot across her nose that only made her grin look wider. "But after we blew up the power plant, they sort of … blew up our headquarters."

Alfred raised an eyebrow at that. "I see."

"SHIELD has been keeping an eye on groups in the districts that have been fighting against the Capitol," explained another girl, tall with short, dark hair. Her allegiance to SHIELD had been harder to see; her uniform was of a different design, in darker colors, possibly for infiltration. "So when the revolution hit, we made sure those groups had our support."

"Which is good, because we would have been wiped out if SHIELD hadn't stepped in," said another girl with curly, dark hair. "Hydra sent in forces to devastate the district. We were coming up from Four when we got their distress call..." She glanced toward the last girl in the group, who was unarguably Kara Danvers from this week's Games... and who was supporting, with the help of one of the boys in the group, her unconscious cousin. "SHIELD isn't the only one bringing people back from the dead."

Alfred nodded slowly as he listened to all of them before he let his shoulders drop and smiled tightly. "Far be it from me to turn away refugees of war," he said at last. "But I should warn you — if you stay here, there are several small children, and I'll expect you to help."

"Of course," said the curly-haired girl. "We wouldn't ask you to babysit us." She smirked lightly and then held her hand out to Alfred to shake. "I'm Peggy Carter, by the way. Jimmy Olsen and Kamala Khan are on my team — we're the ones who got out, anyway." She tipped her head toward Kara. "And these are the Danvers sisters."

"A pleasure to meet you all," Alfred said with a slightly warmer smile before he waved them inside. "You're just in time for dinner."

* * *

 **Phil Coulson**

 **SHIELD Base One, District Twelve**

 **The Day After the Revolution Began**

* * *

 _"We make war that we may live in peace." - Aristotle_

* * *

The meeting room was only slightly bigger than the one where Director Fury _used_ to gather up his most trusted for both his official and secret meetings. The scent of coffee filled the room — one of the few things of normalcy that was waiting for the people that had been invited to this very special meeting. Every one of Fury's most trusted agents that had survived the initial uprising was there — with quite a few notable additions.

Every single victor that either stood with SHIELD or at the least opposed the Capitol was in attendance. Most of them were banged up from escaping the Capitol, some more than others, but if they weren't mortally wounded — they too were joining Fury's old council of Abigail Brand, Karima Shapandar, Maria Hill, and Coulson himself. Irani Rael had unfortunately been caught under fire and did not survive the initial strike.

The medical wing was finally at a low buzz of activity instead of the angry beehive that it had been the night before. And the doctors' good work showed as Coulson looked around the table while the final requested people filed in — bandaged and bruised but looking fairly well rested. They were left with standing room only in the large board room.

It had taken some time to get a head count — and very little more time than that before he and Hill had started gathering up the required people to discuss how to move forward. So it was still rather early by their usual standards — several time zones ahead of the Capitol. It felt more like late morning to most of the officials in the room.

It was almost surreal as Coulson looked down the line of victors from his spot at the table. The entire Fantastic Four from One, James Rhodes, Bobbi Morse, Peter Quill, and Blackagar Boltagon — who looked perfectly pleased that they were taking shelter in his district. Then, Henry McCoy, Charles Xavier, and Erik Lensherr were, as always, chatting — but this time, Odin was paying attention openly to what they were sharing.

And last in, Logan had come in far later than the others and was standing against the wall near Bruce Wayne, the three girls that had survived the arena sane, and the group that Logan had left the Capitol with. The last crowned victor was looking far paler than usual which was really saying something. Coulson frowned slightly as he watched him. He knew that Logan had been through surgery for the injuries he'd gotten leaving the Capitol, so by rights, he should have been recovering in bed rather than attending the security meeting.

On top of that, Logan had yet to debrief properly, considering he came in almost unresponsive. Coulson was intent on doing that as soon as this little meeting was over. Especially considering what little Kurt Wagner _had_ told him while Logan was being worked on. Not only the fact that Kate Bishop was alive and working with Hydra but the fact that the little campfire crew had been there when director Fury had died.

Which was all the more reason that Coulson thought Hill was being a little premature in calling this meeting.

None of the people in the room quite knew what was going on as Assistant Director Hill cleared her throat and caught everyone's attention. "I'm glad you all made it," she said as she looked toward the victors lined down one side of the table.

"I hope that we can build up a working relationship quickly to help unite the country. Any support you'd like to give will be appreciated, but I needed to clarify to you that as your district's people look to you for leadership, we understand that you need to think about them first and foremost. Additionally, I'd like to be clear that though we would appreciate any and all help you or your districts might offer, we're not holding a gun to your heads.

"This decision has to be yours to make — along with the other established and trusted leadership already in place naturally in the districts. Let me reiterate: you don't have to back SHIELD if you truly believe that we're not going to help liberate the country. SHIELD isn't operating under the Capitol's rule or their heavy-handed method of punishment. We fully expect you to make your own decision on what you believe is right, and should you choose to aid our efforts to make Marvel free, we will absolutely help you defend your borders and give help to your people."

She gave them all a tight sort of toothless smile and then closed her eyes for a moment, but before she could speak, someone else took control of the direction of the meeting.

" _Where_ is Nicholas Fury?" Odin asked in an almost curious tone, cutting over her statement and obviously testing her as the room fell silent at his question.

Hill held her breath and turned to meet his gaze, looking for a moment almost as if she was a child answering to her teacher. "That is actually what I needed to talk about first. Unfortunately, Director Fury did not make it through the initial assault in the Capitol." She gestured around the table. "Which is in part why I asked you all to be here. Fury had considered several options as his replacement."

" _Not_ his Assistant Director?" Odin asked, frowning slightly as he watched her reaction.

Coulson looked to the victors - skipping over most of his fellow SHIELD agents. He and Hill knew what Fury had planned. It wasn't supposed to happen so early, and at this stage of the game, the wrong appointment could make or break the entire revolution. The victors' reactions would be as good of a gauge as any for how well Fury had chosen.

"No," Hill replied with no indication of how she personally felt about how Fury had chosen. "Believe it or not, wartime isn't where my training lies. Fury had the foresight to name a replacement, but without a device that Fury carried on his person, that particular assignment may have to wait until we recover the device." Every word was in an evenly metered tone that had all the SHIELD agents involved watching everyone in the room a little closer.

By that time, Coulson had let his gaze rest on Logan, who had tipped his chin nearly to his chest as he watched the gathered crowd. It was immediately apparent his companions were ready to push him into the spotlight if he didn't step forward on his own. A few moments passed as Hill shuffled her papers when Kurt Wagner gave Logan a look with his head tipped to the side, obviously waiting for Logan to say … something. But when he didn't immediately speak up, Kurt elbowed him in the side, which had Logan letting out a little noise of pain as he flinched — nearly bumping into Bruce Wayne in the process.

It was enough to draw all eyes on the room to Logan. He locked his jaw and straightened up a bit more, tipping his chin up almost defiantly for a moment before he reached into his pocket to produce the graphite-colored cube and took several steps forward away from his little circle of protection. Of course, only the highest ranking SHIELD agents had clue one as to what it was, and they were all staring at him openly as Coulson smirked.

Hill in particular had her eyebrows raised and lips parted. "Did … Fury have time to do the transfer?"

"He did," Logan said, which had Hill's shoulders dropping slightly in obvious relief.

"Good," she said, taking a moment to clear her throat. "What did he manage to transfer — and was it completed? It will make a difference on what kind of information we can access on the cube."

"Alpha and omega clearance," Logan replied, easily slipping the cube back into his pocket as Hill kept her reaction even, nodding to herself with a pleased-looking smirk. "But I haven't had time to take a look at it," Logan said before he finally looked up and down the faces staring back at him with varying levels of confusion.

"No one from Fury's board is untrustworthy," Hill replied. "Everyone here was hand-picked."

"Yeah, but I don't _know_ 'em," Logan argued, though he kept an even tone. "And I don't think your board is complete."

Hill bit her lip and nodded quickly as she took a step back and gestured to the gathered group. "Then … make your appointments, director."

Logan seemed to take a moment, frowning as several of the victors at the table simply smirked, nodding to themselves — and Odin looked as if he was waiting for something to happen. "For now," Logan said slowly, weighing each word, "Every victor here. Including the three that got out of the last Games. In addition to the SHIELD agents here, and Bruce Wayne."

That had more than a few heads coming up — particularly the three girls that had made it out of the arena without needing to be locked up like Ivy. Helena had raised an eyebrow at Logan in a clear sign that she wasn't sure he had thought this through, while Kory was slightly distracted by Dick whispering something about how much she was out of his league now — but it was Diana who shook her head seriously.

"I'll not have a title I did not earn," she insisted.

"You earned it," Logan said, turning her way. "By how you acted in there. All three of you did. You put yourselves at risk for your alliances and acted for the benefit of all of them — not just for yourself."

"But does that make us leaders or only loyal?" Kory put in — which had Helena shooting her a sort of approving nod.

"If you want a rundown of what I think makes each one of you a leader, we can do that after this privately," Logan said. "I'm not wrong."

"People saw what you did in the Games," Sam said, meeting Diana's gaze in particular. "I guarantee they'll remember _how_ you acted in the Games. That makes you a leader, like it or not."

"And I'm sure that Hill can arrange to have unedited sections of the Games aired to fix whatever they cut out in editing to make you look more ruthless," Logan said. "Which they did to everyone."

Hill was smirking as she nodded. "It would be good for us anyway — to show that we're undoing what the Capitol tried to do. It's a good move to earn public trust on multiple fronts."

"I don't give a crap about earning points," Logan clarified. "I want the truth out."

"That's all well and good," Erik said, leaning forward slightly. "But you're still assuming leadership. We're supposed to accept that Director Fury appointed the newest victor, the youngest and least experienced of all of us here, to a position to lead a revolution that has been in the making since before he was born," he said, his tone ringing with exactly what he thought of that.

"If you don't like it, you know where the door is," Logan said.

"And if that's true of more than myself? Are you prepared to lose so much at only the start?"

"What's the point of doing what we're doing if we're fractured to start? You might not agree with me, but I don't really care who _likes_ me. Fury picked me for the way I think. Not who I am."

"And yet you are not the only choice for leadership, whatever Fury thought. In the sphere limited by the Capitol, I have plenty who see the world in my way," Erik said evenly.

"He knew you for years. If he thought you could pull everyone together, you'd be running it, and I'd probably be having the same questions you are. What I'm telling you now is that, as far as I'm concerned, you're not limited anymore — and the revolution is on. So get your people fired up," Logan replied. "I'm not gonna be anything like Fury. Get your group; raise some hell. When this is all said and done, and Hydra's as torched as Thanos' idiots, it should be up to the districts on who runs what."

Erik didn't bother to temper his expression as he raised both eyebrows his way. "Of course I will do my part to free Marvel — I'm only questioning the leadership, the centralization. We all have something to contribute; what is it that makes you fit to fill Fury's shoes?"

"Director Fury had been preparing him for this since his victory tour," Coulson said. "This decision wasn't made lightly."

Logan looked irritated for a moment. "Tell ya what — stick around for a while and then tell me if it was a mistake. I'm not afraid to get dirty to win this war. Losing isn't an option."

"There's no reason to waste our time and energy bickering over a title," Charles said, obviously directing his comment to Erik. He turned to Logan. "Am I correct in thinking you'll do more than Fury to keep us involved?" he asked pointedly.

"Yes," Logan replied. "If you're gonna back SHIELD for this fight, you deserve to be in on the strategy. That's why I want you all on the council." He was looking down the table at the other victors. "These agents can plan and plot all they want, but no one knows your districts like you do. That puts you ahead of them every time."

"That will help to unite the districts in the fight," Hank put in.

"It will be hard to overcome the divisions enforced by the Capitol," Charles mused. "But a common enemy is a powerful unifying force."

"I'd like Bruce Wayne on that council for my district," Logan added. "He's the one most qualified to make the calls for Seven." He glanced over his shoulder at the group he'd been standing with. "And as of right now, Tahiti is done. It's over."

The reactions to that revelation were varied. Odin seemed to lean forward with more interest, but the SHIELD agents in particular were outright surprised. "The Tahiti program has been in place for years. It's a good way to ensure our leaders aren't destroyed," Hill argued.

Logan shook his head at that. "That's not how the world works," he argued. "If the program was that great of an idea, why don't you explain to me and everyone else why Fury didn't have the device in his arm so you could bring him back?" He seemed to be picking up steam as he made it the rest of the way to the table. "One of your agents was with us when Fury died. He tried to find the ampule in Fury's arm. It wasn't there."

"We wouldn't be where we are now without the advances we've made with the program in place," Hill said, her temper rising.

"And it's time for it to end. Don't get me wrong; it's not that I'm not glad to see the ones you've brought back," Logan said evenly, holding her gaze. "But the program is a major liability. You've been able to do a lot with information gathered that would have been lost, but if your operatives had been captured? Then what? _That's_ why Fury didn't have one for himself. He knew the chances of capture were high — and it's only gonna go up from here. I don't care what your reasoning is to keep it," Logan replied, though he didn't sound as if Hill was bothering him in the least. He turned toward Hill and the SHIELD agents near her. "If you want Tahiti to continue, then the only way you can convince me to keep it alive is with a _unanimous_ agreement from everyone that's been through it."

"Which is unlikely," Kurt said softly.

Odin nodded. "You will find no children of Four agreeing to such a thing."

Erik nodded slowly and finally leaned back, dropping the harsher look for a more searching one Charles' way. He let out a breath. "That … is the most reasonable proposition I've heard from any director in my lifetime."

"We'll discuss this further later," Hill said quietly before the group could get away from them, clearly sensing the mood of the room had turned against her, "As you can imagine, several of your fellow victors will be unable to return to their home districts. Several are still under Capitol control or, believe it or not, _Hydra_ has made a resurgence and has also made it clear that they intend to take over where Thanos left off."

"In the event that any of you don't want to join our rebellion, I'd like to ask all of you to consider helping your fellow victors seeking refuge away from their home districts," Coulson said, finally speaking up. "In particular, our victors from One and Two would be at risk should they try to return to their homes. One is under Capitol control already. Two—"

"Would not be kind to anyone that left with SHIELD," Bobbi Morse finished for him. "But I'm planning to stay and fight, so I'm not concerned."

"The citizens of Four won't tolerate those that would threaten the well-being of a child," Odin said as he watched Reed and Sue with their infant son. "I'm sure my people will welcome my fellow victors that might seek sanctuary from the capitol or Hydra."

Sue gave Odin a grateful smile. "Thank you," she said. "We'd really appreciate that."

There was a knock at the door, and all eyes turned toward it as Clay Quartermain made his way in with a very bandaged and pale-looking operative clutching a bloody bag to his chest. "I'd have been here sooner, but Wilson here insisted on coming along," Quartermain said with a little smirk. "He heard there was a meeting and insisted on breaking out of medical."

"What was so important that you had to interrupt us, Mr. Wilson?" Hill asked, looking as if she was already nursing a headache. "And what exactly is that disgusting mess that's dripping on the carpet?"

"I got something for the director," Wade said — and as soon as he spoke, Reed Richards' head turned, and he rose to his feet on seeing what his old tribute looked like _before_ the burns. Wade looked up at Richards and lit up like a Christmas tree. "Oh, that's _fantastic._ Are you the new Fury?"

"No," Reed said, frowning more at the bundle he was clutching so tightly. "Logan ... this … this is all yours."

As Logan turned toward him, Wade let go of Quartermain and hopped over, holding the bundle like a football until he got to Logan. He more or less shoved it into Logan's hands and then threw both arms around Logan's shoulders and kissed his cheek. "We're going to have so much fun in this war, sorority brother," Wade whispered loud enough for those closest to hear as Logan tried to shrug him off.

"Wilson..." Hill said, obviously ready to reprimand him. "You can't just … This isn't the time…!"

Logan had taken the bundle to the conference table and simply started to unwrap it, frowning until the bloody cloths gave way to a very bloodied but still shining infinity gauntlet — still wrapped around Thanos' left hand. Little murmurs rose up around the table as the apparent confirmation of Thanos' death laid before them covered in partially dried blood.

"I mean … it wasn't part of my mission or anything, but I thought to myself; 'self, our director would like a little proof that the purple party pooper was pooped out'," Wade said. "And I thought, you know what? He would. Of course … that … might have been before we had a new director? And this … admittedly might be a little over the top for congratulations. If I'd have known, I would have started with a cookie bouquet or some flowers … maybe a bottle of wine …"

"Wade." Coulson cut in. "No." It certainly wasn't the time to play his insane games — and not with the people in the room all being ones that were to run the revolution. The fact that he was pulling his stunts in front of Odin and Lensherr, in particular, was more than Coulson was willing to deal with.

Coulson gave Quartermain a look, and as Quartermain took a few steps forward to collect Wade, Coulson noticed the expression on Logan's face as he studied the gauntlet. Before Wade could step back from the table, Logan turned to Wade and took the knife off of his belt, then went to work popping the colored gems off and collecting them up.

All of them were watching the show, wondering what exactly he was up to as he looked at the bloodied stones in his hand. After a moment, Logan picked up the green gem and offered it to Odin, holding it out until Odin picked it up. "No one should have all of them. Even if it's just symbolic, it should be something that's shared. Something that you can show to the districts to prove it's not the way it was before." As he spoke, he began to walk, handing them out to a few people through the room. Hill was handed the red, Blackagar Boltagon silently took purple with a muted smirk. Logan then handed the blue gem to Charles Xavier, pocketed the yellow for himself, and then finally, he made his way over to the wall where most of his friends were standing and watching silently and held the final stone out to Bruce Wayne.

"You've got our backing," Bruce said as he took the orange stone, an almost proud smirk at the corner of his mouth as he added, "Thus far, I already like this new direction more than Fury's secrets."

Logan had a little smirk for just a moment before he turned back to the rest of them. "Anybody got a problem with this?" He started back toward the board room table and turned purposefully toward Erik. "That doesn't mean I don't want your input. Just means I only had six." He let out a breath and turned to Hill, who still looked in shock that Logan had included her in his little display.

Hill straightened up after a moment and nodded. "Right. Well. We need to get moving. The districts are fighting against the Sentinels, but that isn't an automatic guarantee that they're free…"

Logan nodded. "Inner districts are untouchable right now," he muttered to himself, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at the map. "Gotta secure Five and Eleven — cut 'em off at the pass."

Peter cleared his throat as he looked over Logan's shoulder. "Umm… not to be too focused on my district or anything, but with Normykins and Jessica Drew on the bad guys' side, that's gonna be an issue with Eight."

Logan nodded at that. "How does Ten look?"

Hank let out a sigh and spread his hands. "Scattered," he admitted. "There is not much unity beyond neighbors."

"So pull 'em together — go to Eight to kick out Hydra and the Capitol once we have Five and Eleven set. Cut their route off to Six, they'll have a helluva time keeping it — or anyone around it."

"And then we can look toward the inner districts," Rhodey said with a nod.

"First things first," Logan said as he straightened up. "We're gonna go get whoever was captured and nail 'em while they're regrouping." He looked over to the wall again. "I gotta find a few people right away."

.

"Personally?" Erik asked, both eyebrows high.

Logan turned back toward him. "All the other side knows is that Fury's dead. They don't know who's taken over on our side. If I'm gonna be useful at all to the actual fight, best to hit it now before that leaks." He tipped his chin up slightly. "And I'm not gonna hide behind a screen. I won't ask anyone to do what I wouldn't put myself into. That includes the fights."

Erik hummed, but Bobbi grinned outright at Logan. "Great. When do we start?"

"Why not now?" Logan said, meeting her gaze. "We've got the intel, the people lined up — and a war to win. So let's get moving. Anyone that doesn't want in — now's the time to leave."

He took the cube out and stared at it for just a moment before he carefully placed his fingers as he'd seen Fury do — and a moment later, the cube projected out maps and notes that Fury had collected in the center of the board room table, drawing in Bruce Wayne and several of the others that were still lining the walls as they started to plot out their initial attacks.

* * *

 **Note: This is the last chapter of this second installment of our series. We're going to take a quick break in our posting so that we can let this story stand on its own and so that we can have a small sanity break after 130+ chapters straight ;) Look out for "Death is Not the End," the final book of this trilogy, to start posting on September 18th!**

* * *

 **Credits**

* * *

 **Founder**

 **Nickenny**

* * *

 **Editors and Captains at the Helm**

 **robbiepoo2341 and Canucklehead Cowgirl**

* * *

 **Cast**

 **Director Fury, Agent Phil Coulson, Various Capitol Characters - Canucklehead Cowgirl and robbiepoo2341**

 **Slade Wilson - robbiepoo2341 and Canucklehead Cowgirl**

 **Thea Queen - BandGeek24601**

 **Harvey Dent - Seas and Shadows**

 **Harper Row - pekuxumi**

 **Cisco Ramon - Ophelia Claire**

 **Caitlin Snow - Zutarashipper**

 **Kaldur Ahm - robbiepoo2341**

 **Diana Prince - InDeepDarkWood**

 **Clark Kent - Aliit Vodeson**

 **Kara Danvers - Ophelia Claire**

 **Jason Todd - Savy160**

 **Angela Hawkins III - Silmarilz1701**

 **Richard Grayson - robbiepoo2341**

 **Helena Wayne - Miran Anders**

 **Jack Hamill - abrokencastiel**

 **Harleen Quinzel - Canucklehead Cowgirl**

 **Jervis Tetch - NicKenny**

 **Rachel Roth - Silmarilz1701**

 **Garfield Logan - abrokencastiel**

 **Jade Nguyen - tvfan69**

 **Jonathan Crane - InDeepDarkWood**

 **Pamela Isley - Abby Well**

 **John Constantine - Bstnstrng13**

 **Kory Anders - Unlucky Alis**

 **Vicki Vale - abrokencastiel**

 **Authors reprising characters from 'In The End You Always Kneel'**

 **James 'Logan' Howlett - Canucklehead Cowgirl**

 **Kate Bishop - robbiepoo2341**

 **Kurt Wagner - Ophelia Claire**

 **Peter Parker - abrokencastiel**

 **Sinthea Schmidt - Silmarilz1701**

 **Bruce Banner - Miran Anders**

 **Ororo Munroe - InDeepDarkWood**


End file.
